The Good, the Bad and the Wild (9 page)

‘I don’t know any Duca D’Alegria.’

‘He’s an Italian duke, the last in the direct line of the house of De Rossi in the province of
Alegria.’ She tightened her arms, trying not to be put off by the sharp frown on his face. ‘The duca’s main residence is the Alegria Palazzo on the banks of Lake Garda,’ she babbled on. She should have clarified the situation last night, before she’d got onto his bike. Why hadn’t she? Heat pulsed in her cheeks, swiftly followed by guilt. She knew why. And it had had nothing to do with her job. ‘The family owns sixty-thousand acres, a thriving olive pressing business, two vineyards and several properties in the Tuscan—’

‘Stop right there!’ He held up his hand to emphasise the point. ‘What the hell has any of this got to do with me?’

‘He’s your…’ She paused, her tongue going numb. He looked so angry. Resentment was rolling off him in waves. She couldn’t tell him the rest. Not like this. Not after what they’d done together. Maybe it hadn’t meant much to him, but it meant something to her. And however little she knew about him, she didn’t want to hurt him.

He slapped his hand on the counter. ‘He’s my
what?
’

‘We have reason to believe…’ She swallowed, the sick feeling in her stomach surging up her throat. ‘We have reason to believe his son, Conte Leonardo Vittorio Vincenzo De Rossi, may have been your biological father.’ But the truth was there was no maybe about it. Having met
the duca, and seen photos of his son, as soon as she’d got a good look at Nick Delisantro she hadn’t had a single doubt about his ancestry. ‘Which would make the duca your grandfather,’ she continued. ‘And you his only direct descendant.’

She let out a breath, her throat aching at the thought of what might be going through his mind. About the man he had believed to be his biological father. The man he’d spent the first sixteen years of his life with.

‘I’m so sorry. I realise this news must come as a shock.’

But he didn’t look shocked, she realised as his gaze bored into hers. In fact, he was displaying none of the reactions she had prepared herself for—shock, disbelief, confusion or, worse, hurt. Temper flashed once more in his eyes, and then his gaze raked over her. And all she saw was disgust.

‘So that’s his name. Leonardo De Rossi. Thanks,’ he said, contempt dripping from every syllable. ‘I’ve always wondered who my mother screwed.’

Eva drew in a shaky breath. Not sure she’d heard him right. But how could she mistake the bitterness in his tone, or the look of derision now levelled at her?

‘And you’re on some kind of commission,’ he asked, but it didn’t sound like a question, ‘to locate me, right?’

She shook her head. ‘I receive a salary, but the company does get a commission from our client, once he’s satisfied that you’re the baby mentioned in his son’s journal. Leonardo wrote a…’

He flipped up a palm and she stopped in mid-sentence, the explanation dying on her lips. ‘Spare me the details. I’m not interested in the duca, or his son.’ He folded his arms over his chest, propped his butt against the countertop. ‘But I am interested in you.’ He flicked his gaze back over her figure. ‘You’re quite the little operator, aren’t you? I’ve got to admit, the virginity was a nice touch. It threw me off for a while.’ He huffed out a contemptuous laugh. ‘What were you doing? Saving it up for the perfect mark?’

The lump of emotion swelled in her throat as the heat soared into her cheeks. He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant? That wasn’t possible. This wasn’t the man who had held her last night, whose arms she had slept in. Who had treated her with a care and consideration she knew now she probably hadn’t deserved. She opened her mouth, to explain. Then closed it again. He was looking at her as if she were scum. Worse than scum.

‘I don’t…’ She pushed the words out, nerves and guilt and horror writhing in her stomach like venomous snakes. ‘I don’t know what you’re trying to imply.’

‘Really?’ He laughed again, the harsh sound
echoing against the room’s hard surfaces. He strolled easily round the counter. She stepped back as he approached, rubbed her hands over her upper arms, the heat of his temper searing her skin.

‘You can stop the innocent act now. I’m wise to it.’

‘I don’t understand.’

He cupped her cheek, his rough palm cool against her burning skin. ‘Damn, but you’re good.’

‘I’m not…’ The denial caught in her throat. ‘Whatever you’re thinking, it isn’t true.’

He wrapped his arm round her waist, jerked her against him. ‘You know what’s ironic?’ he murmured as his scent filled her senses, the outline of his arousal shocking her almost as much as the melting response at her core.

She pressed her palms against his chest, tried to push away from him, but he only tugged her closer, buried his head against her neck.

‘You played your ace for nothing,’ he whispered against her ear, his lips brushing the pulse point hammering her throat.

She braced her arms, horrified by the sizzle of response shimmering down to her core, the moisture flooding from her thighs. The man thought she was some kind of con artist. How could she still be so susceptible to him?

He nipped at her ear lobe. ‘What a shame you didn’t do a better job with your research.
If you had you’d know I’m not the noble type.’ His hand cupped her breast. And she gasped, the nipple puckering through the velvet as he rubbed his thumb across the tip. He chuckled, the sound hollow and smug. ‘You were saving it up for nothing, sweetheart. But let’s not let it go to waste. Right?’

‘Please don’t do this.’ The tears stinging her eyes only added to her humiliation. She bit into her lip, desperate to get out, to get away, before he saw her cry.

He lifted his head at the blare of a car horn from outside. ‘Well, what do you know? Saved by your cab bell.’

He let her go, and she scrambled back.

‘Go on, get lost,’ he said, the mocking twist of his lips brutal in its contempt. He swept a hand towards her stuff. ‘And take your
research
with you.’

She lifted her bag from the counter, shoved the contents back into it, her hands shaking but her back ramrod straight. The tears scoured her throat as she gulped them back.

You have to hold it together, long enough to get out of here
.

She slung the bag over her shoulder, made herself face him. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you knew who I was. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,’ she said, politeness the only shield she had.

‘Then I guess we’re both sorry. Aren’t we?’
he said, his voice as flat and expressionless as his eyes.

Somehow even his anger was better than his contempt. She rushed through the terrace doors. Her bare feet slapped against the wooden decking as she fled, not just from him, but from her own stupidity and inadequacy.

She clenched her teeth, pressed the heel of her palm against her breastbone as the cab whisked away from the kerb. The pain and confusion felt fresh and raw and jagged as the romance of her one wild night shattered inside her like the fragile illusion it was.

How could she ever have believed, even for one night, that she could be anything other than what she was? A cowardly academic who’d spent her whole life day-dreaming about being reckless and adventurous and then doing exactly what she was told.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘W
HAT
is going on, Eva? Bob informs me he finally got a reply from Delisantro’s agent and the guy told him Delisantro not only wants nothing to do with this company, but he specifically doesn’t want anything to do with you.’

‘I’m so sorry, Mr Crenshawe.’ Eva gripped the polyester weave of the seat cushion and hunched into the seat, the pain as fresh and raw as it had been a week ago. Sweat pooled under the armpits of her tailored suit. ‘I had hoped Mr Delisantro would be more willing to cooperate with Bob,’ she mumbled, the jagged little shards of agony piercing her chest at this renewed evidence of Nick’s contempt.

Hadn’t she suffered enough for her foolishly reckless and fanciful behaviour a week ago?

She’d confessed to her boss, Henry Crenshawe, that her trip had been a failure as soon as she’d got back from San Francisco. Mr Crenshawe had subjected her to a ten-minute lecture on her appalling lack of people skills, and then
taken her off the account, which she’d been pathetically grateful for. She didn’t want to have to contact Nick again.

But she’d been far too humiliated by her gross lack of judgement and professionalism—not to mention the presence of those jagged little shards that came back every time she thought of Nick—to admit the whole truth to her boss or anyone else. That she’d got carried away by some ridiculous flight of fancy and the nuclear blip to her usually tame libido as soon as she’d set eyes on Nick Delisantro—and lost sight of everything that was important in her life in the space of one night. Her responsibilities to Roots Registry and to her job hadn’t even entered her head. And for that she felt not just guilty and embarrassed but so angry with herself she wanted to scream. She’d put a job she adored in jeopardy. But what upset her more was the knowledge that Nick’s contempt still hurt so much, a week after he’d kicked her out of his apartment.

How foolish was she to have believed that he might have reconsidered? And decided that she wasn’t such a terrible person after all? And why should it even matter? She was never going to see him again.

‘Yeah, well he isn’t cooperating.’ The irritation on Henry Crenshawe’s face made it quite clear she wasn’t going to be given any slack. ‘What exactly is it that Delisantro has against
you? Because if we knew that, we might be able to fix it. Get back in his good graces. The company needs this commission—it’s prestigious as hell. The publicity is priceless. Alegria has three other heir-hunting companies that I know of looking for his heir. And we’ve got the jump on them. Because we’ve already located the guy.’ Crenshawe yanked at his collar, his pudgy face going a mottled red. Eva’s heart, the jagged little shards still prickling, sank to her toes.

She would have to tell her boss the truth. ‘It’s a private issue, between myself and Mr Delisantro,’ she mumbled, desperate to stave off the inevitable.

‘Private how?’ Crenshawe demanded. ‘You were only in San Francisco for one night. I know your people skills are non-existent,’ he said, his voice rising. ‘But even you couldn’t have annoyed him that much in one night.’

She could hear the incredulity in Crenshawe’s voice, and knew what he was thinking. How could his quiet, timid and inconspicuous researcher even have been noticed by a man as dynamic as Nick Delisantro, let alone have made enough of an impression on him to annoy him to this extent?

The realisation triggered something inside her—and the jagged little shards of misery were obliterated by a surge of anger.

Eva straightened in her chair, and her gaze lifted to the man who had always regarded her
with benign contempt. Mr Crenshawe wouldn’t expect Nick Delisantro to notice her, because like most of the people she knew, he had never really noticed her either. Henry Crenshawe had always taken her work completely for granted, had never given her the credit she was due.

Roots Registry hadn’t located the Duca D’Alegria’s missing heir,
she
had—after weeks of painstaking research on the historical data, most of which had had to be translated from Italian. It had been a mammoth task, checking marriage records, tracing the movements of every young bride within a fifty-mile radius of the Alegria estate in the year in question and then correlating the birth certificates of the babies born to them.

And it wasn’t the first time her concentrated and creative investigation of the known facts and her diligent attention to detail had pulled in a major account. Even so, she’d been the only one of Crenshawe’s researchers not to be considered for a promotion when the company had expanded a year ago. She was paid less than all her male colleagues and she’d only had one modest bonus in three years. While she adored the job she did at Roots Registry, she’d always shied away from any contact with her boss, because she knew he was a sexist blowhard who didn’t understand or appreciate the work she did… Except when it came to the bottom line.

What made her temper spike, though, was the
fact that Crenshawe’s scorn towards her and her efforts had been partly her own fault, because she’d never once stood up for herself.

Until now.

Yes, she’d made a mistake sleeping with Nick Delisantro. But his negative reaction to the news of his grandfather’s existence had not been caused by their night together. He’d clearly already been aware of his illegitimacy before she’d said anything. And the deep-seated resentment there had nothing whatsoever to do with her.

But more than that, Crenshawe was wrong about her. She wasn’t the mouse he clearly thought she was. Not any more.

Nick Delisantro
had
noticed her. She hadn’t been invisible to Nick. And while it might have been better for her employment prospects if she hadn’t had sex with him, she was through feeling guilty or ashamed about what she’d done. She didn’t deserve Henry Crenshawe’s contempt, any more than she deserved Nick Delisantro’s.