Page 14 of Italian Baby Shock

Deciding to fly with him instead of flying commercial had been a mistake, but there had been no seats available on any flights to London out of Rome that night, and since she wasn’t going to let him get to London ahead of her—she didn’t want him seeing Maya without her present and given the arrogance of the man, that was something he might insist on to spite her—she hadn’t had much option but to take up his offer of a flight.

Which meant that now she had to spend the next couple of hours in the company of the man who’d casually informed her that she’d been a virgin when they’d spent the night together. The night she had no memory of.

She’d had no idea what to say to that, not that he’d given her any time to respond since by then he’d taken his phone out of his pocket and had started arranging seemingly the entire world, leaving her to be carried along in his wake.

The next couple of hours had been spent fuming about his arrogance since that was easier than contemplating the ice that sat in her gut as they’d dropped by her hotel to pick up her stuff before carrying on to the airport.

Now she was sitting in one of the plush white leather seats of his private jet, trying to find her usual good humour and failing miserably.

She was furious and afraid, and she didn’t know what to do with either of those emotions, since she’d always tried very hard not to dwell on negative feelings.

Anger was better than fear though, so she gripped hard to it, thinking about how he’d casually pointed out her virginity to her, as if that was something she’d forgotten too. Because no, of course, she hadn’t forgotten. In fact, that was another thing she’d lost in the aftermath of that night, her first sexual experience. The memory of that was gone, there was no going back, and she didn’t need him pointing that out to her.

Damn Cesare Donati. Damn him to hell.

Anger doesn’t help, remember?

Yet knowing that didn’t ease the hot, bright stinging emotion that sat inside her. When she’d been a child, her mother’s fragility would sometimes weigh on her. The feeling of having to always be the one who was happy and strong, of never being allowed to be angry or sad in case that would push her mother into another downward spiral. As if she was the mother and her mother was the daughter who had to be protected and kept safe.

It had been hard at times, so she used to take herself off and bury her head in a book, a distraction from all that sharp-edged, hot emotion, and most of the time that had worked. The emotion usually faded.

But there were no books here and the thing currently making her angry was right in her face, pacing up and down the plane’s small aisle as he talked on his phone in rapid, musical Italian.

He didn’t seem to be a man who knew what stillness was, his presence a relentless kinetic energy that had her tensing in her seat every time he strode past.

She wished he’d sit down, because it was starting to get to her.

You like it. You find it attractive.

Lark gritted her teeth, trying to drag her attention back to the stupid agreement she’d insisted he draw up, but she kept getting distracted by him walking up and down, brushing past her in a delicious cloud of cedar and heat. Making her achingly aware of his physicality, of the way he moved, purposefully and with an athletic, masculine grace that made her pulse race.

Her gaze drifted from the words in front of her up to his tall figure coming to the end of the aisle and then pacing back.

Had he been like that in bed, when they’d slept together? Had he been this purposeful and powerful? Had she let it overwhelm her? Had she let him seduce her?

You’ll never know now, will you?

She didn’t understand why that made her ache with a hollow kind of loss.

Her mother had warned her about men and all the ways they could hurt a woman, about how they could take advantage and manipulate. Lark had to be careful, she said. They might seem nice on the outside, wine and dine you and make you feel like a princess. But only once they’d caught you would their true colours become apparent, and that’s when it became dangerous.

Lark’s father hadn’t been abusive until about a year into their marriage and by then Grace had been living in a country where she didn’t speak the language and had no friends. She’d been isolated, cut off from her support networks, and then Lark had been born, making it impossible for Grace to leave.

It was your fault, you know that right? If you hadn’t been born—

Lark shoved that thought from her head. It was a negative, depressing one and she didn’t want it there.

Regardless, she’d taken to heart her mother’s lessons on men and she couldn’t think how Cesare Donati, arrogance personified and red flags from here to Australia, had managed to get under her defences.

He’d told her that they’d talked and talked for a long time. About what though? She couldn’t imagine talking to him about anything, let alone for hours and hours. Then letting him seduce her, take her virginity... What had she been thinking?

It was true that she’d gone to Rome because she’d been grieving her mother. She’d just moved to England and escaping into a book wasn’t enough this time to keep the dark thoughts at bay. She’d needed to get out of the cold, wet grey London, and had settled on Rome. Bright and sunny, with lots of history. Perfect, she’d thought.

Men had been the very last thing on her mind.

The first few days had been great, wandering the ancient streets and sightseeing, but then she’d been in a tour group at the Colosseum and had seen a family talking excitedly together. The man had hoisted a little girl on his shoulders while his wife had smiled and said something that had made all three of them laugh.

For some reason that had made her ache. She’d never had that. Never been part of a family laughing and enjoying each other’s company. It had only ever been her and her mother, and her mother’s relentless anxiety. They’d never gone on holiday, never even had a fun day out, not when Grace was constantly worried about the risk of discovery. It had been a tough childhood in many ways, though even thinking about it in those terms made Lark feel disloyal.

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