Page 15 of Italian Baby Shock

Her mother wouldn’t have even been in that position if she hadn’t had Lark.

Lark had felt...lonely. Then she’d had her handbag stolen, which hadn’t helped, and then...she remembered nothing after that until the hospital. But in that blank space between realising her handbag had gone and waking up in the hospital bed, she’d met him. And he’d helped her, taken her out for dinner, taken her back to his house, and they’d...slept together.

He strode past her once again, keeping up a stream of Italian, and she watched him despite herself. Tall, powerful, authoritative. In total command of himself and the rarefied world he inhabited. Who was he talking to now? The prime minister of some country? The CEO of a huge multinational? The ruler of a nation?

She knew nothing about him beyond what was in the media, but he knew something of her and perhaps more than something. What had they talked about together? What had she told him? How had they connected so strongly that she’d given him her body?

Lark shut her eyes and tried to force her thoughts away from him. Thinking about him would only bring back her own feelings of dread about what had happened that night. About all the questions she didn’t have answers to. It would undo all the work she’d done with the psychologist and the peace she’d come to with her lack of memories, and she didn’t want that.

She had to look forward not back; that’s what she had to keep telling herself. No matter how attractive he was or the current of excitement that hummed just beneath her skin, the unfamiliar ache of craving a touch she didn’t remember.

Finally, the stream of Italian ceased as he stopped in the middle of the aisle and put his phone away. Then he turned and paced back to where she sat, pausing beside her seat.

‘You have finished reading?’ he asked. ‘Is it acceptable?’

She badly wished there had been something she could nitpick, but she hadn’t been able to find a single thing. Everything he’d promised was in there, even the apology for the kiss.

‘Yes,’ she said with very bad grace.

Without a word, he produced a pen, made her sign it then signed it himself with a flourish. Then he picked up the paper and like magic a stewardess appeared, taking the document from his outstretched hand and disappearing up the front of the plane.

‘Does that always happen?’ Lark asked.

He’d taken his phone out again and was staring at the screen. ‘Does what always happen?’

‘Someone appears out of nowhere to do your bidding without you even asking?’

‘Generally, yes.’ He put his phone back in his pocket, stared down at her for a moment. Then much to her discomfort, he deposited himself in the seat directly opposite hers, stretching his long legs out in front of him. ‘Is that supposed to be another comment on my arrogance?’

She needed to find her smile again, find the good humour and optimism that had helped her mother through so many tough times, because she didn’t like this anger that sat like a burning coal inside her. It was as if he’d ignited a fire inside her that now refused to go out and nothing she could do would get rid of it.

‘No, of course not.’ She forced herself to smile. ‘Please forget I said it.’

He stared at her silently, his blue gaze laser-like in its focus. ‘You have a pretty smile, little bird,’ he said after a moment. ‘But I think I prefer your anger. That at least isn’t fake.’

The coal inside her glowed hot and no matter how hard she tried to resist, she couldn’t stop herself from snapping, ‘It’s not fake.’

‘Yes, it is. You’re very angry with me so why bother smiling?’

‘Because I’m trying to be polite,’ she said tightly.

He tilted his head, frowning. ‘Why?’

‘Well, aside from the fact that you’re a complete stranger, you’re also a potential client of Mr Ravenswood.’ She was aware she was clutching the armrests of her seat far too hard, her knuckles white. ‘Not to mention that you’re also a very powerful—’

‘Yes, yes, a banker, a Donati heir, etcetera,’ he interrupted impatiently. ‘But you didn’t seem to find all those such an issue the night we spent together, so why are they now?’

‘Because first you threatened to take my child from me and wouldn’t take no for an answer,’ she shot back. ‘Then you told me casually that the night we slept together, the night I remember nothing about, I was a virgin.’

‘Yes,’ he said without a single shred of shame. ‘What of it?’

Lark took her hands off the arms of her seat and leaned forward. ‘You don’t think that I might be angry about any of that? That my child means nothing to me? That I might be horrified at the thought of my first time being with a man I’m liking less and less with each passing second, and who doesn’t seem to care that I have no memory of being with him? Of losing my virginity to him?’

He tilted his head, studying her, and she could hear the anger and the thread of fear in her voice ringing uncomfortably loud in the interior of the plane. It seemed to be even louder than the engines.

Shame gripped her. Giving in to her anger was a mistake, no matter how afraid she was. There had been that time when she’d been ten years old and they’d stayed a couple of months in some tiny town in South Australia. She’d made a friend, the first one she’d had for years, and she’d been starting to think that maybe this time they might stay. That her father had stopped looking and finally they were safe.

Then something had happened to make her mother scared and she’d come home from school to find everything packed and Grace trying to get her into the car because they were leaving. She’d screamed at her mother then, an eruption of rage bursting out of her, that no she wasn’t going and how could her mother do this to her when Lark finally had a best friend? She didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay there.

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