Page 6 of Italian Baby Shock

‘Should I remember you?’ she asked carefully. ‘I think I’d remember if we met.’

‘We did meet,’ he said. ‘One night in Rome. You had your handbag stolen.’

The ice inside her froze her all the way through.

That night in Rome, the night she’d lost all memory of. The night she’d chosen to view through rose-coloured glasses because it had given her Maya. She’d thought she’d worked through all her fears about it, how her pregnancy could have been the result of rape or some kind of coercion, because she’d never had much to do with men and that was by choice. And after she’d seen the psychologist, she’d made a conscious decision not to keep revisiting that night, because how she’d got pregnant wasn’t as important as its eventual outcome: Maya.

Her daughter was the most important person in Lark’s life and she was all that mattered. Lark had told herself that it was even a good thing she didn’t remember, because then it meant she didn’t have to track down Maya’s father and inform him ofwhat had happened. She didn’t have to deal with him or any demands he might make, and having witnessed that with her mother, it wasn’t an experience she’d ever wanted for herself or for any children she might have.

It did mean that Maya wouldn’t ever have a father figure in her life, but that wasn’t a problem. Lark had never had one herself and her life had been all the better for it.

Except now Signor Donati was staring at her with sharp blue eyes, the force of his attention, the fury in it, almost a physical weight crushing her, and she was basically made of icy shock.

‘No,’ she said, her voice a tiny bit hoarse. ‘I...don’t remember.’

He didn’t move and he didn’t look away. ‘I organised a new passport for you and then I took you out for dinner. We talked until the restaurant closed and then I invited you back to my villa. You said yes.’

Her mouth dried, the beat of her heart even louder in her ears. ‘I... I...’

‘We had some very good cognac in my library,’ he went on relentlessly. ‘And around midnight, we decided to move our conversation to my bedroom.’

No, it couldn’t have been him. Itcouldn’t. She would have rememberedhim.

‘I told you that one night was all we could have and you agreed. I left you sleeping the next morning, and when I returned home, you’d gone.’

Lark shook her head, the cold shock making her extremities feel numb. Shedidremember her handbag being stolen and she’d been very upset about it. In fact, her last memory of that night was standing in a Roman street, wondering what on earth she was going to do, and then...nothing. Nothing until she’d opened her eyes and found herself in hospital.

Surely—surely—she would have remembered spending the night with him.

‘I don’t think that’s what happened,’ she said, her voice sounding thin. ‘I’m sure I—’

‘That’s exactly what happened.’ His gaze bored into hers. ‘Why are you pretending you don’t remember? Did you not want me to find out that I had a child?’

She blinked, the shock intensifying. ‘No, of course not. And I’m not—’

‘She has rose-gold hair.’ He took a step towards her, still holding on to her phone, his gaze like a knife. ‘My mother had hair like that, it’s not a common colour. And no one but Donatis have eyes that blue.’

Lark couldn’t help darting a glance at the portrait above the fire, at the woman sitting in the chair. Was that his mother? Because her hair was that colour and yes, if you looked at it in a certain light, itwasthe same colour as Maya’s. And the man standing beside her with the blue eyes...The same blue as the eyes of the man standing in front of her.

Maya’s eyes.

‘Do you want money?’ His voice was hard and cold and furious. ‘Is that why you’re here? Do you want to blackmail me?’ He took a step closer and she found herself backing away. ‘Did you do it on purpose? Are you planning to use your child to extort money out of me?’

The couch pressed against the backs of her legs, stopping her from going any further, and he was very close, towering over her, all six foot three of masculine fury. She could feel his heat, smell his aftershave, something warm and woody, like a cedar forest. And again she felt that tug inside her, her skin tightening. Not fear, and yet not unlike it. Anticipation, maybe or excitement, as if she relished that fury of his and wanted to see more of it. Which was crazy, because who wanted to see more masculine anger?

Also, how dare he shout at her? How dare he fling these questions at her, giving her no time to answer or think about what he was saying? And more than anything else, how dare he physically intimidate her in this way?

Lark never got angry and she never shouted. She tried to keep a positive outlook on everything she did. Years on the run from Lark’s father had made her mother fragile and easily prone to depression, and God knew her mother didn’t need Lark being difficult. She’d wanted her mother to be happy and her mother was only happy when Lark was. So she made sure to always be happy. Always be cheerful and optimistic, with never a bad word for anyone, and it hadn’t been hard. Her mother had loved her for it.

So she had no idea where the hot anger that flooded her veins now had come from, or why. Because anger would only make this situation worse. She should be smiling at Signor Donati, soothing him somehow, or charming him out of his rage instead.

Yet she didn’t do any of those things. She’d been worried about Maya and nervous about what Mr Ravenswood had expected of her, and then this horrible man hadstarted throwing questions like daggers at her about a particularly sensitive time in her life, so now she had no interest in soothing him. And apart from anything else, anger was infinitely preferable to the cold fear that was now working its way through her.

So she lifted her chin and glared at him. ‘Get out of my space,’ she said angrily, and without waiting for him to move, she lifted her hands to his chest to push him away.

And froze.

He was very warm, the muscles beneath the wool of his suit jacket hard. That scent of his kept tugging at her, making herbreathless. Making her skin prickle and tighten, as if her body knew something or remembered something she didn’t.

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