Page 130 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 1-4

‘Ourbaby,’ he corrected tightly.

She stared balefully at him.‘Mine,’she riposted.

The waiter’s arrival silenced him, and he simply gave the man his order, not bothering with a starter. Whether Siena Westbrook ate or not, he didn’t care. But she had clearly changed her mind, ordering grilled fish with vegetables.

The waiter glided off again, and the wine waiter took his place. Siena shook her head, so Vincenzo simply ordered a glass for himself.

They were left to themselves finally, and he sat back, letting his eyes rest on her. He kept his face expressionless, though he was more than conscious of the tension inside him. But how should there not be? He was in an unprecedented situation.

‘So...’ he opened. ‘Maintenance.’

‘I don’t want any,’ came the automatic response.

He ignored it.

‘My lawyers have put forward a reasonable proposition,’ he went on, naming the sum in question.

He saw her eyes widen, and grim satisfaction went through him. Yes, that was more like it—she was realising just how rich the pickings could be. She would not be turning them down.

She did.

And in words as clipped as they were concise. Adamant.

‘It could be triple that—I don’t care, and I’m not taking a penny. Please stop wasting my time and get that through your head.’

Vincenzo felt his teeth gritting. ‘I have responsibilities and I will not walk away from them.’

‘Well, you can—with my blessing. I don’t want you or your responsibilities.’ She lifted her eyes to him, eyeballed him. ‘Just leave me alone, Mr Giansante.’

‘Mr Giansante?’He echoed her formal address disbelievingly.

Something flashed in her eyes again. ‘Well, what else are you to me? The man I called Vincenzo I only knew one night.’

Vincenzo’s eyes glinted darkly. So that was the cause of her hostility—the fact that he had wanted nothing more than a single night with her. Her female vanity was offended. Insulted.

‘I am based in Italy,’ he said stiffly. ‘Whatever the...charms of that night, anything more would have been unworkable.’

Even as he spoke, he knew he was simply feeding her something to allay her vanity.

‘You should not take the...brevity of our time together as an insult,’ he added for good measure. His tone was deliberately sardonic.

He saw her jaw set, and her eyes were not flashing now, but like steel.

‘Oh, really? So I’m just imagining that you put it to me, on that memorable day in your office, that I had fallen into bed with any number of men after a bare few hours of acquaintance with them?’

There was anger in her voice—tight, hard and vicious.

He set down his martini glass with a click.

‘The sole purpose of that observation was to point out to you the fact that you might have any number of candidates responsible for the pregnancy you claimed.’ His tone now was not sardonic, merely dismissive. ‘It was not,’ he went on, ‘to indicate any criticism of your sexual behaviour.’

Her face worked. ‘Well, that is very good of you! I’msograteful! You all but called me a slut to my face!’ She leant forward. ‘Well, let me point out to you, Mr Giansante, that it takes two to tango. You fell into bed withmewithin hours of meeting me—what does that makeyou? Some kind of ultra-masculine stud to be admired and applauded?’

Vincenzo took a sharp breath. Anger, answering hers, flared inside him, but he would not give it space. Instead, he said, his voice tight, control rigid, ‘I cast no such aspersions—on either of us! It was simply a question of whether there might be other candidates for the claim you were making.’

‘Well, there weren’t! If there had been, why the hell would I have come to your office as I did?’ she demanded hotly.

‘Because,’ Vincenzo replied silkily, ‘I just happened to be the richest candidate...’

---