Page 3 of The Italian's Pregnant Enemy (A Diamond in the Rough)

She never saw the point in packing light until moments like this, when there wasn’t someone around to help her with the heavy lifting.

She grabbed the largest bag first and began to try and drag it up the steep staircase. She struggled, grunted and otherwise made all sorts of very uncute sounds, but finally managed to get it to the top of the stairs.

Then she raced down the stairs and grabbed her other bag, thunking up three steps, then a fourth.

“Trouble,cara?”

She shrieked, and released the bag, which slid forward like a sled on the snowy hillside outside, and hit the elegant, gray wood floor below and popped open like a plastic Easter egg, spilling lingerie all over like fruity candy.

Then she looked up and her eyes methis.

No.

No this was not happening.

Her heart beat rapidly, like she was a frightened rodent cornered at the edge of her burrow. But she wasn’t frightened of Dario Rivelli.

She wasnothingof him.

So her heart needed to calm the hell down.

“What the...actual...f... What are you doing here?” she asked, hoping she didn’t look as red-faced and undone as she felt. As her suitcase looked.

All her underwear.

Herseductionunderwear.

That Dario was now looking at dispassionately.

He had a cup of coffee in his hand, his white shirtsleeves pushed up to his elbows. The large watch on his wrist somehow served to highlight the muscles on his forearms. She declined to figure out how that worked.

His shoulders were broad and his white shirt rested perfectly over the broad muscles of his chest. It didn’t tug at the buttons or anything half so unseemly, yet still seemed far too tight because she shouldn’t be able to like, see his muscles? No.

His dark pants were also tailored in a manner she felt to be borderline obscene. She ought not to notice his thigh muscles or...

She forced her gaze back to his face. It was no better. He was practically sneering at her. His dark eyes carrying that hint of mocking humor—as ever. His jaw square, his nose straight as a blade, his lips...

Did not bear reporting on.

At all.

She wasn’t looking at his mouth and she never would.

She gathered herself up and walked slowly, very slowly, down the stairs.

“How long have you been standing there?”

He ostentatiously checked his watch. “A couple of minutes.”

“You didn’t think to announce your presence?” she asked. “Or...help me?”

He lifted one dark brow. “I am a feminist,cara. I would never assume you were in need of help without your asking for it.”

Afeminist her ass.

But she refused to give him a reaction. She outright did. She kept her chin tilted up, her body straight. “Perhaps, once I return my things to their rightful place, you could help.”

He moved nearer to her detritus and brushed his foot against the corner of one of her lace nightgown sets as if he was checking a small, limp animal for signs of life.

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