suspected he was on his best behaviour because he wanted her to agree to his masterplan—whenever he got around to unveiling it. And although he hadn’t shown any desire to parent their son, something told her that he saw Santino as his possession, even if so far he had exhibited no signs of love. Because of that, she suspected he wouldn’t let her go easily and the stupid part was that she didn’t want him to. She was beginning to recognise that she was out of her depth—and not just because he was a billionaire hotelier and she a one-time car mechanic. She didn’t have any experience of relationships and she didn’t have a clue how to react to him. Part of her wished she were still in the driver’s seat, negotiating the roads with a slick professionalism she’d been proud of until she’d ruined her career in the arms of the man who sat beside her, his long legs stretched indolently in front of him.
She forced herself to drag her eyes away from the taut tension of his thighs—and at least there was plenty to distract her as she gazed out of the window at the lights of the city and the stunning Roman architecture, which made her feel as if she’d fallen straight into the pages of a guide book.
Salvatore de Luca’s apartment was in the centre of it all—a penthouse situated close to the Via del Corso and offering commanding views of the city centre. Keira was dimly aware of a maid taking her coat and a cocktail being pressed into her hand and lots of people milling around. To her horror she could see that every other woman was wearing elegant black and her own expensive scarlet dress made her feel like something which had fallen off the Christmas tree. And it wasn’t just the colour. She wasn’t used to displaying a hint of cleavage, or wearing a dress which came this high above the knee. She felt like an imposter—someone who’d been more at home with her hair hidden beneath that peaked hat, instead of cascading over her shoulders like this.
She saw a couple of the men give her glances which lingered more than they should have done—or was that just something Italian men did automatically? Certainly, Matteo seemed to be watching her closely as he introduced her to a dizzying array of friends and she couldn’t deny the thrill it gave her to feel those dark eyes following her every move.
Keira did her best to chat animatedly, hugely grateful that nearly everybody spoke perfect English, but conversation wasn’t easy. She was glaringly aware of not mentioning the one subject which was embedded deeply in her heart and that was Santino. She wondered when Matteo was planning to announce that he was a father and what would happen when he did. Did any of his friends have children? she wondered. This apartment certainly didn’t look child-friendly and she couldn’t imagine a toddler crawling around on these priceless rugs, with sticky fingers.
Escaping from the growing pitch of noise to the washroom, Keira took advantage of the relative calm and began to peep into some of the rooms on her way back to the party. Entering only those with open doors, she discovered a bewildering number of hand-painted salons which reminded her of Matteo’s villa. His home wasn’t exactly child-friendly either, was it?
The room she liked best was small and book-lined—not because she was the world’s greatest reader but because it opened out onto a lovely balcony with tall green plants in pots and fabulous views over the glittering city. She stood there for a moment with her arms resting on the balustrade when she heard the clip-clop of heels enter the room behind her and she turned to see a tall redhead who she hadn’t noticed before. Maybe she was a late arrival, because she certainly wasn’t the kind of woman you would forget in a hurry. Her green gaze was searching rather than friendly and Keira had to concentrate very hard not to be fixated on the row of emeralds which gleamed at her slender throat and matched her eyes perfectly.
‘So you’re the woman who’s been keeping Matteo off the scene,’ the woman said, her soft Italian accent making her sound like someone who could have a very lucrative career in radio voice-overs.
Keira left the chilly balcony and stepped into the room. ‘Hello, I’m Keira.’ She smiled. ‘And you are?’
‘Donatella.’ Her green eyes narrowed, as if she was surprised that Keira didn’t already know this. ‘Your dress is very beautiful.’
‘Thank you.’
There was a pause as Donatella’s gaze flickered over her. ‘Everyone is curious to know how you’ve managed to snare Italy’s most elusive bachelor.’
‘He’s not a rabbit!’ joked Keira.
Either Donatella didn’t get the joke or she’d decided it wasn’t funny because she didn’t smile. ‘So when did you two first meet?’
Aware of the sudden race of her heart, Keira suddenly felt intimidated. As if she was being backed into a corner, only she didn’t know why. ‘Just under a year ago.’
‘When, exactly?’ probed the redhead.
Keira wasn’t the most experienced person when it came to social etiquette, but even she could work out when somebody was crossing the line. ‘Does it really matter?’
‘I’m curious, that’s all. It wouldn’t happen to have been two nights before Christmas, would it?’
The date was burned so vividly on Keira’s memory that the affirmation burst from her lips without her even thinking about it. ‘Yes, it was,’ she said. ‘How on earth did you know that?’
‘Because he was supposed to be meeting me that night,’ said Donatella, with a wry smile. ‘And then I got a call from his assistant to say his plane couldn’t take off because of the snow.’
‘That’s true. The weather was terrible,’ said Keira.
‘And then, when he got back—nothing. Complete radio silence—even though the word was out that there was nobody else on the scene.’ Donatella’s green eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘Interesting. You’re not what I expected.’
Even though she hadn’t eaten any of the canapés which had been doing the rounds, Keira suddenly felt sick. All she could think about was the fact that another woman had been waiting for Matteo while he’d been in bed with her. He must have had his assistant call Donatella while she’d been in the bath and then preceded to seduce her. Had it been a case of any woman would do as a recipient of all that hard hunger? A man who’d been intent on sex and was determined not to have his wishes thwarted? What if all that stuff about not finding her attractive had simply been the seasoned technique of an expert who’d recognised that he needed to get her to relax before leaping on her. She swallowed. Had he been imagining it was Donatella beneath him instead of her?
‘Well, you know what they say...there’s no accounting for taste.’ From somewhere Keira dredged up a smile. ‘Great meeting you, Donatella.’
But she was trembling by the time she located Matteo, surrounded by a group of men and women who were hanging onto his every word, and maybe he read something in her face because he instantly disengaged himself and came over to her side.
‘Everything okay?’ he questioned.
‘Absolutely lovely,’ she said brightly, for the benefit of the onlookers. ‘But I’d like to go now, if you wouldn’t mind. I’m awfully tired.’
His dark brows lifted. ‘Certamente. Come, let us slip away, cara.’
The practised ease with which the meaningless endearment fell from his lips made Donatella’s words seem even more potent and in the car Keira sat as far away from him as possible, placing her finger on her lips and shaking her head when he tried to talk to her. She felt stupidly emotional and close to tears but there was no way she was going to break down in front of his driver. She knew better than most how domestic upsets could liven up a sometimes predictable job and that a chauffeur had a front-row seat to these kinds of drama. It wasn’t until they were back in the villa, where a fire in the drawing room had obviously been kept banked for their return, that she turned to Matteo at last, trying to keep the edge of hysteria from her voice.
‘I met Donatella,’ she said.
‘I wondered if you would. She arrived late.’
‘I don’t