CATHY WILLIAMS - The Italian's One-Night Love-Child

She stood behind the door and opened it very, very slowly, making sure that none of her body in its borrowed garb was revealed. Her eyes travelled from the ground upwards. And upwards. From expensive tan loafers and cream trousers towards a similarly cream collared polo shirt, taking in the tanned arms, the dark hair curling round the dull silver of a very expensive make of watch, up to…the most amazing face she had ever set eyes on in her entire life. In fact, the stranger standing outside the front door was so sensationally handsome that, for a few seconds, Bethany felt literally winded.

Then reality kicked in and she remembered where she was. In an apartment that wasn’t hers and decked out in clothes that weren’t hers. She edged further behind the safety of the heavy door.

‘Yes? May I help you?’ She didn’t want to stare, but she found that it was practically impossible not to. It wasn’t just the man’s height, and he must be over six foot, nor was it the perfection of his features or the sculpted muscularity of his body. It was the aura of power and incredible self-assurance that invested him with a potent, suffocating sex appeal.

Cristiano, initially taken aback by the woman who had answered the door, a girl when he had been expecting an ageing dowager, was now busy taking in the delicate lines of her heart-shaped face, the full mouth, the slanting green eyes and the mass of copper hair that tumbled down, almost to her waist.

‘Are you hiding ?’ he asked and was fascinated as a tide of pale pink coloured her cheeks. Nor was she responding as women usually did at his presence, with smiles and lowered lashes and all those coy signals that indicated interest.

‘Hiding?’ His voice matched his looks. Deep, lazy, confident. ‘I’m not hiding.’ Bethany sidled a little further along so that the wretched dress was not at all visible. She didn’t know who this man was but if he lived here, if he was a friend, he would know that she certainly wasn’t the Amelia Doni who owned the apartment and who was in her mid forties. He might, however, know that the outrageously expensive dress would not belong to a twenty-one-year-old girl who happened to be house-sitting. ‘I’m just a little surprised…to have a visitor…I’m sorry, I don’t know your name…’

‘Cristiano De Angelis.’ He waited for a glimmer of recognition because any woman who owned this apartment would have heard of the De Angelis family. He wondered how it was that he had not met her before at one of the high society events that he invariably attended when he came to Rome to spend time with his family. This was a face he certainly would have remembered. She was not the usual Italian beauty, although her Italian was fluent. She looked…It suddenly dawned on him why he might not have met her in the past and he smiled slowly, switching effortlessly from Italian to English.

‘And now that I have introduced myself, perhaps you’d like to tell me if I’m at the right apartment…Signora Doni?’

‘I’m sorry. You haven’t told me what you’re doing here.’

Cristiano produced the orchid, the existence of which he had temporarily forgotten. ‘From my mother.’

Bethany stared blankly at him and, as the cogs in her brain began whirring back into life, she realised that he didn’t know who she was. He was a man on an errand and had no idea what Amelia Doni looked like. Ergo, he would not be rounding on her for having sneakily taken advantage of her second-hand house-sitting to don some fancy clothing. She relaxed slightly and stuck her hand out for the plant.

‘Great. Thanks.’

Great? Thanks? Shouldn’t she be inviting him in? At least showing some semblance of interest in getting to know who he was?

‘It’s a little ridiculous to be having a conversation like this,’ Cristiano drawled. ‘Why don’t you invite me in? After all, I’ve just spent the past twenty-five minutes in baking sun to walk over here and deliver a potted plant. I could really do with something cold to drink.’ He was a little incredulous that she actually spent a few seconds mentally debating whether or not she should open the door and let him in.

‘You may not have heard of me, but let me assure you that the De Angelis are a well known family in Italy. There’s no need to fear for your life or your possessions.’ Since when did he give long spiels about his background to anyone? In fact, when was the last time he had ever found himself in the company of a woman who looked at him as though he might leap out and attack her at any moment? In a word, never.

‘I don’t.’ She breathed a little easier. ‘I’ve been brought up never to talk to strangers.’

‘I introduced myself. I’m therefore no longer a stranger. You also know my mother, if only casually…’ He smiled and Bethany’s entire nervous system seemed to go into immediate meltdown. Her skin tingled, her throat went dry and her breasts felt suddenly hyper-sensitive, her nipples hardening and aching at the same time.

This was not a familiar response for Bethany. In fact, she had always been comfortable around the opposite sex. She could chat with them, tease them, even assess them without this sensation of drowning. Sandwiched between her intellectually gifted older sister and a younger sister whose radiant beauty had had boys banging on the front door from the age of eleven, Bethany had happily occupied the middle ground, content with being reasonably clever and averagely, in her eyes, attractive. From her comfortable background position, she had been able to watch Shania, wrapped up in her elitist world of books and heavily intellectual boyfriends, and Melanie, prancing from one dishy guy to another and changing them with the sort of regularity that other women changed outfits. She had learnt to chat to both sets of boyfriends without treading on either of her sisters’ toes. She was therefore a little shocked and taken aback by the way this tall, dark, lean and staggeringly good-looking stranger was managing to throw her into turmoil.

‘Okay. I guess you can come in for a moment,’ she conceded nervously. ‘It’s really hot out there. I can get you a glass of water, if you like…’ She pulled open the door and stood aside to let him sweep past her. Looking down, she spied the dainty strappy sandals on her feet. It now seemed highly unfortunate that the absentee owner of the apartment was roughly her size.

‘Nice place.’ Cristiano gave the apartment a cursory onceover. He had been brought up in palatial surroundings. Other people’s displays of wealth had always failed to impress him. ‘How long have you lived here?’ He had swivelled back round to look at her and her impact on him was such that for a millisecond time seemed to stand still. Her eyes had to be the clearest green he had ever seen and her tumble of copper hair was a stunning contrast to the creamy paleness of her skin. The sprinkling of freckles, paradoxically, added a freshness to her beauty, rescued her from being just another attractive face. And he had no idea why she had been so keen to hide away behind the door when she had first opened it. Her body was magnificent. Slender but full breasted and, judging from the dress, this was a lady who had taste.

‘How long have I lived here?’ Bethany repeated, parrot fashion. ‘Not long.’ Literally. ‘I’ll get you some water. If you just want to…um…stay right here. Won’t be long…’

‘You look as though you’re dressed to go out. Have I caught you at a bad time?’ He looked at her with gleaming eyes, sidelining his curiosity at her bizarre behaviour in favour of playing with the thought that he might be tempted to turn this casual meeting into something a little more rewarding. It wasn’t often that he was put in the position of pursuit. It was even less often that his initial response to a woman was so immediate. He found that he was enjoying both experiences.

‘Dressed to go out?’ Bethany made a big effort and dragged her eyes away from him so that she could teeter in her borrowed heels towards the kitchen.

‘Are you always this jumpy?’

Bethany, in the process of getting some bottled water from the fridge, invested his passing remark with bullseye accuracy as she, on cue, jumped, because she hadn’t been aware of him following her into the kitchen.

‘Would you mind not creeping around like that?’ she said tersely. ‘Here. Water.’ She shoved the glass out to him and, once relieved of it, folded her arms.

‘Do you have a first name, Miss Doni?’ Getting anything out of this woman was like pulling teeth. His own white ones gritted together with irritation.

‘Why would you want to know my name?’ A trail of possible consequences crawled into her mind with poisonous clarity. The house-sitting job had originally fallen to one of the owner’s relatives, who happened to be a friend of Amy’s. Bethany wasn’t too sure why the girl had handed over the responsibility to Amy, but Amy had then delegated it to Bethany because she had landed herself a boyfriend and wasn’t happy about committing a month of her summer holiday to being cooped up in Rome. Bethany had been overjoyed at the arrangement. She would get to practise her Italian in the most beautiful city in the world and, furthermore, would have free accommodation in the sort of place she would never have clapped eyes on, never mind lived in , in a million years. And she would be paid for her trouble! Revealing her identity would be step one to landing her in a great deal of difficulty and, worse than that, would land Amy and her friend in even more trouble. She felt faint and half closed her eyes and leaned heavily against the kitchen counter.

‘Are you all right?’

Bethany opened her eyes to find him standing disconcertingly close to her, which made her feel flustered and breathless, but she kept her voice even when she replied. ‘Fine. I’m fine.’ She shifted a bit and Cristiano frowned, irritated by that small gesture of flight.

‘You don’t look fine. Your colour’s up. Maybe it’s the heat out there. You’re very fair. Italian women are accustomed to the heat in Rome over the summer months, but then you’re not Italian, are you? Despite the fact that you speak the language fluently. Is this…’ he looked around at the superbly kitted kitchen, which bore all the hallmarks of somewhere that was underused ‘…a holiday place?’

Bethany could only stare. Did people have holiday places that looked like this? Marble everywhere? Paintings on the walls that cost the earth? A dressing room stuffed to overflowing with fabulous designer clothes?

He settled that score by adding, ‘I myself have several.’

‘Do you?’ She sidestepped the question and was relieved when he broke the hold he had on her with his eyes by tipping his head back to swallow some water.

Cristiano shrugged. ‘Here. Paris. New York. Barbados. Of course, Paris and New York are largely used when I’m over there on business. It’s useful not having to book hotels whenever I’m abroad.’ He dumped the glass on the counter, determined to bring the conversation back to her . ‘So your name…’

‘Amelia,’ Bethany told him miserably, crossing her fingers behind her back.

‘And where do you permanently reside, Amelia Doni?’

‘London.’

‘You’re not a very forthcoming person, are you, Miss Amelia Doni? I take it you are a miss…? I don’t notice a wedding ring on your hand.’

‘If you’re finished with that water…’

Far from sounding flattered at his interest, she seemed even more keen to shepherd him out of the apartment, and it set his teeth on edge with rampant irritation.