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Can a precious secret bring outthe protector in powerful and arrogant Italianplayboys?

The Italian’s Baby
of Passion

Three glamorous, sizzling romances from

three terrific Mills & Boon authors!

In June 2010 Mills & Boon bring you
two classic collections, each
featuring three favourite romances
by our bestselling authors

THE ITALIAN’S BABYOF PASSION

The Italian’s Secret Baby by Kim Lawrence One-Night Baby by Susan Stephens The Italian’s Secret Child by Catherine Spencer

THE RIGHT BRIDE?

Bride of Desire by Sara Craven The English Aristocrat’s Bride by Sandra Field Vacancy: Wife of Convenience by Jessica Steele

The Italian’s Baby
of Passion
Kim Lawrence
Susan Stephens
Catherine Spencer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Italian’s Baby
of Passion

BY

Kim Lawrence

Kim Lawrence lives on a farm in rural Anglesey. She runs two miles daily and finds this an excellent opportunity to unwind and seek inspiration for her writing! It also helps her keep up with her husband, two active sons and the various stray animals which have adopted them. Always a fanatical consumer of fiction, she is now equally enthusiastic about writing. She loves a happy ending!

Don’t miss Kim Lawrence’s exciting new novel,Under the Spaniard’s Lock and Key, available thismonth from Mills & Boon® Modern™.

CHAPTER ONE

‘I THOUGHT you were going to be late,’ his PA said as Roman O’Hagan walked into the empty conference room.

‘I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this, Alice, but you have a very uptight attitude to timekeeping,’ Roman observed, shrugging off his jacket and laying it across the back of a chair. ‘And in case it’s slipped your mind, I’m the boss so I’m allowed to be late.’

Alice, who had worked for him for four years and had no recollection of him ever being late during that time, planted a cup of coffee in front of him on the long polished table.

‘Well, boss, I managed to get us on the four-thirty Dublin flight.’

‘Excellent.’ Swivelling his chair around, Roman stretched his long legs out comfortably in front of him and added with a pained grimace, ‘Which is more than I can say for this coffee! And I use the word in the loosest possible sense.’ He stared down suspiciously at the pale brown liquid in his cup.

‘It’s decaff, and in case it’s slipped your mind making coffee is not part of my job description. I do it simply because I have a nice nature.’

‘I’m a lucky man,’ Roman returned, deadpan.

‘Yes, you are.’ She paused by the door. ‘By the way, your brother rang.’

‘Did he leave a message?’

‘Not for you.’

Roman’s darkly defined brows lifted at the cryptic response. He was as sure as he could be without written proof that his brother, Luca, had a lot to do with the fact his assistant had gone down a dress size during the past couple of months.

It was getting hard to maintain a tactful silence on the subject of his brother not being the marrying kind—Alice was.

‘He said he’d call back.’

The conference call started off really well, but went rapidly downhill once the second speaker came on the line.

How is it possible for anyone to talk for so long and say absolutely nothing?

Roman interrupted the interminable flow. The response was if anything even more rambling. It also cleared up the question of whether this well-paid individual had grasped the problem or done the necessary research—he hadn’t!

Roman listened with a half-smile as the man’s junior managed to bail out his boss without making it obvious that was what he was doing; he also predicted and responded to the two further questions Roman had planned to ask.

Roman wouldn’t forget his name.

‘So you think the European market is ready for a project of this—’ Before he got to complete his question a female voice, a low, husky, very attractive female voice interrupted him.

‘Excuse me, but am I speaking to Mr O’Hagan?’

‘Who is that?’

‘A Mr Roman O’Hagan?’

‘How on earth…? I’m afraid this is a private…’

‘I’m trying to contact a Mr O’Hagan. Could you tell me who I’m speaking to?’

That combination of selective deafness and persistence, even if she did have an extraordinarily sexy voice, was going to get wearing very quickly, Roman decided.

F. O’Hagan and Sons had recently been held up as a shining example of firms that employed a higher number than average of females in top-management-level jobs, but none of them was taking part in this conference call today.

Roman didn’t have the faintest idea who this woman was or how she had turned up smack bang in the middle of a highly sensitive discussion. He doubted if it was worth the bother of finding out.

Who did people blame for cock-ups before the advent of computers?

‘I don’t know how you got on this line…’ Roman stopped. The lazy smile that formed on his wide sensual mouth held more than a hint of self-derision. Could it be, he wondered, that his display of uncharacteristic tolerance might not be totally unconnected with the fact the gatecrasher had a very attractive voice? In his head those smoky, sultry tones were inextricably linked with long legs, seductive lips and long blonde hair.

‘Well, don’t ask me! Perhaps it was your turn to fob me off?’ came the bitter speculation. ‘I’ve been put through to every other blessed person in the building!’

Goodbye sultry seductress, hello schoolteacher. Oh, well, the harmless fantasy had been nice while it lasted.

‘I’ve been fobbed off and made to wait—’

‘Do you mind hanging up? This is a private and confidential discussion.’ Some men might like their women bossy—each to his own, that was his motto—only his own taste didn’t run in that direction.

Unlike his top management people from across Europe who were hanging on every word of this conversation, the woman on the other end of the line didn’t appear to realise that when the head of O’Hagan Construction used this tone the conversation was at an end.

‘I’ve not the slightest interest in your discussion,’ the owner of the husky voice promised him with considerable feeling.

Roman expelled his breath in a hiss of frustrated irritation. He flicked his wrist, exposing the metal banded watch. ‘That’s what all the industrial spies say, however—’

‘Is that meant to be a joke?’ the voice demanded, dropping several degrees below freezing. ‘Because I have to tell you I’m really not in the mood. And I warn you if I have to listen to “The Blue Danube” one more time I shall not be responsible for the consequences,’ she warned darkly. ‘Do you want a gibbering female running naked through town on your conscience—?’

‘It would depend on the female—’

‘I’m so glad you find this amusing.’

‘Do you ever let anyone finish what they’re attempting to say?’

‘For heaven’s sake, I’m not asking for a personal audience with the Pope, I just want to speak to Mr O’Hagan.’

Roman leaned his head into his hands. ‘Obviously she doesn’t—’

‘I think it’s extremely bad manners to speak about someone in the third person when they…me…I can hear every word you’re saying! As I’ve already explained to umpteen people, this really is important.’

Roman’s lips twisted in a cynical grimace. Hands clasped behind his head, he leaned back into his upholstered leather chair.

‘I’d be surprised if it wasn’t,’ he observed drily.

The people who wanted to speak to him inevitably considered what they had to say was important. Ninety per cent of them wanted to make him a fortune; all they needed was just a bit of his own money to get their schemes up and running. Very few of these cranks got to tell him about their projects in person because as a rule his calls were screened.

This was one of the concessions he’d been forced to make to security after he’d badly misjudged a situation. He’d turned up at the office one morning to find his stalker—a mild middle-aged woman whom he, in his wisdom, had considered sad, not dangerous—had already been there complete with kitchen knife delusions and a hostage in the shape of his terrified PA.

Alice still had the scar. Unconsciously his hand went to his face. Fortunately you couldn’t see hers, but his own reminded him of his poor judgement every time he looked in the mirror.

‘Alice,’ he yelled, swivelling his chair around and positioning it to face the open door, ‘I’ve got a damned crank on this line, can you do something about it?’

‘I’m not a crank!’ The disembodied voice filled the room with husky outrage.

‘Fair enough,’ he drawled. ‘However, you are on a private line so hang up! If you have a message there are channels you can go through.’

‘Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said? I don’t have time for channels. Has anyone ever told you that you’re an extremely rude man?’

‘This has been said, but rarely to my face.’

‘Very ironic,’ came the blighting response. ‘But I’m not talking to your face. If I was I might be able…listen, are you Mr O’Hagan?’

‘I am Roman O’Hagan. If you’re not going to hang up, do you think you might get round some time in the next hour to telling me who the hell you are? If only so that I can make sure you never have an opportunity to harangue me in the future.’

This threat produced an audible sigh at the other end. ‘Well, I do think you might have said so straight away instead of wasting my time.’

‘Wasting your time…?’ Roman hoped his silent and invisible executives would stay quiet.

‘My name is Scarlet Smith.’

Scarlet…Roman found he was thinking long legs again and, definitely, blonde hair. Not that any amount of hair or legs would make the woman who had this runaway mouth someone he’d ask for a second date…or even a first!

‘I manage the crèche at the university.’

So he’d been halfway right with schoolteacher.

‘Your mother is officially opening it today.’

‘My mother is in Rome.’ Roman stopped, having a vague recollection, now that he thought about it, of his mother having mentioned she was interrupting her holiday with her family to fly back and fulfil some commitment…it could well have been this one.

‘No, she’s in my office, and I’m afraid she isn’t very well.’

Roman levered his long-limbed frame into an upright position, his languid air vanishing. ‘What’s happened?’

‘I don’t mean to alarm you—’

‘Well, you are, so get to the point,’ he advised tersely.

‘Your mother fainted a little while ago. She seems better now.’

His mother didn’t faint. ‘What does the doctor say?’ Roman asked, settling his loose Italian-designed jacket smoothly across his broad shoulders.

‘She hasn’t seen a doctor.’

Roman picked up on the defensive note that had entered the attractive voice and his brows drew together in a disapproving straight line.

‘Why the hell not?’ he demanded. ‘I need the car,’ he added seamlessly as he turned to his attentively hovering PA, who, like all good assistants, knew when to say nothing. ‘And cancel all my appointments for the rest of the morning, then tell Phil to meet me at the university.’

‘Our flight…?’

‘Cancel.’

‘What if Dr O’Connor is busy—?’

Roman turned his head and looked at her; Alice took the hint.

‘Right, I’ll tell him to drop everything, though that might be hard if he’s in the middle of heart surgery.’

‘He’s a medical man; he doesn’t operate,’ Roman retorted. ‘Just explain to him what’s happened, Alice, and tell him to bring his bag.’

‘Your mother wouldn’t let me call a doctor or an ambulance.’

Roman turned around as if to face the bleating voice. ‘Let you? She was unconscious,’ he derided scornfully.

‘For less than a minute.’

Roman knew when he heard someone covering their back; there was nothing he despised more. He came down hard on people who preferred to shift the blame because they lacked the guts to carry the can for their own mistakes.

‘Let me tell you, Miss Smith, if my mother suffers a broken fingernail that could have been avoided if you had called for medical assistance I’ll sue the pants off you and your university!’ he promised darkly before cutting her off.

His PA was unable to remain silent. ‘Really, you can be so mean!’

‘What is this? Sisterly solidarity?’

‘I don’t think you realise how much you terrify people,’ she reproved, shaking her head.

‘No, Alice, I know exactly how much I terrify people.’ He gave a white wolfish smile. ‘It’s the secret behind my success.’

‘Nonsense,’ returned Alice. ‘The secret of your success is you live for your work and don’t have a life,’ she observed disapprovingly. ‘You lack balance.’

‘A little more terror, Alice, and a little less lip would be appreciated,’ Roman drawled.

‘That poor girl is probably crying her eyes out.’

‘Pardon me but I don’t empathise with incompetence, especially when that incompetence puts my family in danger,’ he explained grimly.

Contrary to Alice’s prediction, the ‘poor girl’ in question was neither terrified nor crying. She was walking down a university corridor where people who would normally have called out a cheery greeting took one look at her usually sunny face and changed their minds.

Others stared curiously when she walked past practising out loud—the acoustics were excellent—one of the cutting home truths she would like to deliver personally to Mr Roman O’Hagan.

‘Get to the point,’ he’d said. What did he think she’d been trying to do while he’d been cracking jokes at her expense?

Of course she should have called for an ambulance, she knew that—did he think she didn’t know that?

David Anderson, the university’s vice-chancellor, looked incredibly relieved as she walked through the door.

‘I thought you were only going to be a second, Scarlet?’ he said, drawing her a little to one side and out of earshot of the pale-faced woman sitting in the chair.

‘How is she?’ Scarlet asked, responding to his hand signals to keep her voice low.

‘Better than she was, I think. She wants me to ask her driver to bring her car around.’

‘I wouldn’t bother, David; her son is on his way over,’ she revealed casually.

On the whole, and considering how stressed David was already, Scarlet didn’t see much point explaining that the millionaire property developer in question was in a very vengeful and litigious mood.

Obviously threats were part and parcel of Roman O’Hagan’s modus operandi. Scarlet knew the type; she had suffered in silence at the hands of bullies during a lot of her school years. Years of unhappiness that she could have been spared if she had realised earlier that all you had to do with a bully was show them you weren’t scared—even if you were!

It hadn’t been bravery in her last year at school that had made her turn around and tell her gang of tormentors exactly what she thought of them, it had been simply a matter of reaching the end of her tether.

The experience had left Scarlet with a loathing of bullies and a determination to never again put herself in the role of victim. Every time she replayed the phone conversation in her head she felt her anger rising. How dared he threaten her? It wasn’t just what he had said, it was the way he had said it.

And that voice; she recalled the inexplicable reaction she had had to the low drawl. Incredibly it had actually produced a physical response. She had reacted to it like a cat whose fur had been stroked the wrong way, her skin literally prickling in an uncomfortable way.

He had the sort of voice that could make an eviction notice sound sexy.

The vice-chancellor shot her a look of annoyed disbelief, which she pretended not to notice.

‘You called Roman O’Hagan after she specifically asked you not to?’ He groaned.

‘Did she?’

‘I know she did, Scarlet, because I was there at the time and I heard what she said, not once, but twice.’

‘So maybe she did,’ Scarlet conceded. ‘But she also specifically asked us not to call a medic or ambulance,’ she reminded him. ‘And I thought that was wrong too.’

‘She’s a very important woman; we can’t go around ignoring her wishes.’

‘You didn’t; I did.’

David looked somewhat mollified by this reminder. ‘That’s true.’

‘Just call me Scarlet the scapegoat,’ she suggested cheerfully.

David shot her a reproachful look from under his halfmoon specs. ‘I’ll just go and organise someone to meet Mr O’Hagan.’

A three-man job at least, Scarlet mused scornfully: one person to grovel, another to sprinkle rose petals in his path and, last but not least, one to stroke the guy’s massive ego. She for one didn’t envy anyone the task of being nice to him. Even allowing for his concern over his mother, the mega-rich playboy had come across as a nasty bully of a man. Being rich, in her view, did not give anyone carte blanche to be rude.

‘Where’s a spare red carpet when you need one?’

David shot her a wary look. ‘I hope you weren’t rude to him.’

Scarlet adopted a puzzled expression, her eyes wide and innocent.

‘Don’t look at me like that, Scarlet, it worries me. I’ve known you since you were six years old,’ he reminded her drily.

‘Why would I be rude to the man? I rang to tell him his mother wasn’t well.’

‘Hummph.’ David left her with a firm admonition not to take any further unilateral decisions if she wanted to keep her job.

‘Are you feeling any better?’ Scarlet asked, approaching the slim, elegant figure who was dressed in a soft apricot suit that hinted tastefully at a good cleavage.

‘Much better, thank you,’ Natalia O’Hagan replied in her soft, attractive Italian accent.

She didn’t look nearly old enough to have a son the age of Roman O’Hagan.

Unless he had begun his infamous playboy lifestyle when he was still at school he had to be in his early thirties at least to have fitted in all the beautiful women who had reputedly enjoyed his admiration. As aloof and arrogant as he was widely reported to be, he was rarely photographed without some lush beauty gazing adoringly up into his face.

Scarlet smiled at Natalia. She had taken to the older woman immediately. Unlike her son she came across as a warm, genuine woman with no airs and graces. Just thinking about the vile son with his hateful, sarcastic drawl sent a shudder of antipathy down Scarlet’s spine.

Maybe Roman O’Hagan had inherited his arrogance from the paternal side of the equation. It was quite a combination of genes, Italian and Irish, Scarlet reflected, and on the evidence so far she’d say the result of that fusion had produced a person who lacked the charm of the Irish and the charisma of the Italians.

Despite her reassurance as she lifted the glass of water, there was a visible tremor in the older woman’s hand.

‘Let me,’ Scarlet said, taking the glass from her and placing it back on her own desk.

On closer inspection she could see that the scary bluish tinge had receded from around the older woman’s lips. This was good news, but despite these small signs of improvement the woman still looked far from well.

‘Can I get you anything else?’

Natalia O’Hagan lifted her head, her lips formed a weak smile, but she didn’t appear able to respond to the question.

Scarlet’s anxiety increased. She privately called herself every sort of weak idiot for not having stood her ground in the first place and rung for a doctor straight off as she’d wanted.

In that at least her wretched son had been right.

She could have insisted, but when the university bigwigs, who had tagged along with David for the official opening ceremony of the crèche, had overruled her, what had she done? She’d meekly rolled over.

As far as the powers that be were concerned they weren’t going to risk upsetting the woman whose generous donation had been responsible for the refurbishment and extension of the crèche facilities, not to mention the new state-of-the art IT building. And Natalia O’Hagan had managed to make it quite clear despite her weak condition, that she did not want a doctor.

That was fine and their call to make, but where were they now, those men and women in suits who knew better? Their absence from the vicinity was pretty conspicuous.

Scarlet had only been half joking when she’d called herself a scapegoat. If anything went wrong it wasn’t difficult to figure out who would be left to carry the can, especially if Roman O’Hagan had anything to do with it. She couldn’t see the men and women in suits leaping up to take responsibility.

‘Won’t you let me get someone down from Occupational Health, at least—?’ Scarlet began, only to be cut off by an impatient, slightly imperious nod of the smooth dark head.

‘You sound just like my sons.’

Scarlet had no control over the expression of horror that spread across her face. ‘Me?’

‘You know, I consider myself a lucky woman,’ Natalia revealed. ‘Two sons who I love dearly, and they are so good to me. But,’ she explained with a shake of her head, ‘they are both ridiculously overprotective. Roman is possibly the worst.

‘He has a terrible habit of thinking he knows what is best,’ Natalia continued ruefully. ‘If I’d let him he’d run my life, I swear he would.’

‘You have to stand up to him!’

Natalia’s delicate brow lifted at the heat of Scarlet’s stern declaration.

Scarlet coloured self-consciously and forced her expression to relax. ‘I suppose it’s a son’s job to be protective of his mother. I expect mine will one day,’ she added lightly.

‘You have a son?’ Liquid dark eyes scanned Scarlet’s slim figure. She was wearing her usual work garb, jeans and one of the bright child-friendly tee shirts all the helpers in the crèche wore. It had been suggested that, as the manager of the centre, she ought to wear something more in fitting with her management role, but Scarlet, a hands-on sort of manager, had stuck to her guns and her tee shirt.

‘Goodness, you look so young, or maybe that’s just me getting old.’

‘You’re not old.’

‘When I look at those little ones I feel…’ She suddenly went very still as she looked through the plate-glass partition to the room beyond. It should have been empty; the children were enjoying the party on the lawn. ‘That child—what is his name?’

It was a casual enough question, but casual in Scarlet’s experience didn’t equate with the lines of tension bracketing the older woman’s soft mouth or the tortured twisting of the hands clasped in her lap.

‘Which one? We’ve got quite a few here. Should you lie down, perhaps…?’ she suggested tentatively. ‘If you’re not feeling well?’

‘I’m feeling fine.’ The strained smile she produced to prove the point did nothing to soothe Scarlet’s fears. ‘The little boy I’m talking about is the one who gave me the flowers? The one sitting there.’

Scarlet followed the direction of the ashen-faced woman’s strangely haunted gaze as Natalie nodded through the glass partition that separated Scarlet’s office from the big, newly equipped play room, towards a small dark-haired figure sitting cross-legged on the floor.

Sam was meant to be outside with the other children watching the magician they’d engaged as entertainment. With the party in full swing he had obviously managed to slip away unnoticed. Sam was a very resourceful child.

He had wanted to finish his jigsaw earlier, and when he wanted something, as she knew to her cost, he could show remarkable focus. His little face was a mask of concentration as he slotted the final piece into a complicated wooden jigsaw and gave a triumphant smile.

‘Sam,’ Scarlet replied, a puzzled frown forming between her brows as she registered the throb of emotion in the other woman’s attractively accented voice.

‘I hope I didn’t alarm him.’

‘Sam takes most things in his stride,’ Scarlet returned honestly.

‘I thought he might,’ came the puzzling dry rejoinder. ‘His mother…does she work at the university?’

‘Sam’s my son, the one I mentioned.’ Scarlet was trying very hard not to glow too obviously with pride. ‘One of the perks of running the university crèche is I get to bring him to work with me.’

This hadn’t happened by accident. Early on Scarlet had realised to leave Sam on a daily basis would be too painful, not necessarily for the child, who possessed an adaptable and sunny personality, but for herself.

‘You?’

Scarlet endured with equanimity the astonished, searching scrutiny that came her way. The reaction didn’t surprise her. Sam was an exceptionally beautiful child, and Scarlet knew the only thing exceptional about herself was her ordinariness, but even so the softly breathed, ‘Unbelievable!’ did bring a faint flush to her pale cheeks.

As if she realised her lapse in manners, a flicker of something akin to embarrassment flickered across the beautiful features of the VIP guest.

‘And how old is Sam?’

‘He was three in April.’

‘He seems very advanced for his age.’

‘Sam is quick,’ Scarlet agreed, unable to stifle a flicker of parental pride at this praise.

‘You and your husband must be very proud of him.’

‘I’m not married.’ Even in this enlightened age Scarlet was used to her single motherhood producing disapproval in varying degrees, but the inexplicable flicker of relief she saw in Natalia’s brown eyes was not a reaction she’d encountered before.

It only lasted a moment and Scarlet almost immediately put it down to a trick of the light or her imagination. After all, she asked herself, why would her being unmarried make a total stranger relieved?

‘Then Sam’s father…?’

‘There’s just me and Sam and we like it that way,’ Scarlet explained cheerfully.

CHAPTER TWO

‘BUT it must be hard for a woman alone?’

‘One-parent families are not exactly unusual.’

‘But you’ve never been married?’

Scarlet, who was beginning to feel puzzled with the older woman’s pursuit of the subject, shook her head. ‘Never.’ This might be a good time to change the subject and admit she had contacted the tyrannical son.

‘Listen, Mrs O’Hagan—’

‘Natalia, please, my dear.’

‘Natalia, I know you asked me not to.’ Scarlet took a deep breath and made a clean breast of it. ‘The thing is I called Mr O’Hagan…that is your son, the control freak one,’ she explained unhappily.

‘I don’t blame you being angry with me,’ she continued, ‘but I really did think that someone should know—’ Scarlet stopped in response to a cool hand laid on her arm.

‘I’m not angry with you, child.’

Scarlet gave a sigh of relief. ‘I’m glad about that.’

‘Did you speak to Roman yourself? I ask,’ she added, ‘because I have a problem doing so myself sometimes.’ She gave a light laugh. ‘He is guarded zealously.’

You can say that again!

‘I did manage to, eventually,’ Scarlet admitted with a guarded smile.

There was something in the other woman’s manner…she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but Scarlet couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something.

‘My, you must be a determined girl, or have special access that I don’t?’ Her laughter had a forced sound to it.

‘I could have done with it, but I had to fall back on my natural talent—I’m stubborn.’

Natalia nodded; her expression suggested her thoughts had already moved on. ‘I sometimes think this security business has got out of hand, you know. Since the stalker affair Roman is not a very accessible person, but no doubt you know that.’

‘Stalker?’ Scarlet queried, pausing to briefly wonder why his mother would assume she knew anything at all about her son.

‘Oh, I’m sure you read about it. That woman who became obsessed with him? It was about four years ago.’

Scarlet shook her head. She was not about to explain that four years ago her world had narrowed to the bedside of her dying sister.

‘Perhaps you were out of the country?’

‘Not likely,’ Scarlet returned. ‘I get seasick and have a phobia of flying.’

‘How inconvenient. Actually it was covered quite widely in the papers—this woman developed a thing about Roman.’

‘An ex-girlfriend?’ That figured. Any woman who went out with him had to be slightly unbalanced to begin with.

‘Well, no, that’s the thing, they had never actually met, but she became convinced they had a relationship. She wrote to him, telephoned him, sent him gifts…initially Roman felt sorry for her and thought if he ignored her she’d go away. Things came to a head when he arrived at the office one morning to find her holding his PA at knifepoint.’

‘Gracious!’ Scarlet gasped, her eyes widening in horror. ‘Was anyone hurt?’

‘Roman managed to talk her into letting Alice go and apparently she was going to hand over the knife when the police arrived. The woman panicked and became quite frenzied. Roman and Alice both got injured, Alice badly. Fortunately they both recovered.’

‘That must have been very traumatic.’

‘It was, though Roman was more concerned that he had unwittingly put someone else’s life at risk. Oh, I know it wasn’t his fault.’ Scarlet, who hadn’t been going to suggest anything of the sort, remained, silent. ‘But Roman has a very overdeveloped sense of responsibility.’

Scarlet smiled politely and wondered privately how much a mother’s natural bias had coloured this version of events. Certainly this caring, sensitive paragon didn’t sound much like the man the newspapers were so fond of writing about or the one she had spoken to earlier!

‘Roman admires a woman with spirit.’

Roman manages to hide his admiration pretty well. ‘Really…?’ she responded, not sure what else she was supposed to say to this apparently irrelevant comment.

‘And what did my son have to say for himself?’

Beyond threaten to sue the socks off me? ‘Oh, we didn’t really chat,’ she responded lightly.

‘Well, you’ll be able to get reacquainted properly when he arrives. The years have changed him, you know, my dear.’

The turn of phrase struck Scarlet as distinctly odd, but she was so relieved that the older woman appeared resigned that her son was coming to collect her that she didn’t comment on it.

‘Scarlet.’ David appeared at the door. ‘Could I have a word for a moment? Mrs O’Hagan, it’s good to see you looking so much better.’

Now that he said so, Scarlet too saw that the older woman had perked up considerably. ‘I’ll be right back,’ she promised.

Actually she wasn’t right back because David had been informed that Roman O’Hagan was in the building and, as he put it, thought that, ‘a more senior member of staff should be here when he arrives. No reflection on your abilities, Scarlet, but as a sign of respect.’

Scarlet gave him no argument. ‘I think it’s the least he would expect,’ she agreed.

It suited her down to the ground not to be there when the bullying millionaire put in an appearance. If she had to be nice to him she’d choke.

‘I might take that time owing me and nip off now with Sam, unless you want me to hang around?’

Roman ran his long fingers through the gleaming strands of his dark hair in a gesture of impatience. The same impatience was etched in the strong, symmetrical lines of his darkly handsome face as he looked down at his mother.

‘Yes, it was necessary for me to bring Philip; he is your doctor.’

‘And as I have told him, I fainted, nothing more. You are fussing like an old woman, Roman,’ she told her son scornfully. Graciously she extended her arm for the suited figure to apply a blood-pressure cuff. ‘Normal?’ she asked as the medic removed the stethoscope from his ears.

The doctor nodded. ‘If all my patients were this healthy I’d be out of business,’ he told her cheerfully.

Natalia shot her son a triumphant look. ‘I told you so,’ she murmured complacently.

‘But you will carry out further tests?’ Roman addressed his query to his friend.

‘I could, but—’

‘Do them.’

Natalia gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘This is exactly why I didn’t want them to ring you. You come rushing here when I’m sure you have a million more important things to do.’

‘Several million things, actually,’ Roman corrected, the corners of his wide, sensual mouth lifting in a sarcastic smile. ‘Naturally all much more important than my mother’s health.’

‘Well, I’m glad to see that family is still important to you, Roman.’

One dark brow quirked as, with slightly narrowed eyes, he scanned his mother’s face. Never slow when it came to reading between the lines, he asked, ‘Am I missing something here?’

‘You spoke to Scarlet on the phone, I believe.’

‘Scarlet—the blonde?’

‘She is not blonde. Though I suppose she might have been blonde when you knew her, though women usually go from brunette to blonde, not the other way.’

‘I don’t and didn’t know her.’

‘Well, why did you say she was blonde?’

‘She sounded blonde.’

His mother looked at him blankly. ‘Sounded blonde? Really, Roman, do not insult my intelligence,’ she rebuked coldly.

‘Did she say I knew her?’ He was accustomed to women trying to get to him, but if this one thought she could use his mother to do so she could think again!

‘Relax, Roman. She hardly mentioned you at all, which,’ Natalia added heavily, ‘is hardly surprising,’ his mother reproached. ‘This must have been a very painful experience for her.’

‘Told you I threatened her, did she? Well, she deserved it. How could anyone not have the wit to get medical help?’

Natalia stared at her son for a moment, then appeared to come to a decision. She turned to the doctor. ‘Philip, dear, do you mind? I’ve got something I need to say to Roman.’

The doctor clicked closed his case. ‘Of course, no problem.’

Roman flashed his friend a brief nod. ‘We’ll see you back at the clinic in fifteen minutes.’

Other than give an exasperated click of her tongue, Natalia did not respond to his comments.

‘Is this going to take long, Mother?’ Roman asked as the door closed.

‘Should I have made an appointment?’ Natalia enquired spikily. ‘You may be a very important man, but you might want to remember that you’re running the company because I persuaded your father to retire.’

It had actually been his father’s heart attack that had persuaded him and his equally reluctant brother to put their careers on hold and divide their father’s responsibilities. The injection of fresh blood and new ideas had produced results that had seen the O’Hagan family’s fortunes grow rapidly.

Unfortunately the success had increased, not lessened, the tension between father and sons.

‘I’ll pass on the fact that two minutes ago you were telling me my time was too important to spend it doing anything as frivolous as rushing to my mother’s side.’

‘Don’t change the subject, Roman.’

‘I wouldn’t dare if I knew what it was. Are you going to tell me any time soon what exactly I’ve done?’ Roman drawled. ‘I know all the signs,’ he added grimly. ‘I’ve searched my conscience and nothing immediately springs to mind. I must admit I’m curious.’

Natalia’s eyes flashed as her son gave a smile that was both cynical and charming in equal measure. She didn’t smile back, but instead snatched from his fingers the pen he was idly doodling with and banged it down on the blotter.

‘Don’t do that.’ Her sons had inherited their father’s Irish charm, her own dark Italian looks and, sadly, neither had very many scruples when it came to using either to get what they wanted. Roman had been getting pretty much what he wanted all his life, with one notable exception.

A frown formed between his dark, strongly delineated brows as Roman studied his mother’s face. ‘Has something happened? Dad…?’

Natalia heard the anxiety enter his deep voice, roughening the velvet-smooth tone, and immediately shook her head reassuringly. Eyes trained on his face, she took a deep, shuddering sigh. ‘Scarlet Smith.’ She flung the name like an accusation.

‘The woman with the smart tongue and the bad attitude who is not a blonde. If you want to know anything else you’re going to have to go elsewhere because that about exhausts my knowledge of the woman.’

Natalia searched her son’s face for a moment before her body sagged in relief. ‘You didn’t know, then.’ She sighed. ‘I didn’t think you could have,’ she revealed.

‘Didn’t know and still don’t,’ he inserted drily.

‘She must have changed her name, or maybe she gave you a false name?’

‘Are we back on the not-blonde?’

‘I don’t approve of everything you do, Roman.’

Roman’s expression became stoical as he prepared to endure one of his mother’s lectures on his lifestyle with a modicum of patience—patience he would not have extended to anyone else who chose to criticise him.

‘But I simply couldn’t imagine you abandoning your responsibilities and letting your own son grow up not even knowing who you are.’

CHAPTER THREE

ROMAN, whose hard features had begun to relax into a rueful half-smile at his mother’s initial comments, stiffened as she delivered her killer punchline.

‘Son!’ Pallor crept up under his even olive-toned Latin complexion. ‘If that’s your idea of a joke?’ he grated.

‘I’m hardly likely to joke about such a thing,’ Natalia said. ‘Look, I can see this must have come as a shock to you.’

‘That’s very understanding of you.’ Roman’s irony was wasted on his mother. ‘I don’t have a son and I’ve never met a…’ his forehead creased as he tried to recall the non-blonde’s name ‘…Scarlet Smith?’

‘Yes, lovely girl.’ She glanced across at her son and shook her head.

She watched with some sympathy as her son ground his teeth and stalked stiff-backed across the room, his whole manner screaming anger and frustration. She came up behind him and put her hand on his shoulder. Though she was five eleven in her heels, she had to tilt her head to look him in the face.

‘Be honest, is this so impossible to believe?’

‘Don’t you think I’d know about it if I had a son?’ he suggested, his tone deceptively mild.

Natalia gave a very Latin shrug. ‘Only if the mother chose to tell you, Roman.’

‘And always supposing I did actually make a habit—as you obviously believe—of going around impregnating women. Why the hell wouldn’t she have told me? Why struggle to bring up a child as a single parent?’ A flicker of suspicion crossed his face. ‘Or is she married?’

‘You sleep with married women?’

Roman’s head went back as he looked heavenwards, sending the dark hair he wore a little longer than was conventional against the collar of his pale shirt. ‘No, I do not sleep with married women,’ he replied between clenched white teeth.

‘Never?’

A hissing sound of seething frustration escaped through Roman’s teeth as his mother continued to look at him with an expression of disappointment.

‘Not knowingly.’

‘Ignorance is no defence in law, or so I’ve always understood. I accept you didn’t know you had a child. Now you do. What are you going to do about it?’ she challenged.

‘For the last time, I do not have a child!’

Natalia gave an inflammatory sigh. ‘Denial isn’t going to get us anywhere.’

‘I’m not in denial,’ Roman thundered.

‘Yes, you are, and there’s no need to raise your voice, Roman, I’m not deaf.’

The bitterness died from his face as he saw the unexpected sparkle of tears in his mother’s eyes. ‘Sit down,’ he insisted, his concern coming across as impatience.

‘It must have been some story this woman spun you.’ Roman’s facial muscles tightened. ‘You can normally spot a phoney a mile off. Didn’t it strike you as odd that she told you, not me?’

‘She didn’t tell me anything at all. I gave her every opportunity, but in fact Scarlet pretended not to know you.’

A flicker of incomprehension crossed Roman’s face. ‘Then what the hell is this about?’

‘I’ve seen the child, Roman, and he is you at the same age.’

Roman looked at her for a moment, his dark brows raised, before releasing an incredulous laugh.

‘This isn’t funny, Roman,’ she reproached.

‘No, it’s not funny to see you so upset,’ he agreed sombrely as he hunkered down beside his mother’s chair. ‘All right, this kid looks like I did,’ he acceded lightly. ‘But I don’t know any Scarlet Smith, the only time I’ve spoken to her was on the phone, I promise you, and I never forget a name.’

His mother nodded. ‘People change in four years. You have,’ she added, a tinge of sadness in her eyes.

‘Scarlet must have changed her name so that you couldn’t find her, that would explain you not recognising her name.’

‘That would seem a tad excessive, considering I wasn’t looking for her.’

‘Don’t be flippant,’ Natalia snapped.

‘I know you’d like to be a grandmother, but I’m not going to pretend I’ve fathered a kid to oblige you.’

‘You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen the boy, Roman.’

‘Do you think I wouldn’t remember the name of a woman I slept with?’ he demanded.

‘If it was four years ago I’d say you could have some problem. There were a lot of women. I know I shouldn’t have brought it up…but…’

‘You’re going to anyway.’ Roman’s expression was resigned.

‘It’s not a subject I enjoy discussing.’

‘That makes two of us.’

Being deserted by your childhood sweetheart after the invitations for the wedding had been sent out was not an experience he particularly cared to relive on a regular basis, and that was what his mother was trying to remind him of now.

Making a total fool of himself was something a man was allowed to do once in his life. When he made marriage plans the next time his decision would not be based on a blind infatuation and starry-eyed fantasies of a happy-ever-after existence.

A marriage based on a mutual respect where neither partner would feel wounded or outraged if the other sought excitement outside the marriage bed was one that would stand a much better chance of survival in the long run.

Natalia determinedly ignored the dry rejoinder. ‘What I’m saying is it’s not as if you’ve never had a one-night stand.’

‘Can we leave my sex life out of this? I can hardly be surprised strangers believe what they read about me in the tabloids when my own mother does. You’re accusing me of indiscriminately fathering children! Do you really think I’m that stupid?’ he demanded.

‘Just go and see the boy, then you’ll understand, Roman. That’s all I’m asking you to do. Are you trying to tell me that it wouldn’t bother you never to know your own son?’

‘I don’t have a son.’

‘One hundred per cent sure?’

Roman’s broad shoulders lifted; playing along was clearly the only way he was going to put an end to this once and for all. He gave a sigh. ‘So where will I find the mother of my child?’

‘Can’t you see him?’

‘Mr O’Hagan asked expressly to see you.’

‘I really didn’t do much.’

‘Just what I said…’ Dragging his attention from the text message he was reading David added smoothly, ‘I told him that we work as a team here, but it seems your name must have stuck in his mother’s mind and of course you spoke to him on the phone.’

‘That must be it,’ Scarlet agreed drily. Oh, God, it would be just her luck if the man had decided to follow up his complaint officially, but if he had there wasn’t any reason he couldn’t have mentioned it to David straight off.

‘It’s a very nice gesture.’

‘Men like Roman O’Hagan don’t make nice gestures unless there’s something in it for them,’ she responded cynically.

‘And you number how many multimillionaires amongst your circle?’

‘I don’t, but Abby knew a few.’ At least Abby’s circle of friends had aspired to the millionaire lifestyle, though, as her sister had explained, not all had had the means to support it.

She saw the flicker of sympathy her bitter remark brought to David’s face and added quickly, ‘The problem is we’re so short-staffed with this flu epidemic. I could do without gestures, kind or otherwise.’

‘The longer you spend arguing with me…God, Scarlet, what are you wearing?’

David had been her honorary uncle since she was tiny. Scarlet was always scrupulous about not trading on the family friend thing, but unfortunately David didn’t feel similarly inhibited when it came to passing the sort of personal comments he wouldn’t get away with with other staff members.

‘Borrowed. A baby threw up all over me.’

‘Goes with the territory, I would imagine,’ came the bracing observation. ‘And you were the one who insisted on leaving an indecently well-paid job in the City to work with children,’ he reminded her.

‘Days like this make me wonder why.’

‘No, you don’t, you love every minute of it. I don’t know why, but you do.’

Scarlet conceded his point with a grin. ‘I suppose asking him to come back another day is out of the question?’ David looked at her over his metal-rimmed half moon spectacles as though she’d lost her mind.

‘Come back another day?’

Scarlet shrugged. ‘I thought I’d ask.’ She caught sight of her reflection in the full-length window. ‘God,’ she cried, wincing, ‘I can’t see him looking like a bag lady.’

‘I’ve seen you looking better, but he’s not here to ask you for a date, Scarlet, so I really don’t see the problem here.’

‘I’m representing the university,’ she said weakly.

‘If you’d been a member of the academic staff I could see your point,’ David responded, treating her suggestion seriously.

‘How lucky that I’m only a nursery nurse,’ she said deadpan.

‘Exactly, and look on the bright side, he’s not going to think you made any special efforts for him which should suit your egalitarian principles down to the ground.’

‘Very funny,’ Scarlet muttered.

‘Now, the sooner you go get your shoulder patted, the sooner you get back to help the troops out.’

With a shrug she admitted defeat.

‘Mr O’Hagan is in my office.’ David turned in the opposite direction.

‘Aren’t you coming too?’ Scarlet protested with a frown.

‘I have an important meeting. Has it occurred to you you might actually like the man?’

‘No.’

‘Then pretend.’ It was not a request.

‘Mr O’Hagan, can I have your autograph,’ she mocked, assuming an expression of brainless adoration.

‘See, you can do it when you try,’ David approved, banging her on the shoulder. ‘Now off you go and remember he’s a very important friend to this university, Scarlet.’

Scarlet nodded meekly. ‘I’ll be very nice to him.’

It didn’t seem a too extravagant promise to make, considering it shouldn’t take Roman O’Hagan long to go through the motions of thanking her—at least she hoped not!

CHAPTER FOUR

ROMAN glanced at his watch, his eyes slightly narrowed. If he could get the Scarlet Smith thing sorted before lunch he could fly back out to Dublin and join Alice, who was already there.

That was the best scenario, but if things did run over he didn’t begrudge the time, not if the end result made his mother happy. Not as happy as being a grandmother would, but his sense of filial duty had limits.

It did not cross his mind for one second that his mother was correct. There was no possibility he had fathered a child. He had been many things in his life, but careless was not one of them.

Not a man given to moody introspection he turned his mind to the pivotal meeting in Dublin later that evening.

Scarlet tapped on the door half hoping that nobody would reply to her timid knock. Nobody did, but the door, already half ajar, swung open. The man revealed standing there, running a long brown finger down the spine of a leather-bound book, seemed oblivious to her presence.

She cleared her throat and his head turned. Dark lashes lifted to reveal eyes that were one shade short of pitch-black and flecked with tiny golden lights. Scarlet’s eyes slid away from the most piercing regard she had ever encountered.

She gulped as her heart made a concerted effort to escape the confines of her chest.

In profile he was perfect; an overused term but more than justified on this occasion. Face on, only a purist would have claimed the fine scar that ran from one razor-sharp cheekbone to just below his eye marred the effect.

Scarlet wasn’t that purist!

Roman’s immediate thought as he stared at the diminutive brown-haired figure hovering uncertainly in the doorway was, there must be some mistake. Realistically, he hadn’t actually been expecting some blonde goddess with endless legs, but this?

The indentation between his eyebrows deepened, the woman he had spoken to on the phone had come across as gutsy and unafraid to speak her mind, not to mention bloody-minded, but this woman looked scared of her own shadow! She couldn’t even meet his eyes!

He experienced an unexpected pang of disappointment.

‘Mr O’Hagan…?’ Scarlet repeated when he didn’t respond.

Great, I’ve struck him dumb, but not with my ravishing beauty!

‘Mr O’Hagan, I understand you wanted to speak to me?’

The voice emerging from the slight frame was right, unexpectedly deep and husky with a sexy little rasp, but everything else was wrong, including the scared way she was not quite looking him in the eye and the tongue-tied routine.

Nice voice, shame about everything else.

‘Miss Smith?’

Scarlet nodded, and resisted the aggravating impulse to apologise for her appearance.

‘Why don’t you come in and sit down?’

‘I’m fine here.’

He looked at her impatiently. ‘I don’t bite.’

She flushed at the satirical note in his voice and realised she must look an idiot standing there as if she was ready to run. Straightening her shoulders, Scarlet overcame the strange reluctance she was experiencing to close the door.

She’d been in the room before and it wasn’t exactly cramped—her own office would have fitted in it ten times over—but she was experiencing an almost claustrophobic sensation that involved a tightening in the pit of her stomach and an overwhelming desire to turn and run.

The man was here to say thank you, not interrogate her, or even sue her, unless his mother had suffered a relapse? He didn’t give a damn what she looked like, so why the sudden panic attack? She didn’t subscribe to the populist celebrity culture and was not overawed or impressed just because someone had fame and money. She was neither shy nor lacking in confidence so her irrational nervousness on this occasion annoyed her.

‘So, we meet at last.’

Head down, she nodded.

His mother had thought he had slept with this woman?

He repressed a fastidious wince as he checked out the fashion black spot she represented.

He knew women who could look good in the proverbial sack, but this woman wasn’t one of that number. That tunic checked shirt thing almost reached her knees, but at least it covered most of the appalling, baggy track-suit joggers she had teamed it with. There was nothing intrinsically dreadful about the sensible flat leather shoes that completed the ensemble, but they didn’t do anything to disguise the fact she was small and shapeless.

Who knew what lurked under the androgynous outfit? He, for one, felt no compelling urge to find out. Though he would have liked to bin the outrageously unattractive glasses she wore, which concealed most of her features, simply on the grounds that they were criminally ugly.

Scarlet stood there miserably while his veiled gaze moved over her. He was suitably enigmatic, but not enigmatic enough to prevent Scarlet getting the impression she hadn’t lived up to the billing his mother had given her.

She gave a mental shrug…ah, well, she could live with that!

Standing next to him, even if she had been looking her best, she would have felt plain and unkempt. Six feet four inches, give or take an inch, of spectacular male perfection. He more than lived up to his billing. Unbelievably he was even better looking in the flesh than in print!

She responded on two levels to this discovery. On the one hand she was disappointed at being robbed of the opportunity to confide derisively to her friends, It’s all airbrushing, you know, he’s not nearly as attractive as he looks in the magazines!

On the other level she responded as any woman would being faced with the most sinfully sexy man she had ever seen—or even imagined seeing!

‘Miss Scarlet Smith?’ Smith was a common name; maybe this was the wrong one? She had the awkward slightly bemused manner of someone who had walked into the wrong office. ‘You do know who I am?’

Didn’t everyone? Her lowered gaze lifted. Maybe that was his problem; she hadn’t asked for his autograph yet.

‘I’m Scarlet. The vice-chancellor said you wanted to see me, Mr O’Hagan.’

A small derisive smile formed on her wide and expressive mouth; after their conversation she wasn’t surprised to discover he was the type who thrived on public recognition and got irritated when he didn’t receive it.

Well, promise to David or not, Mr. O’Hagan was about to learn she was not one of that creepy boot-licking number!

Her lips parted to ask if he wouldn’t mind keeping it brief when his dark eyes locked onto her own.

Scarlet breathed in sharply and promptly forgot what she was going to say. He really did have the most stunning eyes she’d ever seen, deep chocolate-brown, but not like the sweet milk chocolate she adored, but the dark variety that was too bitter for her palate. For a bemused moment she just stared into those dark, mesmerising topaz-flecked depths before pulling clear and closing her mouth with an audible click.

She gave a smile heavy on serene self-possession to correct any impression he might have got that she was a silly, drooling female. The last thing she wanted was to be heaped together with those adoring hordes.

Dating the rich and photogenic Roman O’Hagan had kick-started the career of many a would-be celebrity, and the women who weren’t notorious before they shared the spotlight he lived in definitely were at the end of it!

However, considering her own involuntary fit of the fluttery females, Scarlet was now willing to consider that there might have been a few takers whose motives hadn’t been purely mercenary.

Maybe it was the dark, smouldering thing, she mused, because, despite his mixed ancestry, Roman O’Hagan’s features, colouring and innate elegance were very much that of the Latin male, as was the devastating raw masculinity he projected.

The clothes helped, of course, she decided scornfully as she put a mental price tag on the pale grey impeccably tailored grey suit he wore teamed with a black silky polo shirt open at the neck. Italian men were notoriously vain and she doubted this one could pass a reflective surface without checking himself out. The catty postscript made her feel better about being unable to find a flaw in his tall, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped athletic frame.

Power, money and a good suit—maybe she wasn’t so different from everyone else easily impressed by the trappings of privilege…?

The suit or the man inside it? It’s not his position on the social register that’s got you hot!

Turning a deaf ear to the debate going on in her head, Scarlet turned her thoughts to her more immediate problem. After a moment’s further deliberation she decided against shaking hands; if he didn’t accept her hand she was going to look pretty silly and nothing about him suggested he would welcome the gesture.

She decided it would be best all round if she hurried proceedings along.

‘How is Mrs O’Hagan?’ Scarlet found it a relief to be able to sound genuinely sincere about something. ‘Is she feeling better? She’s not had a relapse or anything?’

‘She is very much better, thank you, and I’m not contemplating any immediate legal action.’

‘That’s just as well because I’ve got no assets for you to strip.’ You only had to look at the man to see his business tactics were every bit as unscrupulous as his rivals suggested.

A flicker of renewed interest appeared in Roman’s deep-set eyes. Now that, he decided, sounded much more like the girl he had spoken to on the phone.

‘You take an interest in business? I got my MBA from Harvard; where did you get yours?’

‘The London School of Economics,’ she responded automatically.

Her reply might not have wiped the supercilious smirk off his face, but at least she had the pleasure of seeing him look mildly taken aback.

‘You’re trying to tell me that you’ve got a Masters in Business Administration?’

He had one of those perfectly straight patrician noses that had been specifically designed to sneer down at lesser mortals. Scarlet would dearly have liked to punch it. Physical violence not being an option, she had to fall back on giving as good as she got in the sarcasm stakes.

‘Actually I have, but it’s not the sort of thing I’d normally drop into the conversation, because it might sound a bit pretentious.’ She widened her eyes and adopted an expression of kittenish innocence. ‘Don’t you think?’ she appealed to him. ‘And,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘that sort of showing off might lead people to think I had a self-esteem issue.’

The stunned look in his eyes gave her a moment’s intense, gleeful satisfaction.

‘I doubt anyone is going to think you have a self-esteem issue,’ Roman mused after a moment of startled, static silence. Whatever the hunched-shoulder stuff had been about, it had not been a confidence issue; her present manner made that obvious.

She inclined her head and smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she said, even though she was well aware his comment hadn’t been meant as a compliment.

‘Perhaps I didn’t get this right. I thought you worked in the nursery?’

‘I’m a nursery nurse,’ she agreed with pride.

‘Aren’t you a little overqualified for the job?’

He stopped short of calling her a liar, but she could hear the amused scepticism in his voice. It was only by exerting superhuman restraint that Scarlet stopped herself supplying the names of referees who could confirm her qualifications and tell him how good she had been at her job.

‘Actually I was under-qualified,’ she explained calmly. ‘I retrained. I was looking for job satisfaction.’

‘Good for you!’ he applauded with teeth-clenching insincerity. ‘I’ve always said there’s no shame in admitting you can’t hack it.’

Scarlet’s cheek muscles ached from maintaining a fixed smile. ‘You have no idea how much I value your opinion.’

‘I’m beginning to get a pretty good idea,’ he returned drily. ‘I believe you were very kind to my mother.’

‘She’s easy to be nice to; she’s nice…’ Scarlet literally bit her tongue to stop the flow of insults.

One perfectly symmetrical brow dark against his even-toned golden skin lifted to a politely interrogative angle.

‘A very nice woman indeed,’ Scarlet mumbled indistinctly.

She’d promised David—gosh, that seemed a lifetime ago now, not a few minutes—that she’d be on her best behaviour. Cutting the wretched man down to size was a self-indulgence she simply couldn’t afford. It was also something she might not be capable of, she conceded.

Scarlet paused for a moment to consider her reckless behaviour objectively. The exercise gave rise to deep concern as she identified a worrying development, the adrenaline rush, the toe curling excitement she got from trading insults with him had a bizarrely addictive quality.

‘She was full of praise for you.’

‘She’s kind; I hardly did anything,’ she replied with suitable modesty, and for the second time that morning she had no argument. ‘Not even call for an ambulance.’ You just couldn’t leave well alone, could you, Scarlet?

‘Well, the best of us panic in a situation like that.’

‘That’s extremely understanding of you, but—’

‘Yes, it is nice of me, isn’t it? My assistant is worried I’ll make you cry.’

‘But,’ she added, sending him a glare of simmering dislike, ‘I didn’t panic!’ Scarlet announced, her chin lifting. ‘Cry…?’ she added as his last comment sank in. ‘I’m not going to cry!’ she said, sounding insulted by the suggestion.

‘I’m extremely relieved to hear it.’ His dark head tilted a little to one side as he examined her flushed, indignant face. ‘So you think you made the right call, then, and you’re prepared to defend your action, or rather lack of it?’

‘Of course I didn’t make the right call,’ she surprised him by conceding with a grimace.

‘But,’ she added quickly, ‘that wasn’t because I panicked, it was because I took notice of—’ She stopped abruptly, not wanting him to run away with the idea she was trying to pass the blame to someone else. ‘Is this an official complaint? Because if it is I don’t think you should be talking to me.’

‘It isn’t a complaint, official or otherwise, unless you particularly want it to be.’

Scarlet’s jaw tightened at the blatant sarcasm in his voice. ‘Then you came to apologise for being so rude to me?’ she suggested innocently.

The hooded lids lowered in a lazy fashion but there was nothing remotely lazy about the spark in his eyes. ‘Pushing it.’

Scarlet conceded this lightest of warning with a shrug and rubbed the goose-bumps that had broken out over her forearms. When his voice dropped to a husky murmur that way it had an almost tactile quality.

She had the distinct impression that he wouldn’t have minded it if she had ignored him. Roman O’Hagan was coming across as a man who enjoyed a fight and enjoyed winning even more. She could see why he didn’t lose often, his dark eyes contained a gleam in them that suggested he had the intelligence to match his stunning looks.

The idea of pulverising him verbally was still an awfully attractive one, if deeply unrealistic.

‘You made quite an impression on my mother…you and your little daughter…?’ As this was just a matter of going through the motions there didn’t seem to be any need to be overly subtle about introducing the child into the conversation, Roman thought.

‘Son.’

‘Right,’ he drawled.

He couldn’t have sounded less interested. It wouldn’t take much effort to make it a little less obvious he was here under sufferance, Scarlet thought, pursing her lips indignantly. ‘Sam,’ she supplied.

Roman watched her face soften unconsciously as she said the kid’s name and thought, She isn’t actually that bad-looking. His long lashes lowered, half concealing his eyes as he considered her small heart-shaped face—good skin, nice hair; it was a shame about the glasses, and of course the bizarre sense of style.

But he wasn’t here to organise a make-over, he reminded himself. He was here to convince his mother she didn’t have any grandchildren running around the country.

‘My mother was concerned her collapse might have alarmed…Sam.’

‘He didn’t take it personally.’ Her attempt at levity didn’t evoke any response. God, this was heavy going. He had two modes; silent and nastily sarcastic. Clearly scintillating conversational skills were not part of his attraction! But then she already knew that his attraction was much more basic.

Her bland smile became strained as she ran her tongue across her dry lips and swallowed to relieve the nervous occlusion tightening her throat. ‘Tell her he’s fine.’ Oh, God, please let this be over soon.

Her hazel eyes flickered to her wrist-watch. Ten minutes to lunch time, one of the busiest times of the day in the nursery. She shifted her weight restively from one leg to the other and repressed a sigh as she lifted her head.

She flushed lightly as Roman O’Hagan angled his sable brows expressively.

‘Sorry, I should be somewhere else,’ she explained, trying hard to make it sound as if this were something she was sorry about.

‘Am I boring you?’ Women didn’t make a habit of looking at their watches when they were in his company. ‘Or should I have made an appointment?’

The sardonic note in his rich velvet voice brought the colour rushing back to her cheeks.

‘Well, if I’d had a little warning I could have told you that today isn’t very convenient,’ Scarlet agreed bluntly. ‘I realise,’ she added, ‘that my time isn’t as valuable as yours…’ It was the total shock she saw momentarily flicker in his eyes that halted the flow of indiscreet observations.

What’s wrong with me? I told David I’d be nice to him. It’s not like it requires any great skill, just an ability to keep my mouth shut. Getting herself out of this one was going to require some quick thinking, or talking at least.

‘Which, of course, it isn’t. I’m sure an hour of your time would cost me loads, whereas I only get paid…but I don’t suppose you get paid by the hour. And I don’t want an hour of it or even five minutes, though it’s obviously been an enormous thrill to meet you.’ Was that obsequious enough? She lifted a weary hand to her head. Oh, God…! Do I sound as much of a blithering idiot as I feel?

‘I’m delighted you’re thrilled.’

I might die of humiliation, she decided, listening to the amusement in his deep voice.

‘And I’m sorry if this is inconvenient,’ he continued, ‘but the vice-chancellor said there would be no problem.’

‘Well, he would, wouldn’t he? You’re influential and rich and…’ Her scornful observation faded as their glances meshed once again. ‘That is, you’re…sorry.’ She managed to force her lips into a stiff smile. ‘That was rude.’

‘Yes, it was.’ It was hard to tell from his languid agreement if he was annoyed or amused.

David will kill me. She exhaled noisily and ran her hands, palm-flat, over her face in a brisk scrubbing motion.

‘I get the impression you’re having a bad day?’

‘What makes you say that?’ she asked gloomily.

A laugh was drawn from his beautifully tanned throat. Scarlet lifted her face, startled by the deeply attractive sound. He smiled at her, his teeth flashing very white in his dark face. She blinked—for a moment he had reminded her of Sam; the fleeting similarity made her almost feel disposed to think he might not be quite the monster she had imagined.

‘Well, if you carry on like this on a regular basis I can’t imagine they’d carry on paying you that enormous salary you spoke of.’

She let her hands fall away and shook her head. ‘I earn every penny I make. Especially today.’

‘What’s happened to make this a bad day?’

‘You…well, not just you,’ she added with a self-condemnatory grimace. ‘And I don’t mean you personally, it’s just I didn’t like leaving the staff to struggle. I’ve been putting in lots of extra hours this week to cover for sickness.’

‘And what happens if you get sick?’

‘Oh, I never get sick.’

Her solemn conviction struck him as funny. She must have picked up on his amusement because she added defensively. ‘I can’t remember the last time I was ill.’

‘Aren’t you afraid of tempting fate?’

Scarlet suspected he was making fun of her. ‘I’m not superstitious,’ she told him her expression contemptuous.

‘You’ve never pinched spilt salt over your shoulder, or counted magpies in a field, or crossed your fingers for luck?’

She shook her head. ‘Of course not. Don’t you believe me?’

‘I think everyone’s superstitious deep down; it’s human nature.’

This point of view amazed her. ‘You’re superstitious?’ she asked incredulously.

‘My father’s Irish, my mother’s Italian—the odds were stacked.’ His broad shoulders lifted. ‘What choice do I have?’

‘Well, I’m not superstitious, but I am really glad that your mother is better.’

‘But you’ve somewhere else you need to be,’ he completed smoothly.

It would be overstating it to call the glint in his eyes annoyance, but…! She probably was making the fact she couldn’t stick being in his company a bit obvious.

‘That’s very understanding of you, Mr O’Hagan.’

‘Perhaps we could continue our discussion over lunch?’

Scarlet heard his voice through a faint buzz in her ears as she tried to contemplate what he’d just said.

‘Lunch…?’ she parroted vaguely.

Best to look on this as a reflex—her hormones had gone into primitive autopilot mode and were acting independently of her brain. Hence the weakness in her legs, the warm heat thrumming through her body and the painful spasms knotting her stomach. He was an attractive man, end of story, no need to complicate it further.

‘Bring your son, by all means.’

‘Discussion?’ There seemed to be a time delay in her ability to translate what he was saying. ‘We weren’t having a discussion.’ Her straight brows arranged themselves in an interrogative line. ‘Lunch!’

There’s no such thing as a free lunch!

‘Good God, no!’

His eyes widened fractionally, but other than that nothing in his manner revealed his reaction to her response. It wasn’t that he was conceited, but a lifetime of being pursued and flattered by women had left Roman ill prepared to have an invitation of lunch rejected in an attitude of blatant revulsion.

‘Well, I know where to come if I need my ego deflated.’

Belatedly Scarlet recalled her promise to David. She tried to soften her blunt reply.

‘That is…it’s very kind of you to offer,’ she added, even though every instinct told her this was not a man predisposed to be kind.

She just stopped herself lifting her hand, which would have drawn attention to her face, which felt as though it were on fire. This was a man who never did anything without a reason. Which left the question, why had he asked her to lunch? Did he have some elaborate punishment in mind because she had answered back to him on the phone?

‘Like I said the flu epidemic has left us very short-staffed today.’

‘But otherwise you’d have been delighted to come?’

In face of this sardonic observation it took all of Scarlet’s will-power to conceal her feelings behind a blank expression.

What were her feelings? In one word—shallow; this was biology at its most basic. She knew what lust felt like, and never had it been less welcome or so extreme, but when you came right down to it she really shouldn’t have been letting it get to her this way. There was absolutely no need to stress; it wasn’t as if she’d never felt sexual attraction before. She knew about the tightening in her stomach and the rest; it was a biological response—like sneezing.

She took a deep breath and was conscious of the fabric of her borrowed top chafing against her erect nipples; lower, the tell-tale liquid heat was even more of a give-away. Sneezing? Maybe not the best analogy.

She saw a smile touch his sensual lips. To her horrified eyes it held a knowing quality that suggested she wasn’t hiding anything from him; she felt a flare of anger—her condition was entirely his doing.

‘If you’ll excuse me, I have to go,’ she told him abruptly.

‘Rain check?’

She looked at him blankly. If he thought she was strange and peculiar, that was fine, because she was. Being attracted, even in a blind, mindless way, to a man like this could quite safely be categorised as peculiar…also wantonly stupid and brainless!

‘Fine, whatever…’ she mumbled, before virtually throwing herself through the door in her haste to remove herself from the room.

She literally bumped into David about thirty seconds after she had emerged from his office. She suspected he had been lurking there waiting for her to appear.

‘Steady, you’re in a hurry,’ he said, placing his hands on her shoulders to steady her. ‘You came around that corner like you had the hounds of hell on your heels.’

After what she had just endured the hounds of hell would be child’s play.

‘The girls will be missing me. I promised I’d be back to help with the lunches.’

David’s right hand remained on her shoulder. ‘How did it go?’

‘What…? Oh, with Mr O’Hagan? Fine, absolutely fine.’

David looked at her face and groaned. ‘Oh, God, you’re such a terrible liar, you always were. What did you do?’

‘I didn’t do anything.’

‘But you said something.’

Scarlet’s expression grew defensive. ‘Of course I said something. I may not warm to womanising playboys—’ annoyingly this was something that was hard to say without sounding, not only prejudiced, but distressingly intolerant ‘—but I’m not a total idiot.’ Actually the jury was still out on that one.

‘Well, this particular womanising playboy finds time in his schedule to run a highly successful international company.’ He looked into her stubborn face and sighed. ‘Would it hurt you to be nice to the man, Scarlet?’

‘How nice would that be? Will treating everything he says as a pearl of wisdom do, or did you want me to sleep with him?’

‘Do you have to be facetious, Scarlet?’ David demanded, allowing his aggravation with her to surface.

‘It’s easier than—’

‘Easier than what, Scarlet?’

Good question. ‘He’s not an easy man.’

‘I found him perfectly affable, but, easy or not, Scarlet, he is funding a number of bursaries to help students from less-well-off backgrounds.’

The seconds ticked by while Scarlet stood staring at him with her mouth slightly ajar. Finally she gulped and took a deep breath.

‘You’re kidding!’ Her grin faded as no corresponding smile appeared on David’s face. ‘Oh, God, I feel such a…’

‘Narrow-minded, judgemental?’

‘Amongst other things,’ she admitted miserably.

David shook his head. ‘I don’t know why you have a problem accepting the man is capable of acting altruistically?’

Scarlet did. It wasn’t the man; it was the type of person he represented.

She had no problem seeing past an unattractive face, and she didn’t judge anyone by their accent, their bank balance or the car they drove, but when it came to people who lived their lives being seen in the right places wearing the right clothes and with the right people she came over with terminal intolerance. She knew it and wasn’t proud of it, but she couldn’t help it.

Scarlet knew about people like that. Her sister had been a member of their very exclusive club, and how many of them had visited when Abby had been ill in hospital, losing her hair after intensive chemo? Abby’s friends had had more important things to do, when she had contacted the names in her sister’s address book and explained the situation and told them how much it would cheer her sister up to see a friendly face.

A few had made vague promises, but in the end not a single one of those good friends had turned up to show support, she recalled bitterly. When the going got tough, the Roman O’Hagans of this world disappeared in their fast cars.

‘I’m not kidding. This is not common knowledge,’ David added, laying a warning finger to his lips and looking as though he was regretting sharing the confidential information with her. ‘Mr O’Hagan was most insistent on his name not being made public.’ David gave a wry smile as he thought of all the name plaques he had unveiled in his career. ‘Which makes him unique in my experience,’

‘Really!’ she exclaimed, unable to stop the bitchy retort. ‘I’d have thought he’d be used to it! Well, he’s not exactly publicity shy, is he?’ she added defensively. It seemed pretty perverse to Scarlet that someone who lived his life in the glare of publicity would be bothered about his altruism being made public. ‘Maybe it’s a tax thing?’

She realised that, far from agreeing with her, David was looking annoyed, and added with as much conviction as she could muster, ‘Or maybe he’s a very modest, generous man.’