The Italian's One-Night Baby Page 2

  *

  Two days later, Ellie walked down the stairs of the small rural hotel she had chosen and was shown out to a delightful three-sided patio, which was festooned with flowers and overlooked a rolling section of the green, vine-covered Tuscan landscape. She breathed in the fresh air with a smile of pure pleasure and relaxed for the first time in many weeks.

  Tomorrow she had an appointment to meet Beppe Sorrentino at his home, but today she was free to explore her surroundings and that lack of an actual to-do list was an unadulterated luxury. She settled down at her solo table, smoothing down the light cotton skirt and top she wore in mint green, only momentarily thinking that the uneven handkerchief hems Polly loved were very impractical. Fashion isn’t about practicality, she could hear her sister telling her squarely, and she smiled fondly as a brimming cup of cappuccino coffee arrived along with a basket of pastries.

  Ellie powered through her usual work schedule on snatched coffee pick-me-ups and the fresh cappuccino was glorious, as was the croissant, which melted in her appreciative mouth. Indeed it was as she was brushing tiny flakes of pastry from her lips that a tall, dark silhouette blotted out her wonderful view. She blinked behind her sunglasses, supposing it was too much to have hoped that she would be allowed to have the patio and the view all to herself. After all, it was a very small hotel but still a hotel and naturally there would be other guests.

  A liquid burst of Italian greeted the new arrival, whom Ellie could not yet see because of the sunlight. The waiter seemed to be falling over himself in his eagerness to greet the man, which probably meant he was a regular or a local, she thought idly. He responded in equally fast and fluent Italian and there was something about that voice, that dark chocolate honeyed drawl, that struck a dauntingly familiar note with Ellie and she paled, dismissing that jolt of familiarity with brisk common sense. After all, it couldn’t be the same man, simply couldn’t be! He lived in the city of Florence and she was miles outside the city, staying in a village hotel convenient to Beppe Sorrentino’s home. No, it absolutely couldn’t be the male who had totally destroyed her enjoyment of her sister’s wedding festivities and left her filled with self-loathing and regret. Even fate couldn’t be cruel enough to sentence her to a second meeting with Rio Benedetti, her worst nightmare cloaked in male flesh.

  ‘Buongiorno, Ellie…’ Rio murmured silkily as he yanked out the vacant chair at her table and sat down.

  Shock, mortification and anger seized Ellie all at once. ‘What the heck are you doing here?’ she demanded baldly before she could think better of such revealing aggression.

  Rio Benedetti angled his handsome dark head back, his dazzling dark golden eyes veiled by his ridiculously long black lashes. He had blue-black hair that he wore cropped short but the strands still revealed a striking tendency to curl, which gave him a tousled, sexy aspect. He had beautiful eyes, a lean straight nose and bone structure that belonged in an oil painting of a dark angel. He smiled back at her in complete silence.

  That fast, Ellie wanted to slap Rio all over again and tell him what she thought of him even though she had already done that two years earlier. He was gorgeous and he knew it, a hanging offence in her list of the attributes of a decent man. In reality she had never met such a stunningly good-looking male as Rio and when she had, she had caved as fast as a brick shed built on sand foundations, she recalled with an inner shudder of revulsion.

  Why? she still asked herself occasionally, because that kind of impulsive recklessness was not Ellie, not her way with men, not her style, nor even how she was prepared to behave. Unfortunately she hadn’t counted on meeting a Rio Benedetti blessed with such extreme magnetism, intelligence and charm. At least that was how she had excused herself for having very nearly succumbed to a one-night stand that had no prospect of any future but she was still ashamed of her misjudgement, still unable to forget that awful moment when that hotel bedroom door opened and she saw what was already waiting on his bed for him…

  Rio didn’t want to smile. He didn’t want to fake it, he wanted to glower at her, and he hadn’t planned to sit down either. No, standing over her, intimidating her with his much greater height had been his intention. But then he had seen her and all bets were suddenly off. Watching the tip of that little pink tongue chase stray flakes of pastry from her full pink lips had been more than his libido could bear. And his libido rode him like a runaway express train around Ellie Dixon, his arousal enforcing the necessity of sitting down to conceal his condition. What was he? An uncontrollably horny fifteen-year-old again? Dark colour lined his hard cheekbones. Regardless of the fact that he disliked and distrusted Ellie, she was a real beauty with skin as translucent as creamy porcelain, luminous eyes as green as any emerald and a wealth of tumbling Titian curls. Although smaller than average height, she had stupendous sexy curves matched with a tiny waist. Her proportions were truly breathtaking.

  Rio had been sexually entranced with Ellie Dixon from the instant he’d laid eyes on her and when he had been rejected for the first time in his adult life the bite of that experience had stayed with him. Ellie had returned to his hotel with him the night of her sister’s wedding but, on the very brink of intimacy, it had all gone wrong. In departing, Ellie had slapped him and insulted him. Rio gritted his teeth at the recollection of that experience. Far too many people had treated Rio with contempt when he was younger for him to easily overlook that kind of slur.

  ‘What do you think I’m doing here?’ Rio enquired smoothly, turning her own question back on her.

  Ellie shrugged a shoulder and concentrated on her cappuccino. She didn’t even want to speak to him but could she be that rude? After all, he was her brother-in-law’s best friend and she liked Polly’s husband. ‘Did Rashad tell you I was going to be here and ask you to check up on me?’ she asked abruptly, thinking that that was just the sort of protective thing Rashad would do, believing that he was doing her a favour when she was staying in an unfamiliar place.

  ‘No. I don’t think Rashad knows you’re in Italy,’ Rio admitted.

  ‘So, I don’t need to be polite, then,’ Ellie assumed with satisfaction, reaching out for another pastry.

  A sizzling smile slashed Rio’s wide, sensual mouth. ‘No, neither of us need be polite.’

  That smile of his engulfed Ellie like a blast of sun on a wintry day and she wanted to turn into it and smile back in reward. Suppressing that reaction took the exercising of several seconds of strained self-control. But Rio had still won in one sense because although she didn’t return the smile her whole body was reacting to him in the most unnerving manner. Her teeth gritted as she recognised the stinging tightness of her nipples and the warm liquid feeling between her thighs. He could tempt her wretched hormones with just a glance and she hated him for having that much power over her treacherous body. Had she no pride? And after what he had done to her, had he not a single honourable streak in his character?

  ‘So, if we don’t need to be polite…’ Ellie hesitated only for a second before giving him a very honest response. ‘Go away, Rio.’

  A very faint stab of bewilderment penetrated Rio’s sharp-as-a-tack brain. He had decided in the absence of any other evidence that Ellie had most probably dreamt up some vague link between her late mother and his godfather purely to gain fresh access to him. And either she was now playing ridiculously hard to get in the hope of stoking his interest…or, he was actually nothing whatsoever to do with her reasons for visiting Tuscany.

  ‘I don’t believe in coincidences,’ Rio asserted, his sculpted lips compressing as his coffee arrived along with the hotel owner, who lingered to exchange greetings both with Rio and Ellie.

  ‘I don’t believe in coincidences either,’ Ellie told Rio with a freezing smile once they were alone again. ‘I mean, it was bad enough meeting you at Polly’s wedding…but this—this is overkill of the worst kind—’

  ‘Is it really?’ Rio was fearful of getting frostbite from that smile, marvelling that Ellie could dare to t
reat him with such disdain, and his strong and aggressive jawline clenched hard.

  ‘Yes, I do appreciate that this is your home country but I can’t believe we’re running into each other again…accidentally,’ she admitted.

  ‘And you would be correct. My presence here is no accident,’ Rio confirmed softly as he sipped his espresso, contriving to look relaxed.

  But Ellie knew he wasn’t relaxed. Rio had certain tells. She had picked up on them at Polly’s wedding. His eyes were veiled, his jawline tight, his fingers too braced round the tiny cup he held. Rio was tense, very tense, and she wondered why and then she wondered why she would even care. He was the man whore she had almost slept with, and she was very grateful that she had found him out for what he was before she shared a bed with him. Having carefully ensured that she’d never visited Dharia when he was also visiting, there was no reason for her to waste further words or time on him.

  ‘So, why are you calling on me? And how did you know where I was staying?’

  ‘I want to know what you’re doing here in Tuscany,’ Rio informed her flatly without answering her questions.

  ‘I’m on holiday,’ Ellie told him with a roll of her fine eyes.

  ‘I don’t think that is the complete truth, Ellie,’ Rio scoffed with a sardonic smile.

  ‘Well, it’s the only truth you’re likely to get out of me,’ Ellie responded as she stood up, her fine-boned features stiff with restraint and annoyance. ‘It’s not as though we’re friends.’

  Rio sprang upright with fluid grace. At her sister’s wedding, his grace of movement had been one of the first things she’d noticed about him: he stalked like an animal on the hunt, all power and strength and purpose. ‘Would you like to be friends?’ he asked lethally.

  Ellie stiffened where she stood, quick to pick up on the husky erotic note edging his enquiry. ‘No. I’m very choosy about the men I call friends,’ she declared with deliberate cool, not caring whether Rio assumed that she meant friends with benefits or not.

  Heat flared like a storm warning in Rio’s dark golden eyes. ‘You chose me in Dharia,’ he reminded her with satisfaction.

  Ellie’s hand tingled as she remembered slapping him hard that night. It occurred to her that a fist would have been better and less forgettable on his terms. She was outraged that he could remind her of that night when in her opinion, had he had any morals at all, he should’ve been thoroughly ashamed of how their short-lived flirtation had ended. But then Rio Benedetti was a shameless sort of guy, arrogant and selfish and promiscuous. That he should also be as hot as hellfire enraged her sense of justice.

  ‘But I wouldn’t touch you even with gloves on now,’ Ellie traded without skipping a beat and, turning on her heel, she walked back into the hotel.

  ‘Ellie… We will have this conversation whether you like it or not,’ Rio ground out with a low-pitched derision that nonetheless cut through the sunlit silence like a knife. ‘Walking away won’t save you from it.’

  ‘And you coming over all caveman and beating your chest won’t get you anywhere,’ Ellie murmured cuttingly over a slim shoulder. ‘I’ve never been one of those women whose heart beats a little faster when a man turns domineering.’

  ‘But then you hadn’t met me,’ Rio imparted in a raw undertone.

  ‘And once met, never forgotten,’ Ellie traded, saccharine sweet laced with acid. ‘I live and learn, Rio… Don’t you?’

  With that final scornful comment, Ellie vanished into the cool gloom of the hotel. Rio wanted to smash something, break something, shout. It reminded him that that was yet another trait he loathed in his quarry. She got under his skin, set his teeth on edge, made him feel violent. And that wasn’t him, had never been him around women, where he was usually the essence of complete cool and sophistication in his approach. At the same time Ellie sent disturbing cascades of sexual imagery tumbling through his brain. He would picture Ellie in his bed, all spread out and satisfied, Ellie on her knees, Ellie across the bonnet of his favourite sports car. Troppa fantasia…too much imagination, again a trait that only she awakened, and annoying. After all, he wasn’t sex-starved, anything but. Possibly he had become a little bored with easily available women, who clung and flattered and pawed him like a trophy to be shown off, he reasoned impatiently.

  But he didn’t want Ellie Dixon except in the most basic male way and he had no intention of doing anything about the effect she had on him. And she might live and learn but she had still to learn that he didn’t let anyone walk away from him before he had finished speaking. Without further hesitation, Rio strode indoors.

  Ellie closed the door of her room behind her and leant back against it in a panic that nobody who knew her would ever have credited. Her heart was racing and she was sweating. She straightened her slim shoulders and stomped into the en-suite to wash her hands and put herself back into her usual calm, collected state of mind. She did not allow men to rattle her. She had never allowed men to rattle her.

  But two years back, Rio Benedetti had pierced her shell and hurt her, she acknowledged grudgingly. He had contrived what no man before him had contrived and she had almost made a fool of herself over him. Wouldn’t he just love to know that? Ellie grimaced. A man she had known for only a few hours had deprived her of her wits and defences and come close to ridding her of her virginity with her full collusion. And then he had unlocked his bedroom door and she had seen that his hotel bed was already occupied by not one, no, not one but two giggling naked women, twin sisters she had noticed at the wedding. Appalled, she had stepped back.

  And Rio had smirked and laughed as if it was of no consequence that two other women were already waiting to entertain him. Even in retrospect she marvelled that she had slapped him instead of kicking him somewhere unforgivable because she had been devastated by that revealing glimpse of his lifestyle, his habits, his lack of scruple when it came to sex. The rose-tinted glasses had been cruelly wrenched off when she was least able to cope and vulnerable, forced to see with her own eyes how sleazy her chosen partner was. Awash with disgust, she had called him a man whore and stalked away with her head held high, concealing her agonised hurt. And it had been agonised, she conceded painfully. Rio Benedetti had knocked her for six and unravelled her emotionally for months after that night.

  It had been too sordid a story to share with Polly, who would have been even more shocked to the extent that her sister might have discussed Ellie’s experience with Rashad, and Ellie had not been able to bear the prospect of her humiliation being more widely known. At least what had happened had happened more or less in private.

  Someone rapped on her bedroom door and she opened it, expecting it to be the maid because she had said she was going out after breakfast and the room would be free. She didn’t use the peephole and was sharply disconcerted when she realised that Rio had followed her upstairs to her room.

  Fixing her attention doggedly on his red silk tie, she said curtly, ‘I don’t want to speak to you… Leave me alone—’

  ‘No can do, principessa. If only this living and learning life were so simple,’ Rio intoned mockingly.

  ‘Don’t call me that!’ she snapped. ‘And you’re not coming in—’

  A brown lean-fingered hand curved round the door in silent threat and he moved forward but Ellie stood her ground. She had faced drunks in A & E, dealt with drug addicts and violent people, and she wasn’t about to be intimidated by Rio Benedetti.

  ‘I don’t think you want me to say what I have to say out here where I could be overheard,’ Rio murmured sibilantly. ‘It won’t embarrass me—’

  ‘Nothing embarrasses you!’ Ellie snapped with very real loathing.

  ‘It’s about Beppe…Beppe Sorrentino,’ Rio extended, watching her face like a hawk.

  And Ellie surprised herself by stepping back to let him into the room because she absolutely had to know what he had to say on that subject. She knew he didn’t know the mission she was on in Italy and that she wanted to try to establish
her father’s identity. She was convinced that Rashad was far too reserved and protective of his own wife’s privacy to have shared anything but the sketchiest details about Ellie and Polly’s background. But that Rio should even know Beppe’s name disturbed her.

  ‘You can come in for five minutes…five minutes only,’ Ellie negotiated thinly. ‘And then I want you to go away and forget you ever knew me.’

  Rio’s beautiful mouth curled, his whole carriage screaming that he wasn’t convinced by that claim.

  ‘And I warn you… If you smirk, I will slap you again.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘I DO NOT SMIRK,’ Rio retorted very drily.

  ‘Oh, yes, you do… You always look awfully pleased with yourself!’ Ellie snapped back, her nerves all of a quiver and her brain no longer in control of her tongue because Rio in a confined space was too much for her.

  It wasn’t a large room. She had gone for cheap and cheerful in the accommodation stakes because she was planning to stay for an entire month in Italy and a classier room would have swallowed her budget within two weeks. But in a room already crowded with a double bed and a big wardrobe, Rio stole all the available space because he was very tall, at least six foot three and large from his broad shoulders to his lean hips and long, powerful legs. Her momentarily distracted gaze ran over the entirety of his sculpted physique, outlined as it was by a wickedly tailored suit that was sufficiently sophisticated to strike a formal note, but which also sensually delineated his muscular strength with fidelity. Colour flared in her pale face as she suddenly realised what she was doing and glanced away, her mouth running dry, her breathing disrupted and her thoughts overpowered by the stricken fear that he could somehow guess what she felt by the way she looked at him. Guess that she hated him but still thought he was gorgeous and incredibly tempting and incredibly bad for her like too much ice cream…