She ran to the front window, and gasped when she saw a dark car pulling up across the street from the house. She jumped back, and stood for seconds, dithering. She’d open the door to him, and talk to him on the porch. In a worst-case scenario, she could invite him into Greta’s as if it were her place.

Unless…

She thought rapidly. Unless Vivi had left toys there. And there were the photos.

If he came here, her bumpy heartbeat told her, if he saw Vivi, she’d have no time to prepare. No time to prepare Vivi, no time to break the news gently to him. Somehow, she would have to lure him away from the house.

Her hands twisting, she paced back and forwards, stopping several times at Vivi’s door to glance in, dashing in once to ensure the covers were in place over the slight mound of her daughter’s sleeping form.

The downstairs bell to Greta’s flat gave a couple of sharp peals, and, torn between rushing to answer it and defending her cub, like a maddened tigress Lara dashed in to resettle the covers over Vivi’s shoulders.

CHAPTER SIX

ALESSANDRO surveyed No. 37 with curiosity. Third in a long row of Victorian terraces, its street frontage was narrow, and like the others it appeared to have two levels, with balconies at both. A creeper trailed from the ornate iron lace of the upper balustrade. The street was pleasant, the plane trees along its pavements bare, their last leaves now adrift after having succumbed to the southern wintry air.

Light glowed in an upper-floor window, and he thought he could see a figure flit past the filmy curtain. Lara, he thought, the buzz quickening in his blood. As he was about to leave the rental car a cruising taxi slowed and drew up in front of the house, and he stilled, his hand on the door handle.

A woman alighted. She was wearing a bulky coat, and in the glow of the street lamp gave the impression of being of mature age. She was carrying some sort of case, perhaps a musical instrument. She bent to speak to the driver, then walked into Number 37 and up to the front door, where she took a moment to search her handbag, then let herself in. A light came on in a ground-floor window.

Alessandro gave her a moment, then got out and crossed the street.

He didn’t have long to wait after ringing the bell before the woman answered. She wore her wheat coloured hair swept into a bun, and though her warm, attractive face was more lived in than Lara’s, he detected an unmistakable resemblance in the fine bones and resolute chin. Shrewd, humorous sky-blue eyes looked him up and down and measured him all the way through to his soul.

Ah. The mother.

Still, he realised with a surge of triumph, no boyfriend on the premises. There almost certainly would not be a boyfriend.

‘Alessandro Vincenti,’ he informed her, with a courteous inclination of his head. ‘Is this where Lara Meadows lives?’

For a second the woman stood stock-still, then her eyes shone with an intense silvery light. ‘Ah. Yes. Yes, it is indeed. If you wait here I’ll just get her.’ She turned back inside, then gave a small start and exclaimed, ‘Oh, here she is now. Lara, someone to see you. Ales-Excuse me, now-did you say your name was Alessandro Vincenti?’

Alessandro assented with a grave murmur.

From the top of the stairs Lara heard Alessandro’s voice in conversation with her mother’s and she felt her stomach lose its floor as all her separate universes collided.

Somehow she managed the walk down without tumbling.

Alessandro was even more darkly gorgeous on her doorstep. He looked taller, more sophisticated, more thrillingly, exotically Italian. As she paused halfway down he lifted his dark gaze to hers and she felt the old adrenaline kick higher.

Her watery knees held. Just.

He’d changed into a casual jacket and trousers with a black polo sweater. The black-surely it was cashmere-enhanced his olive colouring and deepened his eyes to shimmering brilliance. As they swept over her in masculine appraisal the sensual golden flicker in their depths touched a trigger somewhere deep in her abdomen.

‘Hi.’ If only she could sound normal, not be so conscious of her breasts, despite their heavy-duty shield, she could deal with him. Fear of blushing prevented her from looking at her mother, but she still felt the heat rise through her neck and ears.

She said breathless, useless, stilted things.

‘Well, er-Alessandro, how are you?’

‘Fine. And yourself?’

‘Fine, fine. Did you…did you have any trouble finding the house?’

‘None whatsoever. I have the-what do you call it here?-GPS.’

She saw him glance at her mother, and said quickly, ‘This is my mother,’ then turned to Greta to explain-as if it could be explained that the big boss of the company had headed straight to her house on his first night in Sydney-‘Alessandro has come to-to manage Stiletto. He-he wants to ask some questions about the company.’

She blushed outright then at the unlikeliness of it, and with mixed emotions saw Alessandro take her mother’s hand and say in his beautiful accent, ‘It is charming to meet you, Signora Meadows.’

Though her mother’s response was restrained, Lara could tell she was ravished to her kneecaps. And absolutely undeceived.

Lara threw him a sardonic glance, knowing he was fully aware of the effects of his high-voltage courtesy on Australian women, and his dark gaze met hers with bland inscrutability. Before her mother could start inviting him to dinner and making offers of accommodation, Lara cut in, ‘Oh, goodness, Mum, I’ve just thought. Would you mind going upstairs to-to make sure I turned the iron off?’

Greta looked startled, but Lara tweaked her sleeve and added, ‘Just to make sure everything’s all right up there, please, dear. If you wouldn’t mind?’

Greta’s eyes lit with comprehension. ‘Certainly dear. Of course. We don’t want to set fire to anything. Bring Alessandro inside out of this chilly air.’

Lara waited until her mother was out of earshot, then said in a low voice, ‘Well, I did tell you not to come, but since you’re here now, what is it?’

His glance assessed her and pierced straight through her defences. Her vest might as well have been made from gauze. ‘Relax, bambina. Let’s not keep up this pretence we aren’t pleased to see each other. Have you had dinner?’

She folded her arms in front of her. ‘You’re kidding yourself there. Why would I want to see someone who’s a cold, arrogant-?’ She broke off, unwilling to frame the word.

He smiled, and it lit his eyes, his whole face, with warmth. ‘Bastard is the word you’re looking for. For the same reason I might want to see someone who’s a defensive little liar.’

Her insides lurched in shock. What did he mean? Had he heard something about Vivi already? Then she saw that his eyes were still smiling and her heart dropped back into its niche. ‘Anyway,’ she said quickly to ease over her scare, ‘we’ve already-we’ve had dinner.’

He looked surprised. ‘So early?’ He paused a second, as if perhaps waiting for Greta’s invitation to be reissued. She felt slightly ashamed to have to be so inhospitable, when his manners were usually so excellent. When she said nothing he tilted his head towards the end of the street. ‘I noticed a brasserie somewhere along there. Come, then, we’ll have a glass of wine.’

Truly, after the way he’d treated her at work, he had a nerve. It had clearly never occurred to him that she might refuse. And to be honest, it didn’t seriously occur to her. Despite all her fears and anxieties, it was abundantly clear that the moment of revelation had arrived and there was no avoiding it.

At least he’d decided to abandon hostilities. For the conversation she had churning around in her mind the atmosphere needed to be calm. Pleasant. Rational.