She gazed wordlessly at him, her pulse drumming in her ears, and saw comprehension flood his eyes.

He closed them in disbelief. ‘Sacramento.’ He held up a hand as if to hold her at bay. ‘How-old is this child?’

‘Five.’

‘What are you saying? Are you trying to tell me it is-my child?’ The long, idle fingers on his glass tightened convulsively.

She met his gaze squarely. ‘Yes, Alessandro. She is.’

Alessandro felt a numb sensation in his chest. He searched her blue eyes for signs of faltering from her assertion, but they were steady and unwavering. A darker, more shadowy blue, perhaps. Troubled, even. But honest, true and definite.

‘But-’ He felt an urgent need to hold the news at a distance before he examined it closely. ‘You would have told me this.’ He gripped her arm. ‘Surely, you would have told me.’

‘I would have, if I could.’ One delicate eyebrow raised, she glanced down at his encircling fingers, and he released her arm at once. Shock. It must have been the shock. Almost unconsciously she rubbed the spot, then shrugged and spread her hands. ‘As I explained, you weren’t at Harvard when I called.’

‘No, I know, but-you knew I worked for Scala Enterprises. You could have phoned the head office. Sent a letter.’

‘I did send a letter to the office in Milan, where you’d worked before. Said you worked. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if any of the things you’d said were true.’ He flushed with anger, and she added, ‘You must realise, when I read about your wedding…’

His eyes flashed. ‘Ah, now I understand. That’s why you didn’t contact me. Because of Giulia.’

She felt her own anger rise. ‘Well, what do you expect? Would your bride have welcomed the news? Would you?’

‘Possibly not, not at that stage.’ His lean, handsome face had hardened to a stern, proud mask. ‘But you didn’t have the right to make that judgement. It was not up to you to decide what I should do in regards to a-a child.’

Her heart was thumping, her blood furiously eddying along her arteries like Rocky River rapids. ‘All right, then, what would you have done if you’d found out? Would you have wanted her in your life?’

He gazed at her, his eyes brimming with some fierce, dark emotion, and bit out, ‘You have no idea, do you? No idea.’

‘I don’t, no.’ She took a swallow of wine in hopes of calming her shaking voice. Not to reveal her excruciating fear. But driven by what she knew she must say, even if it meant offering up her darling, she said hoarsely, ‘So what now, then? Now that you know. Do you intend to participate in the parenting? Be her father?’

He looked stunned, as if such an idea had not even occurred to him. ‘Participate?’ He shook his head, growling, ‘How can I? My base is in Europe. I travel. Constantly. I do not…I am not the sort of man who…’ His eyes were glittering, his lean hands so expressive of his inner disturbance. ‘This needs to be considered. Of course you will need money. That is easy-no problem, but as for this-this parenting…What are you expecting? What do you want from me?’

‘Nothing.’

The blunt word erupted from the recess of fear in her heart with a sincerity that didn’t escape Alessandro, judging by the swift upshoot of his brows and a look in his eyes that suggested he was more than merely taken aback.

He looked as if he’d sustained another shock.

‘Sorry.’ She spoke rapidly, regretting her unfortunate outburst. ‘That sounded a bit blunt. I just want you to understand that it doesn’t have to be the end of your life as you know it.’ She evaded his eyes. ‘I’m not asking for anything from you. It’s probably not the same here as it is where you come from. People aren’t expected to make unwelcome marriages, so you can relax. You don’t have to rush me to the altar.’ He drew breath as if to speak, but she held up her hand to forestall him. ‘Just in case you’re wondering, you’ve got no chance.’ She summoned up the ghost of a smile. ‘It’s too late now, anyway. My reputation is already ruined.’ She stared down at her twisting hands. ‘We-like the way we are. Mum, me and Vivi.’

His stunned look receded. He sat in smouldering silence, a glint in his narrowed gaze, his mouth a grim sardonic line.

All at once he swallowed the last of his wine and rose to his feet. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

OUTSIDE, striding along the pavement with Lara at a pace in tune with his musings, Alessandro drew deeply of the night air, as if the chill might calm his desire to smash something. There were issues to be considered here, and he wasn’t likely to fight his way through if his blood was fired with unnecessary emotion.

He needed a cool, sharp brain. Illogically, Lara’s revealing response to his query had jabbed at him. He knew very well ‘nothing’ hadn’t meant nothing from him. It had meant nothing of him. He gritted his teeth. He shouldn’t allow himself to be bothered by that. He was over all that negative fallout from the past. So she’d made it clear she didn’t want him in her life-their lives-why did that have to make him feel so raw?

Obviously, from a rational viewpoint, no contact at all would be better for the child than meaningless attempts at an insincere relationship that could never develop. If her mother was happy to raise the infant without making any demands of him, it was surely a matter to celebrate.

And maybe the child would be better off. What would he have to offer a child?

He glanced at Lara’s slender jean-clad form hurrying along beside him and once again the wave of unreality engulfed him. Unbelievably, she’d been pregnant, made pregnant by him. He tried to imagine her swollen with his child, and felt a bizarre quickening of his pulse. For a crazy instant he wished he could have seen that, smoothed his hand over her round belly, felt the full, milk-laden breasts. He shook off the sensuous image. Dio, was he sick?

Only a few minutes ago he’d been lusting after her as though no time had ever elapsed, contemplating whizzing her back to the hotel and taking the erotic curves and hollows of her gorgeous body back into his glorious animal possession.

He felt his abdominal muscles clench in a silent groan of loss. Desire had to be the last thing on his mind now. She was a mother, while he was…

Sacramento. A father.

The irony of it. What sort of a father could he ever make, with his experience?

Scenes from the nightmare segment of his own childhood lurked in the corners of his mind, threatening to storm centre stage, until with a bracing of his will he banished them back to the hell where they belonged.

One thing he could be sure of. Whatever the rights and wrongs of it, the moral issues, the woman’s needs, he knew with all his heart that Fate had decreed some men should never be entrusted with the care and nurturing of little children. It was well documented that people behaved as parents as they themselves had been raised.

Though…Some opposing instinct sprang forward to conflict with the sickening suggestion. Surely it could not always be the case. Who was to say he would follow the pattern of his stepfather, when it had been his life’s work to be the antithesis of that weak, violent man?

Would he ever be driven to vent his nightly rage and fury on a woman or a child? A little girl? He couldn’t imagine himself. He’d felt plenty of anger on occasion, even fury a couple of times, but he’d never experienced a need to damage and punish others.

Almost certainly, his instinct grasped at the assurance his mother had given him. He’d always held fast to her assertion that he took after his real father, that tall, gentle figure who was no more than a shadow on the edge of his memory.

But what if he were wrong? What if he’d absorbed the poison into his child’s soul?

‘Alessandro.’ He became aware of a tug at his sleeve. ‘Slow down a bit. Do you mind? I’m having to run to keep up.’ She smiled, though there was a ruefulness in her blue eyes, as if she guessed at his turmoil.