Happy Mother’s Day!: Accidentally Pregnant, Conveniently Wed / Claiming His Pregnant Wife / Meant-To-Be Mother

In a way it was easy to see why Ginger had been so uncharacteristically simpering towards him. He was dressed in a pale grey suit, which accentuated the golden glow of his skin and the jet-black gleam of his hair. The shadow around his jaw was fainter than usual and his black eyes were brilliant and gleaming.

He seemed so alive—exuding an air of vitality which set him apart from the usual men she met. Was it any wonder that she had acted the way she had?

‘Your assistant is very cute, cara,’ murmured Gianluca, who had watched the little exchange between the two women with amusement.

‘She’s very good at her job,’ said Aisling defensively, and to her horror she felt a violent stab of something like envy.

He assumed an expression of shock. ‘Did I say she wasn’t?’ he protested. ‘Just because a woman is warm and giving towards a man, doesn’t mean that she’s in any way inadequate.’

Was that a dig at her? And was she going to react to it? No, she was not. Aisling picked up her fountain pen and twirled it around between her perfectly manicured fingers like a mini-baton.

‘Won’t you sit down?’ she said coolly, watching as he spread his elegant frame in the chair and made it look as substantial as a piece of dolls’ house furniture. ‘And then we can discuss what you have in mind.’

He allowed himself the idle fantasy of telling her that what he really had in mind was to rip that horrible skirt from her body and to press his tongue into the little dip in the centre of her belly and to lick her there until she gasped with pleasure.

She stared at him with polite question in her eyes and reluctantly he dragged his thoughts away from the silken softness of her thighs to the infinitely more mundane subject of his recent takeover.

‘You remember that I said I was thinking of expanding further in England?’

Aisling nodded.

‘Well, the opportunity to do just that presented itself to me recently.’ He paused. ‘I’m in the process of buying a hotel and it’s all been very hush-hush. I would prefer you to say nothing until the official announcement is made.’

‘Oh?’ Concentrate on what he’s saying to you, and not on the high, proud slash of his cheekbones. ‘Which hotel?’

‘It’s the Vinoly,’ he said, seeing her blue eyes widen.

Aisling blinked. ‘You mean theVinoly in central London?’

‘I wasn’t aware there was more than one.’

‘Good heavens!’ she said faintly, putting the pen down on the desk. ‘It’s one of the city’s most famous landmarks!’ She blinked again. ‘In fact—it’s practically an institution.’

‘But of course. That’s why I wanted it.’

Aisling gave a dry laugh. ‘Just like that?’

‘Why not? Acquisitions excite me.’

Something about the way he said it unsettled her. All successful businessmen were constantly seeking out the new. Like sharks, they were never still—the very best of them always looking out to make a killing, because you never stayed at the top by remaining stagnant.

Maybe that attitude had spilled over into his private life, too. Was that why he had never settled down with one woman—because he conducted his private life on a similar scale? Had she just been another, rather unexpected ‘acquisition'?

Angrily, she straightened the pen, so that it lay at a perfect right angle to the blotter. This was why people didn’t have affairs at work—because you started to think about everything in how it related to you, instead of how it related to the business!

‘Is something wrong, Aisling?’ he murmured.

‘Wrong? No. Why should anything be wrong?’

He shrugged, but, oh, he was enjoying this—watching Little Miss Prim try not to react to him and failing hopelessly. ‘You were glaring.’

‘Was I?’ She shrugged right back and met his eyes defiantly. ‘Probably because I often glare when I concentrate.’

‘I see.’

Was he laughing at her? wondered Aisling furiously.

There was a knock on the door and Ginger brought in a tray of coffee. Aisling noted that, not only had she made a whole potful of the stuff, but she must have nipped out to the deli next door for some of their fancy biscuits.

‘What a lot of trouble you have gone to, Ginger,’ murmured Gianluca.

Had he deliberately exaggerated his accent to make the first syllable of her name rhyme with ‘jean'? wondered Aisling. And did Ginger really have to bat her eyelashes at him like some amateur vamp as she breathed out her breathless response?

‘Oh, it’s no trouble, Gianluca!’

Aisling wondered how he would have reacted if he had been given a mugful of the rather mediocre instant coffee which was what they usually drank, but she didn’t say anything. She waited until the door had closed behind her before picking up the pot and forcing her mind back to his hotel. ‘The Vinoly,’ she mused. ‘Second biggest hotel in London after the Granchester, and an architectural gem. I guess congratulations must be in order.’

His dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘You sound doubtful,’ he observed.

‘Well, it’s a bit of a departure for you. You usually deal in smaller, boutique hotels.’ She poured him a cup of coffee and pushed it across the desk in front of him. ‘Biscuit?’

He shook his head.

Aisling poured her own. ‘Won’t this affect the industry’s view of you? Isn’t it a slightly risky strategy?’

Gianluca stared at her with something approaching admiration—at her icy blue eyes which gave away precisely nothing. Had he been expecting her to be cowed by his insistence on this meeting? Perhaps for her to display irritation towards the secretary who was so obviously flirting with him? Or maybe to gush just a little, recognising that a man who could afford to buy the Vinoly must be a very rich man indeed—and he knew only too well how most women responded to wealth.

And hadn’t there been a tiny part of his mind which had wondered whether she might behave as other women in her position might have done? That, having known the pleasures of his body, she might lock the office door and slide off her panties and come over here and sit on his lap.

But no—the expression she presented to him was completely professional and the objections she voiced were exactly as they should be. And the cool expression on her face was starting to make him wonder whether he’d actually dreamt the whole seduction.

As a client he applauded it, while as a man, it irritated the hell out of him. There had been not one intimation—not a single hint—that they had shared a night of passion in his bed, and in truth he found that deeply insulting. Did she have no feelings?

His mouth hardened. Perhaps she imagined that by remaining so composed in his presence she would make him want her even more.

And she was right, damn her!

He was the one who usually compartmentalised—and it was not a trait he particularly admired in the opposite sex. He liked his women warm and soft and available—ready to juggle their schedules to fit in with his busy life.

He sipped the coffee, which was surprisingly good, finding himself in the curious position of having to force his mind back to work instead of the memory of her pale, curving body revealed by his removal of that rather plain underwear.

‘You are doubting my ability to expand into this particular market?’ he demanded.

‘No, of course I’m not. And I can find whoever you need to staff it. I assume you’ll want a new general manager—someone who will put your own particular stamp on the place?’

‘Sì. But I don’t want to change too much, too quickly.’ His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘I want to be able to observe what works and what doesn’t, before I decide.’

Aisling hesitated. ‘You’ll be careful not to change too much, won’t you, Gianluca? One of the place’s biggest selling points is its very Britishness—the tourists love all that.’

She was unbelievable! ‘You think that I’ll serve only pizza in the restaurants from now on and start playing loud Italian opera?’ he queried sarcastically.

‘And plastic gondolas on sale in the foyer,’ she agreed, deadpan.

His mouth twitched as he tried to hold back a smile. ‘Ah, Aisling,’ he sighed. ‘What is it that you object to in this deal?’

He paid for her judgement and her perception, didn’t he? And for the truth, too.

‘It’s just that this a departure from the Palladio brand,’ she said softly. ‘That’s all.’

‘A brand?’ he echoed. ‘You think that Gianluca Palladio is a brand? What kind of a word is that? You are comparing me to a can of beans, perhaps?’

‘Oh, don’t be so melodramatic, Gianluca—of course I’m not! I’m just telling you not to lose that special something for which you’re known.’

‘Ah!’ His eyes narrowed and a sudden sensation of friction became almost tangible in the air around them. His voice dipped. ‘And what special something would that be?’

Feeling as if she’d walked straight into a trap of her own making, Aisling felt her skin grow warm—the tightening of her breasts reminding her all too clearly of Gianluca the lover. How he had suckled them, teased them with his teeth, licked them.

She bit her lip. Oh, why remember something at a time like this? The colour in her cheeks intensified and she found she wanted to look away from him, but couldn’t. She swallowed. ‘Gianluca. Please, don’t.’

‘Don’t what, cara? Don’t desire you when it feels as natural to me as breathing? Don’t you know how lovely you look when you lose that frosty look of yours and smile? I saw you smile more times in my arms that night than I’ve done in almost two years of working with you.’

‘But that’s not why we’re here!’ she said quickly. ‘What happened that night was a moment of madness—a mistake.’

He stared at her disbelievingly. ‘And that’s all?’

‘That’s all,’ she agreed. Because what alternative did she have? Admit she’d done nothing but think about him—with images of his mocking face and hard body consuming her memory like a fever? ‘And we’re supposed to be working,’ she reminded him. ‘I’m your head-hunter and you asked my opinion.’

There was a pause but all he could think was how tantalising it was to be pushed away. ‘I know you are,’ he said softly. ‘And that’s why I want you to come to a cocktail party at the Vinoly this evening. This will be a good opportunity to observe how the hotel is being run with a degree of relative anonymity. Once the sale goes through it will be impossible for me to fade in the background.’

Aisling swallowed. She felt he was playing with her. Pushing her around like a croupier sliding little plastic chips across a gaming table. ‘But if you take me with you, then won’t people guess?’

‘And what will they guess, cara?’ he taunted. ‘That we’re lovers, or that I’m buying the hotel?’

‘But we’re not lovers, Gianluca. Not any more.’

He smiled, but the curve of his lips was cynical and it made a perfect partner for the mockery in his eyes. Aren’t we? they seemed to say. ‘It’s at six, in the Thames Room. I’ll send a car here for you.’

She shook her head in frustration, feeling control begin to slip away, and it scared her. ‘I’m a London girl and I’m used to getting around the city on my own. There’s really no need to—’

He cut across her protest with an arrogant wave of his hand.

‘I will send a car,’ he repeated obstinately.

CHAPTER SIX

AISLING remembered the first time she’d ever been to the Vinoly, with its sweeping mahogany staircase and famous rooftop restaurant. She’d been an impressionable twenty year old who hadn’t yet learnt that it was almost impossible to hold a drink as well as eat a canapé, and she had ended up squashing a filo-pastry case against her best dress and ruining it.

These days, of course, she never ate canapés—and had lots of dresses which could have been defined as ‘best', all hanging in neatly pressed, plastic-shrouded lines in the wardrobe of her apartment. She was also used to London’s more glamorous locations and conducted many of her meetings at this particular venue.

Nonetheless, when the luxurious black car dropped her off at the revolving doors of the famous hotel, she felt the nerves which were beginning to gnaw away at her. Not that anyone would have guessed it from the cool, calm smile on her face. In fact, no one would have guessed anything.

She knew a million ways to hide what she was feeling—she had learnt them at about the same time she’d learnt to ride a bike.You developed a pretty tough skin when you were instructed to tell the creditors that your mother had nipped out to the shops and you didn’t know when she’d be back.

Her high heels sinking into the acres of plush carpet, she walked along the seemingly endless corridors towards the venue. She could hear the chatter of voices as she walked into the crowded Thames Room, and then she saw Gianluca and her heart seemed to stand still.

He was surrounded by people who were trying not to look as if they were jostling for his attention, but that was exactly what they were doing—especially some of the women were circling him like a pack of glossy predators.And you are not going to join their desperate ranks, she told herself calmly.

Gianluca glanced up and saw her and something about her quiet poise captured his attention. She was wearing a simple pink silk dress—with a pair of plain pearl studs her only adornment. She gave him a small, polite nod of recognition and he felt his fingers tighten around his glass of champagne as she began to walk towards him.

Over the last few weeks he had found himself thinking about that night in Umbria. Wondering if her behaviour that night had been a bizarre one-off—something completely out-of-character, which would never be repeated. Or if maybe she was a game-player—knowing that a man of his experience liked nothing more than a challenge. Had she read one of those books which advised women that the best way to hook a powerful man was to keep him guessing?

‘Aisling,’ he murmured as she approached. ‘You made it.’

She met his eyes. ‘Did I have a choice?’

He gave a quick, hard smile. ‘No.’

Aisling forced herself to look around because anything was safer than gazing into his eyes. ‘It’s certainly crowded.’

‘You like cocktail parties?’

She shrugged. ‘Not really. They’re an occupational hazard, aren’t they?’

‘Like plane journeys, you mean?’

‘Well, yes. Or meetings with the bank manager.’

‘Ah, but I have someone else do those for me.’

‘Well, aren’t you the lucky one!’

Now their eyes met. ‘Sì,’ he murmured. ‘Aren’t I just?’

‘Gianluca!’

A woman’s voice shattered the air like a stone being hurled through a window, but Aisling was grateful for the interruption. Her heart was hammering and she felt positively weak. How could a few meaningless words seem so … so significant?

Because you want them to be significant. Because he’s experienced and you’re not, that’s why. And if you allow him to flirt with you, then you’re playing with fire.

‘Gianluca!’ said the voice again and Aisling found herself elbowed out of the way by a blonde with astonishingly green eyes and gravity-defying breasts.

She needed to get away from him—because she didn’t want to stand there, companionably sharing similar views on cocktail parties and air-travel. Soon she would start thinking that they were compatible—and they weren’t. She took a step back. ‘Look, I mustn’t monopolise you any more, Gianluca. You will excuse me, won’t you?’

With something approaching shock, Gianluca realised that she was actually walking away. In fact, she was smiling at a couple of people en route and had begun making her way towards the wall of glass at the other side of the room, which overlooked the view of the river Thames. Leaving him with the kind of woman he could see was going to display all the staying power of a leech.

‘I went to Italy once and absolutely fell in love with it!’

His eyes narrowed as he realised that the blonde was talking to him, but he’d barely heard a word she’d been saying. He stared at her, as if she had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Didn’t she realise that if a woman thrust her breasts into your face it was like being offered a meal when you had just eaten?

Abruptly, he excused himself, but then bumped into a visiting Italian opera star he hadn’t seen for years and was then introduced to a Minister of State. Every time he tried to break free, another VIP was foisted upon him, and all the time he was watching Aisling out of the corner of his eye, noticing the way she was networking.

What was it about her that made him unable to tear his eyes away from her tonight? Was it simply because she was frustrating the hell out of him?

The party was beginning to fold by the time he walked towards her pink-clad back, wondering if he should shake off this sense of persistence and put the whole thing down to experience. If he left now—would he really care? If he never had sex with her again, surely it wouldn’t matter. Wouldn’t the next woman wash her from his memory?

Yet his eyes were drawn to her neck, its long, slim column exposed by the severe chignon, and he found himself wanting to whisper his lips all the way down it. To bite the soft lobe of one of those perfect ears and whisper into it that he wanted her.

‘You seem to make a habit of turning your back on me,’ he observed acidly. ‘Why didn’t you stay?’

Aisling kept her expression bland as she faced him. ‘By your side?’ Her eyes travelled over his shoulder to where the blonde was staring rather disconsolately in his direction. ‘You looked like you were fully occupied.’

‘That isn’t the point,’ he said softly. ‘You’re supposed to be here tonight, working for me.’

‘And that’s exactly what I have been doing! If you really want me to give you my opinion of how I think the hotel is being run these days, then I can certainly accomplish it better by working the room on my own. Rather than being constantly watched by the spectators,’ she added, glancing across the room to where the blonde had been joined by a popular soap actress, ‘who seem to be following your every move.’

Gianluca smiled. ‘Jealous?’

‘Don’t flatter yourself.’

‘The irony is that I don’t usually need to,’ he said coolly. ‘But I take your point, cara—and you must have seen enough by now. So let’s go and have dinner. I’ve booked the Starlight.’

He saw her lips part but he shook his head. ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘Because the more you fight me, the more determined I become to get my own way.’ He let his gaze drift over her flushed face. ‘If it was anyone else but me, then you’d agree to dinner straight away—because that’s the sort of business you operate in. You can’t make exceptions just because it’s me, cara. And you really shouldn’t sleep with your clients if you feel that it is going to compromise your ability to do your job properly.’

‘That’s a bastard thing to say,’ she whispered.

He felt a heady thrill at her reaction. ‘And I don’t think calling your boss names in public is setting a very good example, do you?’

‘Whereas issuing veiled threats is textbook behaviour, I suppose?’ she retaliated.

Better and better! ‘If it’s the only way of getting what I want, cara, then I’ll do it. So be nice.’ He reached out and touched his finger to the tip of her nose, seeing her blue eyes grow startled.

But just what did he want? Aisling wondered dazedly as they left the ballroom and headed towards the lift. She felt he was playing games with her—as a cruel kind of sport, perhaps? And the trouble was that she didn’t know how to respond to them because the boundaries between them of work and play had become so blurred.

The Starlight restaurant was aptly named—an awardwinning circular room of windows at the very top of the hotel. Outside, the crescent moon looked close enough to pluck from the night sky and below them lay the goldenbathed Houses of Parliament and the glittering snake of the river as it wound its way through the capital.

It was one of the most breathtaking views in London and Aisling stood for a moment, just staring down at it.

‘Ever been here before?’ he asked.

‘Once. A long time ago.’

But back then she had been excited and impressed by the magical setting of the twinkling stars and the chance of spotting someone famous. Tonight was different. With Gianluca sitting opposite her, it was difficult to concentrate on anything and the richly romantic setting seemed to mock the curious nature of her brief affair with him. How did other women cope in such situations? she wondered. Did they instinctively know what to do—or, deep down, were they all flailing wildly and making up the rules as they went along?

Gianluca watched her studying the menu-card as if it were an examination paper, flickering his eyes over her bent head with a slight ache of amusement—realising that this was the first time in a long, long time that he had been forced to endure a dinner for the sake of propriety. ‘What would you like?’

‘Oh, I don’t know—whatever it’s best known for. Isn’t there some kind of signature dish?’

He spoke to the waiter in French, ordered them both some fish and wine and waited while their drinks were poured. Then he leaned back in his chair and studied her. ‘You do realise that you’re still a complete mystery to me? That I’ve known you for almost two years, we’ve had sex together and yet I don’t even know where you live?’

‘Gianluca!’

‘Doesn’t that strike you as strange?’ he questioned, ignoring her protest.

‘There’s never been a reason for you to know,’ she said. ‘There isn’t really one now.’

He watched as she picked up her glass of water with a hand which wasn’t quite steady. ‘Being evasive won’t work,’ he said evenly. ‘I’m curious.’

‘Do you always interrogate when you’re out on a date, Gianluca?’

‘Is this a date, then, cara?’

Oh, but he managed to twist everything she said!

In the circumstances, it seemed bizarre to give him a potted life history—it seemed the wrong way round, really. They’d done the bed bit, without any of the getting-toknow-you stuff. But how else were they going to endure a whole meal together, if he was determined to find out and she was equally determined not to tell him? It would simply become a battle of wills, which she suspected he would win. ‘I live in Putney.’

‘By the river?’ he observed. ‘You must be doing well.’

‘I’m actually about ten minutes’ walk from the river and it’s only a one-bedroomed apartment—but I love it. I’ve been trading up ever since I got a foothold on the property market.’

‘And when was that?’

‘As soon as I could afford to. I saved up like mad for a deposit. I hadn’t really …’

Her words tailed off and he pounced on the rare chink in her armour. ‘Hadn’t really what?’

Surely if she made herself sound vulnerable, then she would make herself seem vulnerable? And what would he understand about savings, and deposits? Gianlucawasn’t just rich, he had been born rich—everyone knew that. How could a man like that possibly relate to her story? ‘I’d never lived anywhere that wasn’t rented before,’ she said reluctantly.

He raised his dark brows. ‘Not even as a child?’

How few people had experienced it in the world she now occupied, she thought wryly. These days, in the UK, home ownership was seen as a right rather than a privilege, and Aisling gave a brittle smile. ‘No, not even then,’ she agreed, glad that the waiter chose that moment to bring a basket of bread, and hoping that Gianluca might let it go.

But he didn’t.

‘That’s unusual for this country,’ he said slowly.

‘Not that unusual,’ she contradicted. ‘It’s just that a lot of people never get out of the poverty trap and I was lucky that I did.’