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The Sicilian's Mistress
LYNNE GRAHAM



is one of Mills & Boon’s most popular and
bestselling novelists. Her writing was an instant
success with readers worldwide. Since her first
book, Bittersweet Passion, was published in 1987, she has gone from strength to strength and now has over ninety titles, which have sold more than thirty-five million copies, to her name.
In this special collection, we offer readers a
chance to revisit favourite books or enjoy that rare
treasure—a book by a favourite writer—they may
have missed. In every case, seduction and passion
with a gorgeous, irresistible man are guaranteed!


LYNNE GRAHAM was born in Northern Ireland and has been a keen Mills & Boon
reader since her teens. She is very happily married, with an understanding husband who has learned to cook since she started to write! Her five children keep her on her toes. She has a very large dog, which knocks everything over, a very small terrier, which barks a lot, and two cats. When time allows, Lynne is a keen gardener.

The Sicilian’s Mistress
Lynne Graham




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE
STUDIOUSLY ignoring Faith’s troubled expression, Edward smiled. ‘I never dreamt that Mother would make us such a generous offer—’
Faith sucked in a deep, steadying breath. ‘I know, but—’
‘It makes perfect sense. Why go to the expense of buying another property when there’s ample space for us all at Firfield?’
At that precise moment Edward’s flight was called. Immediately he rose to his feet and lifted his briefcase. ‘We’ll talk it over when I get back.’
Faith stood up. A slim, beautiful blonde of diminutive height, she had sapphire-blue eyes, flawless skin and wore her hair in a restrained French plait. ‘I’ll see you to the gate.’
Her fiancé shook his well-groomed fair head. ‘Not much point. I don’t know why you bothered coming to see me off anyway,’ he remarked rather drily. ‘I’m only going to be away for three days.’
Edward strode off and was soon lost from view in the crowds. Faith left the café at a slower pace, genuinely appalled at the announcement Edward had just made. They were getting married in four months and they had been house-hunting for the past three. Now Faith sensed that as far as Edward was concerned the hunt was over: his mother had offered to share her spacious home with them.
It was a really ghastly idea, Faith acknowledged in guilty dismay. Edward’s mother didn’t like her, but she carefully concealed her hostility. Mrs Benson was no more fond of Faith’s two-year-old son, Connor. But then the fact that Faith was an unmarried mother had first fuelled the older woman’s dislike, Faith conceded ruefully as she walked back through the airport.
Her troubled eyes skimmed through the hurrying crowds. Suddenly she stiffened, her gaze narrowing, her head twisting back of its own volition to retrace that visual sweep. She found herself focusing on a strikingly noticeable man standing on the far side of the concourse in conversation with another. As her heartbeat thumped deafeningly in her ears, she faltered into complete stillness.
The compulsion to stare was as overwhelming as it was inexplicable. The man was very tall and very dark. His hard, bronzed features were grave, but not so grave that one glance was not sufficient to make her aware that he was stunningly handsome. Her tummy somersaulted. A fevered pound of tension began to build up pressure behind her temples.
A smooth dark overcoat hung negligently from his wide shoulders. He looked rich, super-sophisticated, that cool aura of razor-edged elegance cloaking immense power. Perspiration dampened her skin. Sudden fear and confusion tore at her as she questioned what she was doing. A wave of dizziness ran over her.
Simultaneously, the stranger turned his arrogant dark head and looked directly at her, only to freeze. The fierce intensity with which those brilliant dark eyes zeroed in on her stilled figure disconcerted her even more. But at that point the nausea churning in her stomach forced a muffled moan from her parted lips. Dragging her attention from him, Faith rushed off in search of the nearest cloakroom.
She wasn’t actually sick, as she had feared. But as she crept back out of the cubicle she had locked herself in and approached the line of sinks she was still trembling. Most of all, she was bewildered and shaken by her own peculiar behaviour. What on earth had possessed her to behave like that? What on earth had prompted her to stop dead and gape like some infatuated schoolgirl at a complete stranger?
Infatuated? She questioned the selection of that particular word and frowned with unease, the way she always did when a thought that didn’t seem quite her came into her mind. But she wasn’t feeling well. Maybe she was feverish, coming down with one of those viruses that could strike with such rapidity.
There had to be some good reason why a total stranger should inspire her with fear…unless he reminded her of somebody she had once known. She tensed. That was highly unlikely, she decided just as quickly, and began to scold herself for her overreaction to a fleeting incident.
But she knew what was the matter with her. She understood all too well the source of her basic insecurity. But that was something she had learnt to put behind her and never ever dwell on these days. With conscious care, Faith suppressed the scary stirrings at the back of her mind and blanked them out again.
But what if she had once known that man? The worrying apprehension leapt out of Faith’s subconscious before she could block it again. Aghast, she stared blindly into space, suddenly plunged into a world of her own, a blank, nebulous world of terrifying uncertainty which she had believed left far behind her. The lost years…what about them?
A crowd of noisy teenagers jostled her at the sinks, springing her back into awareness again. She blinked rapidly, once, twice, snatched in a shuddering breath to steady herself. Discomfited by her uncomfortably emotional frame of mind, she averted her head and shook it slightly. You saw some really interesting people at airports, she told herself squarely. Her attention had been momentarily distracted and she wasn’t feeling too good. That was all it had been.
But when Faith vacated the cloakroom and turned back into the main concourse, she found her path unexpectedly blocked.
‘Milly…?’ A dark, accented voice breathed with noticeable stress.
Faith glanced up, and it was a very long way up, and met flashing dark eyes so cold and deep her heart leapt straight into her throat. It was the same guy she had been staring at ten minutes earlier! Her feet froze to the floor in shock.
‘Madre di Dio…’ The stranger stared fixedly down at her, his deep, accented drawl like an icy hand dancing down her taut spine. ‘It is you!’
Faith gazed up at him in frank surprise and sudden powerful embarrassment. She took a backward step. ‘Sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong person.’
‘Maybe you wish I had.’ The intimidating stranger gazed down at her from his incredibly imposing height, slumbrous dark eyes roving so intently over her face that colour flooded her drawn cheeks. ‘Dio…you still blush. How do you do that?’ he drawled very, very softly.
‘Look, I don’t know you, and I’m in a hurry,’ Faith responded in an evasive, mortified mutter, because she couldn’t help wondering if her own foolish behaviour earlier had encouraged him to believe that she was willing to be picked up.
Eyes the colour of rich, dark golden honey steadily widened and her heartbeat started to thump at what felt like the base of her throat, making it difficult for her to breathe. ‘You don’t know me?’ he repeated very drily. ‘Milly, this is Gianni D’Angelo you’re dealing with, and running scared with a really stupid story won’t dig you out of the big deep hole you’re in!’
‘You don’t know me. You’ve made a mistake,’ Faith told him sharply.
‘No mistake, Milly. I could pick you out of a thousand women in the dark,’ Gianni D’Angelo murmured even more drily, his wide, sensual mouth curling with growing derision. ‘So, if the nose job was supposed to make you unrecognisable, it’s failed. And what sad soap opera did you pick this crazy pretence out of? You’re in enough trouble without this childish nonsense!’
Her dark blue eyes huge in receipt of such an incomprehensible address, Faith spluttered, ‘A nose job? For goodness’ sake—’
‘You have a lot of explaining to do, and I intend to conduct this long-overdue conversation somewhere considerably more private than the middle of an airport,’ he asserted grittily. ‘So let’s get out of here before some paparazzo recognises me!’
As Faith attempted to sidestep him he spontaneously matched her move and blocked her path again. She studied him in disbelief. ‘P-please get out of my way…’ she stammered, fear and confusion now rising like a surging dark tide inside her.
‘No.’
‘You’re mad…if you don’t get out of my way, I’ll scream!’
He reeled back a full step, a deep frown-line of impressive incredulity hardening his lean, strong features. ‘What the hell is going on here?’ he demanded with savage abruptness.
Faith broke through the gap he had left by the wall and surged past him at frantic speed.
A hand as strong and sure as an iron vice captured her wrist before she got more than two feet away. ‘Accidenti…where do you think you’re going?’ he questioned in angry disbelief, curving his infinitely larger hand right round her clenched fingers.
‘I’ll report you to the police for harassing me!’ Faith gasped. ‘Let go of me!’
‘Don’t be ridiculous…’ He gazed unfathomably down into her frightened and yet strangely blank eyes and suddenly demanded with raw, driven urgency, ‘What’s the matter with you?’
Faith spun a frantic glance around herself. Only her instinctive horror at the idea of creating a seriously embarrassing public scene restrained her from a noisy outburst. ‘Please let go of me!’ she urged fiercely.
The ring on her engagement finger scored his palm as she tried to pull free. Without warning he flipped her hand around in the firm hold of his and studied the small diamond solitaire she wore. A muscle jerked tight at the corner of his bloodlessly compressed lips, shimmering flaring eyes flying up again to her taut face.
‘Now I understand why you’re acting like a madwoman!’ he grated, with barely suppressed savagery.
And Faith’s self-discipline just snapped, right then and there. She flung back her head and tried to call out for assistance, but her vocal cords were knotted so tight with stress only a suffocated little squawk emerged. But surprisingly that was sufficient. Gianni D’Angelo, as he had called himself, dropped her hand as if she had burnt him and surveyed her in almost comical astonishment.
Shaking like a leaf, Faith backed away. ‘I’m not this Milly you’re looking for…never seen you before in my life, never want to see you again…’
And she rushed away her tummy tied up in sick knots again, her head pounding, a kind of nameless terror controlling her. She raced across the endless car park as if she had wings, and then fell, exhausted, to a slower pace, breathless and winded, heartbeat thundering. Crazy, crazy man, frightening her like that all because she resembled some poor woman who had clearly got out while the going was good. Gianni D’Angelo. She didn’t recognise that name. And why should she?
But wasn’t it strange that he should have attracted her attention first? And only then had he approached her. Almost as if he genuinely had recognised her…
As her apprehensions rose to suffocating proportions release from fear came in the guise of an obvious fact. Of course he couldn’t have recognised her! She couldn’t believe that she had ever been the kind of person to run around using a false name! And she was Faith Jennings, the only child of Robin and Davina Jennings. True, she might have been a difficult teenager, but then that wasn’t that uncommon, and her parents had long since forgiven her for the awful anxiety she had once caused them.
Half an hour later, sitting in her little hatchback car in heavy morning rush-hour traffic, Faith took herself to task for the overwrought state she was in. Here she was, supposedly a mature adult of twenty-six, reacting like a frightened teenager desperate to rush home to her parents for support. And yet what had happened? Virtually nothing. A case of mistaken identity with a stubborn foreigner unwilling to accept his error! That was all it had been. A nose job, for heaven’s sake!
And yet as she gazed through the windscreen she no longer saw the traffic lights; she saw Gianni D’Angelo, his lean, bronzed features imposed on a mind that for some reason could focus on nothing else. As furiously honking car horns erupted behind her Faith flinched back to the present and belatedly drove on, strain and bemusement stamping her troubled face.

Gianni D’Angelo stared fixedly out of the giant corner window of his London office. An impressive view of the City’s lights stretched before him but he couldn’t see it.
His sane mind was telling him that even twelve hours on he was still in the grip of shock, and that self-control was everything, but he wanted to violently punch walls with the frustrated anger of disbelief. He had searched for Milly for so long. He had almost given up hope. He certainly hadn’t expected her to do something as dumb and childish as try and pretend she didn’t know him, and then compound her past offences by attempting to run away again. And why hadn’t it occurred to her that he would have her followed before she got ten feet away from him?
Milly, whom he’d always called Angel. And instantly Gianni was beset by a thousand memories that twisted his guts even after three years of rigorous rooting out of such images. He saw Milly jumping out of a birthday cake dressed as an angel, tripping over her celestial robes and dropping her harp. Milly, impossibly beautiful but horrendously clumsy when she was nervous. Milly, who had given him his first and only taste of what he had dimly imagined must be a home life…
And you loved it, you stupid bastard! Gianni’s lean hands suddenly clenched into powerful fists. Punishing himself for recalling only pleasant things, Gianni made himself relive the moment he had found his precious pregnant Angel in bed with his kid brother, Stefano. That had put a whole new slant on the joys of home and family life. Until that moment of savage truth he hadn’t appreciated just how much he had trusted her. And instead of proposing marriage, as he had planned, he had ended up taking off with another woman. What else could he have done in the circumstances?
He had wanted to kill them both. For the first time he had understood the concept of a crime of passion. The only two people he had ever allowed close had deceived and betrayed him. A boy of nineteen and a girl/woman only a couple of years older. The generation gap had been there, even though he had been too blind to acknowledge it, he reflected with smouldering bitterness. And naturally Stefano had adored her. Everybody had adored Milly.
Milly, who had called him on the slightest pretext every day and never once failed to tell him how much she loved him. So she had spent a lot of time alone. But business had always come first, and he had never promised more than he had delivered. He had been straight. He had even been faithful. And how many single men in his position were wholly faithful to a mistress?
As a knock sounded on the door Gianni wheeled round and fixed his attention with charged expectancy on his London security chief, Dawson Carter. His child, he thought with ferocious satisfaction. Milly had to have had his child. And, whatever happened, he would use that child as leverage. Whether she liked it or not, Milly was coming back to him…
‘Well?’ he prodded with unconcealed impatience.
Dawson surveyed his incredibly rich and ruthless employer and started to sweat blood. Gianni D’Angelo ran one of the most powerful electronic empires in the world. He was thirty-two. He had come up from nothing. He was tough, streetwise, and brilliant in business. He didn’t like or expect disappointments. He had even less tolerance for mysteries.
‘If this woman is Milly Henner—’ Dawson began with wary quietness.
Gianni stilled. ‘What do you mean if?’ he countered with raw incredulity.
Dawson grimaced. ‘Gianni…if it is her, she’s living under another name, and she’s been doing it successfully for a very long time.’
‘That’s insane, and utterly impossible!’ Gianni asserted in instant dismissal.
‘Three years ago, Faith Jennings was found by the side of a country road in Cornwall. She had been seriously injured and she had no identification. She was the victim of a hit and run. The police think she was robbed after the accident—’
‘Dio!’ Gianni exclaimed in shaken interruption.
‘But she was pregnant at the time of the accident,’ Dawson confirmed. ‘And she does have a child.’
Gianni drew in a stark breath, incisive dark eyes flaming to bright gold in anticipation. ‘So the child must be two and a half…right? A girl or a boy?’ he prompted with fierce impatience.
‘A little boy. She calls him Connor. He’ll be three in May. He was born before his mother came out of the coma she was in.’
Gianni screened his unusually revealing eyes as he mulled over those bald facts. ‘So…’ he murmured then, without any expression at all. ‘Explain to me how Milly Henner could possibly be living under another woman’s name.’
‘It was a long time before she was able to speak for herself, but she was apparently wearing a rather unusual bracelet. Her face had been pretty badly knocked about and she needed surgery.’ For the first time in his life Dawson saw his employer wince, and was sincerely shaken by the evidence of this previously unsuspected vein of sensitivity. ‘So as a first move the police gave a picture of the bracelet to the press. She was swiftly identified as a teenager who had run away from home when she was sixteen. Her parents came forward and identified her—’
‘But Milly doesn’t have parents alive!’ Gianni cut in abrasively.
‘This woman never recovered her memory after the hit and run, Gianni. She’s a total amnesiac—’
‘A total amnesiac?’ Gianni broke in, with raised brows of dubious enquiry.
‘It’s rare, but it does happen,’ Dawson assured him ruefully. ‘I spoke to a nurse at the hospital where she was treated. They still remember her. When she finally recovered consciousness her mind was a blank, and when her parents took her home she still knew nothing but what they had told her about her past. I gather they also discouraged her from seeking further treatment. The medics were infuriated by their interference but powerless to act.’
‘Normal people do not take complete strangers home and keep them as their daughters for three years,’ Gianni informed him with excessive dryness.
‘I should add that the parents hadn’t seen or heard from their missing daughter in seven years, but were still unshakeable in their conviction that the young woman with the bracelet was their child—’
‘Seven years?’ Gianni broke in.
‘The police did try to run a check on dental records, but the surgery which the daughter attended before she disappeared had burnt down, and the most her retired dentist could recall was that she had had excellent teeth, just like the lady in the hospital bed. This is a very well-known story in the town where Faith Jennings lives—her miraculous return home in spite of all the odds.’
‘There was no return, miraculous or otherwise…that was Milly at the airport! Seven years…’ Gianni mused with incredulous bite. ‘And Milly was in a coma, at the mercy of people no better than kidnappers!’
Dawson cleared his throat. ‘The parents are respectable, comfortably off—the father owns a small engineering plant. If there’s been a mistake, it can only have been a genuine one, and most probably due to wishful thinking.’
Gianni was unimpressed. ‘While Milly was still ill, that’s possible, but when she began to recover they must’ve have started to suspect the truth, so why didn’t they do anything?’ he demanded in a seething undertone. ‘What about the fiancé?’
‘Edward Benson. A thirty-eight-year-old company accountant.’
Gianni lounged back against the edge of his desk like a panther about to spring. ‘An accountant,’ he derided between clenched teeth.
‘He’s her father’s second-in-command,’ Dawson filled in. ‘Local gossip suggests that the engagement is part of a business package.’
‘Check me into a hotel down there.’ Gianni straightened, all emotion wiped from his lean, strong face, eyes ice-cool shards of threat. ‘I think it’s time I got to meet my son. And isn’t that going to put the cat among the pigeons?’
Dawson tried not to picture the onslaught of Gianni, his powerful personality, his fleet of limos and his working entourage without whom he went nowhere on a small, peaceful English town…and the woman who against all reason and self-preservation had contrived to forget her intimate involvement with one of the world’s richest and most influential tycoons. A lot of people had a lot of shock coming their way…

‘So you just tell Edward you refuse to live with his mother!’ Louise Barclay met Faith’s aghast look and simply laughed. A redhead with green eyes and loads of freckles, Louise looked as if she was in her twenties but she was actually well into her thirties, and the divorced mother of two rumbustious teenage boys.
‘Sometimes you’re such a wimp, Faith,’ Louise teased.
‘I’m not—’
‘You are when it comes to your own needs. All your energy goes into keeping other people happy, living the life they think you should live! Your parents act like they own you body and soul, and Edward’s not much better!’ Louise informed her in exasperation.
Faith stiffened. Louise was her best friend and her business partner, but she had little understanding of the burden of guilt that Faith carried where her parents were concerned. ‘It’s not like that—’
‘Oh, yes, it is.’ Louise watched Faith carefully package a beautiful bouquet for delivery and leant back against the shop counter. ‘I’m always watching you struggle to be all things to all people. Once you wanted to be a gardener. Your parents didn’t fancy that, so here you are in a prissy flower shop.’
Faith laughed. ‘Alongside you.’
‘But this was my dream. And if you don’t watch out, you’re going to end up living with old Ma Benson. She will cunningly contrive, without Edward ever noticing, to make your home life the equivalent of a daily dance on a bed of sharpened nails!’ the lively redhead forecast with conviction. ‘You think I haven’t noticed how stressed-out and quiet you’ve been since Edward dropped this on you the day before yesterday?’
Faith turned her head away. For once, Louise was barking up the wrong tree. Faith hadn’t told anybody about that incident at the airport, but she still couldn’t get it out of her mind. Her mother didn’t like to be reminded that her daughter was an amnesiac, and got upset whenever Faith referred to that particular part of the past. Her attitude was understandable: after running away, Faith hadn’t once got in touch to ease her parents’ distress.
How could she ever have been so selfish and uncaring that she had failed to make even a single phone call to reassure them that she was at least still alive? Conscience had given Faith a strong need to do whatever she could to please her parents in an effort to make up for her past mistakes.
She was also painfully aware that both her parents viewed those missing years as a Pandora’s box best left sealed. As far as they were concerned, seven years on she had turned up again, pregnant, unmarried and seemingly destitute. Nobody she might have known during that period had listed her as missing. Those bald realities suggested that prior to the accident she had been homeless, unemployed, not in a stable relationship and bereft of any true friends. Frankly, she’d been desperately lucky to have forgiving parents willing to take her home and help her back to normality again, she acknowledged humbly.
Only what was normality? Faith wondered, with the lonely regret of someone who had learnt not to discuss her secret fears and insecurities with anyone. It could never be normal to possess not one single memory of what she’d been told she’d lost—the first twenty-three years of her life. But if she wanted people to feel comfortable with her, if she wanted people to forget that strange past and treat her like everybody else, she always had to pretend that that vast gaping hole inside her memory banks was no longer any big deal…
‘A fresh start.’ In the early days of her convalescence that had been a much-used parental phrase, the implication being that an inability to recall those years might well prove an unexpected blessing. So Faith had concentrated instead on trying to retrieve childhood memories. She had dutifully studied the photo albums of the much-loved and indulged daughter who had grown into a plump teenager with a sullen face, defiant blue eyes and make-up like war paint. Self-conscious about her weight, the teenage Faith hadn’t liked photos, so there had only been a handful after the age of twelve.
Faith had walked through the schools she had once attended, met the teachers, wandered round the town where she had grown up and paid several awkward visits to former schoolfriends, always willing her blank brain to remember, recognise, sense even token familiarity…
Repetition had created a kind of familiarity, and she had exercised her imagination until sometimes she suspected that she did almost remember and that real memory was hovering cruelly just out of reach on the very edge of her mind. She had rebuilt a quiet, conventional life round her family, but Connor was the true centre of her world. She loved her parents for their unquestioning support, loved Edward for his calm acceptance of her, but she adored her son with a fierce maternal joy and protectiveness that occasionally shook even her.
‘There’s something more up with you than Edward’s sudden penny-pinching desire to regress and stay home with Mother,’ Louise remarked with sudden insight.
The silence thickened. Faith reached a sudden decision and took a deep breath.
‘A man spoke to me at the airport. He was very persistent. He insisted that he knew me by another name…Milly, he called me.’ Trying to downplay the incident even now, Faith loosed an uneven laugh, but the pent-up words of strain continued to tumble from her. ‘Maybe I have a doppelgänger somewhere. It was daft, but it was a little scary…’
‘Why scary?’
Faith linked her hands tightly together in an effort to conceal their unsteadiness. ‘You see, I noticed this man first…to be honest, I really couldn’t take my eyes off him…’ Her voice trailed away as embarrassment gripped her.
‘So he was trying to make a move on you—but do tell me more,’ Louise invited with amusement. ‘Just why couldn’t you take your eyes off this guy?’
‘I don’t know. He was very, very good-looking,’ Faith conceded, colour flaming into her cheeks. ‘And at first I thought that my staring at him had encouraged him to approach me. But when I thought about it afterwards… I don’t think it was like that.’
‘Why not? You might wear fuddy-duddy clothes and scrape your hair back like a novice nun, but your kind of beauty would shine through a potato sack,’ her friend advised her drily.
‘This man was angry with me…I mean…with this woman, Milly,’ Faith adjusted hurriedly. ‘He accused her of having run away. And he was really astonished when I said I didn’t know him and when I threatened him with the police.’
‘That’s persistent.’ Louise looked more serious now.
‘He said his name was Gianni D’Angelo…it means nothing to—’
Louise had straightened, an incredulous light in her eyes. ‘Say that name again.’
‘Gianni D’Angelo.’
‘Did this guy ooze money?’
‘He was very well dressed.’
‘Gianni D’Angelo owns Macro Industries. He’s a hugely important electronics mogul. My ex-hubby once worked on a major advertising campaign for one of his companies,’ Louise informed her with dancing eyes. ‘And if I thought a gorgeous single guy worth billions was wandering round Heathrow trying to pick up stray women, I’d take my sleeping bag and move in until he tripped over me!’
‘It can’t have been the same man,’ Faith decided. ‘I must’ve misheard the name.’
‘Or perhaps you once enjoyed a champagne and caviar lifestyle, rubbing shoulders with the rich and the famous!’ Louise teased with an appreciative giggle. ‘I think you met a complete nutter stringing you a weird line, Faith.’
‘Probably,’ she agreed, with a noticeable diminution of tension.
With a sense of relief, Faith decided to put the entire silly episode out of her mind. And, just as she had arranged a couple of days earlier, she called in at the estate agent to collect the keys of the house which was her dream house for a second viewing.
True, Edward had not seen the sadly neglected Victorian villa in quite the same light. But Faith knew she had to tell her fiancé why there was no question of her agreeing to move in with his widowed mother after their marriage. Perhaps then he would be more amenable to a property which needed a fair amount of work, she reasoned hopefully.
Set on the edge of town, in what had once been open countryside, the house rejoiced in a large garden screened from the road by tall hedges. Faith unlocked the front door and walked into the hall. The stale air made her wrinkle her nose, and she left the door wide on the weak morning sunlight. She wandered contentedly through the shabby rooms and finally into the old wooden conservatory which still possessed considerable charm. Edward had said it would have to be demolished.
A faint sound tugged Faith only partially from her cosy reverie. She half turned, without the slightest expectation of seeing anybody. So the shock of seeing Gianni D’Angelo ten feet away in the doorway was colossal. A strangled gasp escaped her convulsing throat, all colour draining from her face to highlight sapphire-blue eyes huge with fear.
‘All I want to do is talk to you. I didn’t want to walk into the shop. I didn’t want to go to your home. At least here we’re alone, on neutral territory.’ He spread fluid brown hands in a soothing motion that utterly failed in its intent. ‘I won’t come any closer. I don’t want to frighten you. I just want you to listen.’
But, in a state of petrified paralysis, Faith wasn’t capable of listening. She started to shake, back away, her entire attention magnetically pinned to him, absorbing every aspect of his appearance in terrifyingly minute detail. His smoothly cropped but luxuriant black hair. His fabulous cheekbones. His classic nose. His perfectly modelled mouth. And the devastating strength of purpose dauntingly etched into every feature.
His charcoal-grey suit just screamed designer style and expense, moulding broad shoulders as straight as axe-handles, accentuating the lithe flow of his lean, tightly muscled all-male body. ‘P-please…’ she stammered sickly.
‘Per meraviglia!’ Gianni D’Angelo countered rawly. ‘Since when were you a bag of nerves on the constant brink of hysteria? All right, I’ll just give you the proof that we have had what you might call a prior acquaintance.’
‘I don’t want to have had a prior acquaintance with you!’ Faith exclaimed with stricken honesty. ‘I want you to go away and leave me alone!’
He withdrew something from the inside pocket of his beautifully tailored jacket and extended it to her.
Faith stared, but wouldn’t move forward to reach for the item, which appeared to be a photograph.
‘This is you just over three years ago,’ he breathed in a gritty undertone. ‘And if you had your memory right now, we’d be having a major fight.’
‘A m-major fight…’ Faith parroted weakly.
‘I crept up on you with the camera. You were furious. You made me promise to destroy the photo. I said I would. I lied. I’m afraid it’s the only photo of you I have left.’ Stooping with athletic ease, he tossed the glossy snap down on the pitted tiled floor like a statement.
It skimmed to a halt about two feet from her. Faith stared down at the snap where it lay. Her eyes opened impossibly wide. She saw a slim, bare-breasted blonde semi-submerged in bubbles in a giant bath. She saw a slim, bare-breasted blonde with her face, her eyes, her mouth…her breasts. She didn’t want that brazen hussy to be her! Shock rolled over her like a tidal wave.
‘Keeping it was kind of a guy thing,’ Gianni admitted, almost roughly.
A strangled moan of denial slowly hissed from Faith’s rigidly compressed lips. Her head swam, the photo spinning out of focus, her legs turning hollow. And then the great well of darkness behind her eyelids sucked her down frighteningly fast into a faint.
Gianni caught her before she hit the floor in a crumpled heap and swore vehemently.

CHAPTER TWO
FAITH drifted back to awareness in a complete daze. Her lashes fluttered and then lifted. A dark male face swam into stark focus, but it was those eyes, those stunning lion-gold eyes fringed by black spiky lashes, that entrapped her attention and held her still. Her breath feathered in her throat.
The oddest little tugging sensation pulled deep down inside her, heralding a slow burst of heat that spread from the pit of her stomach up, and then down to more intimate places. Faith quivered in extreme disconcertion, extraordinarily conscious of the strange sensitivity of her full breasts, the sudden straining tightness of her nipples. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t speak, she couldn’t think. Her body had taken on a frightening life of its own, yet she couldn’t muster the power to either question or control it.
‘Gianni…Gianni,’ a breathless voice she barely recognised as her own pleaded achingly inside her mind. Seemingly of its own volition, her hand lifted and began to rise towards that strong, aggressive jawline…
Gianni’s eyes shimmered chillingly. He broke the spell by tilting his proud dark head back out of her reach. Then he flashed her a look of raw derision. ‘When I want sex, I’ll tell you, Milly. In the meantime, keep your hands to yourself.’
That assurance was so shattering it sprang Faith back to full awareness. As he slid back upright from his crouching position by the sagging basketwork chair on which she sat, all that had happened in the minutes before she had fainted flooded back to fill her with frantic, frightening confusion.
She had been viewing the house. He had arrived. He had shown her the photo, that awful photo of herself flaunting her bare breasts like a tart. He did know her. He had known her. Dear heaven, she conceded in drowning mortification, he had to have known her in the biblical sense. This man had actually slept with her.
Disorientation engulfed her. She heard afresh that pleading voice whispering his name inside her head, and wondered in stunned disbelief if after three long empty years she had finally remembered something from the past. Something she didn’t want to remember, something that made her squirm with discomfiture. Perhaps it had been her imagination playing a trick on her. Why now and never before? She lifted her head and then suddenly dropped it down again, shutting her eyes tight, unable to meet Gianni D’Angelo’s cool, measured gaze. A dulled throb of tension now pulsed behind her temples.
She recalled his derision, the blunt immediacy of what had been a rejection couched in the most humiliating terms. And then she relived what had prompted that crushing response from him. Oh, dear God, she thought with stunned shame, in those first moments of recovering consciousness she had focused on him and experienced the most unbelievably powerful surge of physical hunger. She was shattered by that realisation. It rewrote everything she had believed she knew about that side of her nature.
The sound of brisk footsteps sent her eyes flying open again. She gaped at the sight of the uniformed older man who appeared in the doorway to extend, of all things, a brandy goblet. Gianni took it from him with a nod and a dismissive move of one authoritative hand. He strode back to Faith and slotted the glass into her nerveless fingers. ‘Drink it. You’re as white as a sheet,’ he instructed grimly.
‘Wh-where did that man and this drink come from?’ she stammered in unwilling wonderment.
Gianni frowned, as if that had been a very stupid question. ‘When you passed out, I called my driver on the car phone and told him to bring it in.’
Faith slowly nodded, studying him with slightly glazed eyes. Did he have a bar in his car? It had to be a big car. He wasn’t giving her a bottle to swig out of. Her sense of dislocation from reality increased. The gulf between them felt immeasurable. According to Louise, Gianni D’Angelo was a very wealthy and powerful tycoon, and certainly he looked the part. What sort of relationship could she possibly have had with such a man? Suddenly she really didn’t want to know.
‘Drink the brandy,’ Gianni pressed with controlled impatience.
‘I hardly ever touch alcohol…’
‘Well, you weren’t on any wagon when I knew you,’ Gianni informed her without hesitation.
Shaken by that come-back, and the daunting knowledge that was his alone, Faith tipped the glass to her lips. The spirit raced down her dry throat like liquid fire and burned away the chill spreading inside her. She swallowed hard and then breathed in deep. ‘It seems you once knew me…I want that photograph back!’ she added the instant she recalled its existence, anxious eyes lowering to see if it still lay on the floor. It didn’t.
‘Forget it; it’s mine. But isn’t that just like a woman?’ Gianni growled with incredulous scorn. ‘I only showed you that photo to make you accept that we once had a certain bond, and now you can only concentrate on a complete irrelevance!’
It didn’t feel irrelevant to Faith. Right at that moment she saw that revealing photo as shocking evidence of a past she wanted to leave buried, and she certainly didn’t want it left in his possession. ‘Look, Mr D’Angelo—’
‘Mister D’Angelo?’ he queried, with a slashing smile that chilled her to the marrow. ‘Make it Gianni.’
That ice-cold smile was like a threat. It shook her. He was poised several feet away, still as a predator about to spring. She recognised his hostility and recoiled from it in sudden fear. ‘You hate me…’
He froze.
The silence thundered.
Suddenly he swung away from her. ‘You don’t remember me…you don’t remember anything, do you?’
‘No…I don’t,’ she conceded tautly.
‘I thought you would’ve been full of questions. This isn’t any easier for me,’ he ground out in a charged undertone, spinning back to her with graceful but restive rapidity. Stormy dark eyes assailed her and she paled even more. ‘At the airport, I admit I wanted to strangle you. I didn’t know you’d lost your memory. I don’t like you looking at me like I’m about to attack you either!’
Intimidated by the powerful personality that he was revealing, Faith did nothing to soothe him when she instinctively cowered back into the chair.
‘Milly…’
‘That’s not my name!’ she protested.
He let that go past.
‘Look…’ He spread the fingers of one lean and eloquent hand. ‘You’re scared because I’m rocking your cosy little world. It’s not me you’re afraid of. You’re scared of the unknown that I represent.’
Faith gave a slight wary nod that might or might not have signified agreement, but her expressive eyes revealed her surprise that he could make that distinction. She wasn’t used to the sensation of someone else trying to get inside her head and work out how she felt.
‘I don’t want to frighten you, but anything I tell you is likely to cause you distress, so I’ll keep it basic.’
‘How did you find out where I was living? How did you know I was an amnesiac?’ Faith suddenly demanded accusingly.
‘Naturally I had you followed from the airport. Then I had some enquiries made,’ Gianni supplied with a fluid shrug.
Rising in one sudden motion from the chair, Faith gave him a stricken look of bemusement. ‘But why would you do something like that? Why would you go to so much trouble? Why are you here now? Just because we had some relationship years ago?’
‘I’m working up to that. I did have this rather naïve hope that you might start remembering things when you saw me again,’ Gianni confided with a sardonic laugh, his smooth, dark features broodingly taut. ‘But it looks like I’m going to have to do this the hard way. I suggest you sit down again.’
‘No.’ Faith braced her slim shoulders, a sudden powerful need to regain control of the situation driving her. ‘I don’t need to put myself through this if I don’t want to. I don’t need to listen to you—’
Gianni murmured, ‘I’m afraid you do…’
‘No, I don’t. I just want you to go away and leave me alone,’ Faith admitted truthfully, suppressing the little inner voice that warned her that that was craven and short-sighted. For here it finally was, the opportunity she had once yearned for: the chance to knock a window, however small, into that terrible wall that closed her out from her own memory. Yet because she didn’t know, indeed strongly feared what she might glimpse through that window, she was rejecting the chance.
Gianni D’Angelo surveyed her with disturbing intensity, brilliant eyes semi-screened by his lush lashes to a glimmer of gold. ‘That’s not possible. You asked me why I was here. So I’ll tell you. It’s quite simple. When you disappeared out of my life, you were pregnant with my child…’
A roaring sounded in Faith’s ears. Her lips parted. She stared back at him in horror as that cosy little world he had referred to with such perceptible scorn lurched and tilted dangerously on its axis.
‘Connor is my son,’ Gianni spelt out levelly.
The very floor under Faith’s feet seemed to shift. Her eyes were blank with shock.
As she swayed, Gianni strode forward. Curving a powerful arm to her spine to steady her, he took her out of the conservatory and back through the hall. ‘No, don’t pass out on me again. Let’s get out of this dump. We both need some fresh air.’
The winter sunlight that engulfed her at the front of the house seemed impossibly bright. She blinked and shifted her aching head. ‘No, not Connor…it’s not possible…not you!’
Ignoring those objections, Gianni guided her over to a worn bench and settled her down on it with surprisingly gentle hands. He hunkered down in front of her and reached for her trembling fingers, enclosing them firmly in his. ‘There is no easy way to tell you these things. I’m working really hard to keep the shocks to the minimum.’
That one shock had temporarily left her bereft of the ability to even respond. And yet he could call that one bombshell keeping the shocks to the “minimum”? Dear God, what worse could he tell her than he had already told her? Her face was pale as parchment. ‘My head hurts,’ she mumbled, like a child seeking sympathy in an effort to ward off punishment for some offence.
Gianni’s hands tightened fiercely on hers. ‘I’m sorry, but I had to tell you. Why do you think I’m here? Why do you think I’ve spent three endless years trying to trace you both?’ he demanded emotively.
Faith focused on him numbly. The father of her child. Why hadn’t that possibility occurred to her sooner? But she knew why, didn’t she? Connor might as well have sprung into being without benefit of any male input whatsoever.
Once she had been frantic to know who had fathered her child, but when she had admitted that need to her parents they had gone all quiet and looked at each other uncomfortably. And when she had questioned their attitude to what seemed to her an absolutely crucial question that had to be answered, she had recognised what they didn’t want to put into words.
They were afraid that she had been promiscuous, that she might not even know for sure who had actually got her pregnant. And she had been very upset to realise that her parents could harbour such sordid suspicions about a life she could no longer remember.
‘The father of my baby might love me…might be looking for me right now!’ she had sobbed in distraught self-defence.
‘If he loved you, why were you on your own?’
‘If you disappeared, why hasn’t he been in touch with the police?’
‘And why hasn’t he come here looking for you? Surely he would at least have known where your parents lived? Even though you hadn’t been in touch with us recently, wouldn’t he have arrived here to check us out as a last resort?’
Faced with those unanswerable questions, Faith had finally let go of the idea that she might have conceived her baby in a caring relationship. And from that moment on she had begun suppressing her own curiosity, shrinking from the idea that Connor might be the result of some casual sexual encounter. Yet those suspicions had only fronted worse fears, she conceded now, a hysterical laugh lodging like a giant stone in her throat. These days you read so many horror stories about the level penniless and homeless teenagers could be reduced to just to survive…
‘Milly…’ Gianni tugged her upright.
‘That’s n-not my name,’ she stated through chattering teeth.
He raised his hands to capture her taut cheekbones and she shivered because he was so very close. ‘That’s the name I knew you by,’ he murmured softly.
‘Please let go of me…’
‘You’re shaking like a jerry-built building in an earthquake,’ Gianni countered drily.
She realised that she was. Involuntarily, she braced her hands on his chest. Instantly the heat of him sprang out at her and she swiftly removed her hands again, almost off-balancing in her eagerness to put some distance between them. But the distinctive scent of him still flared in her nostrils. Clean, warm, intrinsically male and somehow earthy in a way Edward was not. Edward always smelt of soap. Oh, my God, Edward, a voice screamed inside her pounding head.
Another moan was dredged from her. She covered her distraught face with trembling hands in growing desperation. Connor, whom she loved beyond life itself. Connor’s father was here to stake a claim in his son’s life. What else could he be here for? Why else had he searched for them?
‘Let me tell you something…’ Gianni breathed in a charged undertone that reeked of menace but somehow didn’t frighten her. ‘Three years without me has turned you into a basket case! I’m taking you back to my hotel and getting a doctor to look you over!’
By sheer force of will he got her down the path and out onto the pavement. She wasn’t capable of matching the speed of his reactions, but she dimly registered that what he thought he acted on simultaneously, with terrifying decisiveness. She gawped at the sight of the long silver limousine waiting, not to mention the chauffeur surging round the bonnet as if he was running a race to get the passenger door open in time.
‘Your hotel…?’ she repeated belatedly, her brain functioning only in tiny, cripplingly slow bursts of activity. ‘I can’t go to your hotel!’
Gianni ducked her head down as carefully as an officer of the law tucking a suspect into a police car and settled her onto the rich leather-backed seat. He swung in beside her, forcing her to move deeper into the opulent car, and a split second later the door slammed on them both.
‘I’m not going anywhere with you!’ Faith protested frantically. ‘I’ve got to get back to the shop—’
‘I’m sure your partner will manage without you for a couple of hours.’
‘I have to pick up Connor from the nursery…no, I don’t…I forgot,’ she lied jerkily. ‘The kids are out on a trip today and they won’t be back until—’
Gianni subjected her to a derisive appraisal. ‘Wise up,’ he breathed in cool interruption. ‘You can’t hide Connor or keep him from me. When I want to meet my son, I will, but I’m unlikely to stage that meeting when you’re on the edge of hysteria.’
He had seen right through her, and that terrified her. ‘I’m not on the edge of hysteria…my car…the house…it wasn’t locked up—’
Gianni held up the keys. ‘I pulled the door shut behind us. If you give me your car keys, your car will be picked up and driven over to the hotel. You’re in no condition to drive.’
Faith surveyed him with huge haunted eyes. She passed over her car keys. He was like a tank, rolling over her to crush her deeper and deeper into the dust. And so cold, so very, very cold, she sensed with a shiver. He had tried to calm her, gripped her hands, made an effort to show that he understood why she was so distressed. But none of that had worked. Why? There was no human warmth in him. His brilliant, beautiful dark eyes now chilled her to ice.
Connor’s eyes were lighter in shade, but his skin always had that same golden tint even in winter, she reflected numbly. Maybe he was lying about Connor being his child! Even as her head pounded unmercifully into what felt like the onset of a migraine attack she discarded that faint hope. Gianni D’Angelo wouldn’t be wasting his time tracking down a child he didn’t know to be his.
Stray, unconnected thoughts kept on hitting her from all directions. She had shared his bed. She shifted on the seat, totally unable to look at him any more. She had bathed in his bath. It had to have been his bath. Nothing would convince her that she had ever been in the bracket of owning so luxurious a bath. But he had avoided the usual word ‘relationship’ to describe their former intimacy. ‘A certain bond’. That was the phrase he had used. Such an odd choice to describe their…their what?
Not an affair, not a relationship? Oh, dear heaven, had she been a one-night stand? Or worse? And she knew what was worse. No, no. She discarded that melodramatic suspicion. If she’d been a hooker, he would hardly be so sure her son was his. Dear heaven, what was she thinking? It was as if her brain had just been unhinged, torn open to let all her most deep-seated anxieties flood out.
In silence, Gianni reached into the built-in bar and withdrew a glass. He poured another brandy and settled it meaningfully into her trembling fingers.
Had she drunk a lot when he knew her? Been a real boozer with a strong head? She raised the glass to her lips, the rim rattling against her teeth. The nightmare just went on and on. What did he want from her? She was too terrified to ask, was in a state of complete panic, incapable of rational dialogue.
She didn’t even notice where the limo had been going until he helped her out of the car. It was a big country house hotel about three miles out of town. Faith had dined there on her twenty-sixth birthday. Even her father, who liked to make a show of sophistication, had winced at the cost of that meal.
‘I don’t want to go in here…just take me home,’ she mumbled. ‘I’m not feeling very well.’
‘You can lie down for a while,’ Gianni assured her. ‘Get your head together.’
‘You’re not listening to me—’
‘You’re not saying anything I want to hear.’
‘Did I ever?’ she heard herself whisper as he pressed her into the lift and the doors slid shut on them.
His superb bone structure tautened. ‘I don’t remember,’ he said flatly.
Her tummy twisted. Was he making fun of her?
Gianni stared down at her from his imposing height. His mouth curled. ‘I guess you could say I don’t want to remember. It’s irrelevant now.’
Her head felt woozy, her legs weak and wobbly. As the lift disgorged them into a smoothly carpeted reception area containing only one door, he settled a bracing hand on her spine. ‘I don’t want to be here,’ she told him afresh.
‘I know, but I have a habit of getting what I want.’ He made her precede him into an incredibly spacious and luxurious suite. Closing the door, he bent, and without the slightest hesitation scooped her off her feet.
‘What are you doing?’ she gasped.
‘You should’ve said no to that second drink. But possibly I did you a favour. The alcohol has acted on you like a tranquilliser.’ Thrusting open another door, he crossed the room beyond and laid her down on a big bed. ‘The doctor will check you out in a few minutes. I brought him down from London with me.’
‘I don’t need a doctor.’
Gianni studied her without any expression at all and strode back out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.
A doctor did come. He was middle-aged and suave. If he gave her his name, she didn’t catch it. She was finding it impossible to concentrate, and she was so tired, so unbelievably tired, it took almost incalculable effort to respond to his questions…

Gianni watched Milly sleep. Grudging pity stirred in him. She looked so fragile, and it wasn’t an illusion. Right now, Milly was like a delicate porcelain cup with a hair-fine crack. If he wasn’t very careful, she would break in half, and he might never get her glued back together again. Connor needed his mother. Connor did not need a mother having a nervous breakdown over the identity crisis that was soon to engulf her.
Porca miseria, Gianni swore inwardly. He wanted to wipe Robin and Davina Jennings from the face of the earth for screwing Milly up. She wasn’t the same person any more. She was a shadow imprint. Anxious, nervous as a cat, apologetic, scared. She didn’t know him from Adam and yet she had just let him bring her back to his hotel suite. In her current condition she was as foolishly trusting as a very young child.
But there was nothing immature about Gianni’s response to her. He wanted to rip her out of that buttoned-up white blouse and gathered floral skirt she wore and free her glorious hair from that ugly plait. And then he wanted to jump her like an animal and keep her in bed for at least twenty-four hours, he acknowledged, with grim acceptance of his own predictability.
He had really hoped she would leave him cold. But she didn’t. Sooner or later she would. She was a woman, like other women, and eventually all women bored him. Only she never had in the past, he conceded reluctantly. And if he hadn’t caught her with Stefano he would have married her. His dirt-poor Sicilian background of traditional values had surfaced when he’d got her pregnant. He had been ready to buy into the whole dream. The wife, the child, the family hearth. And this tiny, fragile woman, who would only reach his heart now if she stood on literal tiptoes, had exploded the dream and destroyed his relationship with his brother.
He had wanted revenge so badly he could still taste it even now. He had come down to Oxfordshire intending to let revenge simply take its natural course. He emitted a humourless laugh. He hated her, but he craved the oblivion of her sweet body like a drug addict craved a fix. He hated her, but he couldn’t bring himself to hurt her. He hated the Jenningses for making him the weapon that had to hurt. He had no choice but to blow Milly’s cosy little fake world away. She had to take her own life back, and she couldn’t do that without him…
A slight, slanting smile eased the ferocious tension stamped on Gianni’s features. She was his. He cursed the rampant stirring in his loins. He had been in a state of near constant arousal ever since the airport. Only rigid self-discipline and cold intellect restrained him. For the foreseeable future, she was untouchable. He had waited three years; he could wait a little longer. The fiancé had to be seen off. How was Mr Square and Upwardly Mobile likely to react to the news that Milly wasn’t really the boss’s daughter?
Milly shifted in her sleep and turned over. The plait lay temptingly exposed on the pillow. Gianni moved forward, and before he even knew what he was doing he was unclasping the stiff black bow, loosening the strands, running his long fingers through her beautiful silky hair. His hands weren’t quite steady. Instantly he withdrew them, studied them broodingly, clenched them into defensive fists.
When she had her memory back and he had enjoyed her for a while, he would dump her again. But he would retain a lot of visiting privileges. Purely for his son’s benefit, of course. The cascade of half-unravelled wavy golden hair hung over the side of the bed like a lethal lure. It might be quite a while until he dumped her. So what? He asked himself. You couldn’t put a price on pleasure.
But how did he tell her the truth about herself in a way that didn’t make her hate him? How did you wrap up the fact that at heart she was a gold-digging, cheating tramp who had fooled him right to the bitter end? And if she got her memory back she was going to remember that she had run rings round him right from the minute she’d jumped out of that birthday cake. She was his one weakness, but he could afford to indulge himself just one more time. As long as he never let himself forget for a second what she was really like…

‘Angel…?’
Somebody was shaking her awake. Faith began to sit up, opening her eyes, only to freeze into immobility.
Gianni D’Angelo stood over her. So very tall, so exotically dark.
‘What did you call me?’ she mumbled, remembering everything, attempting to block it back out again until she felt better equipped to deal with it.
Faint colour scored his hard cheekbones. ‘Milly…I called you Milly.’
‘My name’s Faith,’ she told him flatly, refusing to consider his assurance that he had known her by that other name because such an astonishing claim raised questions about her past she could not yet bring herself to ask. ‘Why on earth did you bring me here?’
‘You needed time out.’
With a sudden start of dismay, Faith checked her watch. It was almost one. She began to scramble off the bed with alacrity. ‘I need to pick up Connor—’
‘Call Mrs Jennings. You should eat before you get back behind a steering wheel.’
Mrs Jennings? What an odd way to refer to her mother! Struggling to regain her equilibrium, Faith was even more disconcerted by the untidy cascade of hair now falling round her face. The clasp must have fallen off while she slept. Thrusting the waving mass back behind one small ear, she frowned in Gianni’s general direction. ‘Eat? I have to pick up Connor—’
He extended a mobile phone to her. ‘Ask Mrs Jennings to do it today. We need to talk.’
‘No, I—’
‘You can’t run away from this.’
You can’t run away from this. That blunt statement unnerved her. Her lower lip trembled, and then firmed. She twisted her golden head away and snatched in a shuddering breath. Once again Gianni D’Angelo had seen right through her. Her parents and Edward had always been content to accept what they saw on the surface.
And how was her fiancé likely to react to the sudden appearance of Connor’s natural father? Badly—probably very badly, Faith acknowledged dully. Edward was a very conservative man. And he had once admitted that the very fact he was the only man involved in Connor’s life had made it easier for him to accept her son.
The mobile phone was pressed into her tense fingers.
‘You think you can just tell me what to do—’ she began accusingly.
‘Right now, you’d seize on any excuse to walk out of here again!’
Reddening at the accuracy of that stab, Faith turned back reluctantly to look at Gianni D’Angelo.
And, like a slap in the face, she saw all the cool control she craved etched into the arrogant angle of his dark head and the steadiness of his burnished dark gaze. He had complete dominion over himself.
‘When you’ve made your call, we’ll have lunch.’
Her teeth ground together. She couldn’t hold back her hostility any longer. ‘I really don’t like you.’
Gianni stilled with one brown hand on the door. ‘I know… The Sleeping Beauty woke up to a kiss—’
‘She also woke up to a prince!’ Faith heard herself interrupt, and then she stiffened, disturbed by the speed of her own retaliation. She never argued with anybody. She was far better known as a peacemaker.
‘If I’d kissed you, you might have screamed assault…although possibly that’s only what you’d prefer me to believe.’ Gianni surveyed her, a sardonic slant to his expressive mouth. ‘I think your body remembers me better than your brain does.’
Faith was aghast at that suggestion. ‘How dare you?’
Gianni gave an exaggerated wince. ‘Tell me, how do you square the outraged prudish virgin act with the reality that you’re a single mother?’
Beneath his coolly enquiring gaze, Faith’s soft mouth opened and closed again. Colour flooded her complexion.
‘When something irritates the hell out of me, I usually mention it,’ Gianni shared, before he turned on his heel and left her alone.
In his wake, a combustible mix of anger and chagrin engulfed Faith. She punched out her home phone number with a stabbing finger. Her mother answered.
‘It’s Faith. I’m sorry, but I won’t be home for lunch…and I hate to ask you at such short notice but could you pick up Connor from nursery for me?’ Faith asked tautly.
‘Of course I can, darling,’ Davina Jennings responded instantly. ‘You sound flustered. Is the shop very busy or is Louise away? Never mind. I’d better get a move on if I’m to collect my grandson and still have lunch ready for your father!’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
Faith laid down the mobile. As she did so she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror. Outraged virgin? Her cheeks burned afresh. Was that really how she came across?
During her convalescence her mother had warned her that she had a reputation to rebuild, that folk would be quick to pass final judgement on an unmarried mother. Already the target of considerable local curiosity, Faith had been painfully aware of her parents’ concern about how she might behave. Her parents were very private people, but they were pillars of both church and community. So Faith had followed her mother’s guidance when it came to her wardrobe and had worked hard at cultivating an acceptably low profile.
Distractedly, Faith lifted one of the silver brushes on the dresser to try and tidy her hair as she couldn’t find her clasp anywhere. There had been nothing prudish about that blonde in the bath…and, whether she liked it or not, that blonde had been her! Yet she still found that so hugely hard to accept. It was like the sudden discovery of an identical twin, who was her exact opposite in personality and behaviour.
After all, in three long years Faith had never had the slightest urge to go to bed with anybody! Quite a few men had asked her out. Unfortunately most had had definite expectations of how the evening should end. Repulsed by those pushy advances, Faith had come to believe that she had a pretty low sex drive, and had occasionally marvelled at Connor’s very existence.
Edward had been a family friend long before they had started seeing each other, and she had been grateful that he seemed so ideally suited to her. Her fiancé was neither physically demonstrative nor sexually demanding. He had informed her that he preferred to save intimacy for marriage. He had even told her that he would respect her more on those terms, particularly when she had made what he called ‘a youthful mistake’. When it had dawned on her that the ‘mistake’ Edward was referring to was Connor, she had been mortified and hurt.
When Faith walked back into the beautifully furnished reception room next door, she saw a waiter standing by a trolley in the elegant dining area. Gianni was poised by the window. He watched her approach with unfathomable eyes. Her tummy flipped and her breathing quickened.
‘Let’s eat,’ he suggested smoothly.
She was surprised to discover how hungry she was, and was grateful for the restraining presence of the waiter. Gianni embarked on an impersonal conversation. He questioned her about local businesses and the recent bankruptcies on the industrial estate. His razor-sharp intellect swiftly outran the depths of her economic knowledge. Where another man might have centred his interest on local history, or the sights to be seen, Gianni functioned on an entirely different level.
Involuntarily, Faith was fascinated. In the midst of her nightmare, Gianni D’Angelo could behave as if nothing remotely abnormal was happening. It was intimidating proof of a very resourceful and clever male in absolute control of a difficult situation.
When the waiter departed after serving them, Faith tensed up again. Gianni surveyed her with slumbrous dark golden eyes and her throat tightened, her heartbeat speeding up.
‘Now it’s time to talk about Connor,’ he told her with immovable cool.
‘Connor? How can we?’ Faith protested without hesitation. ‘As it is, I can hardly get my mind around the idea that you could be his father!’
‘Not could be, am,’ Gianni countered with level emphasis. ‘You had a test shortly before your disappearance for the child’s DNA. I am, without a single shadow of a doubt, Connor’s father.’
Faith’s knife and fork fell from her loosening hold to rattle jarringly down on her plate. She stared back at him, appalled by that revealing admission. ‘You weren’t sure that…well, that… You mean you didn’t trust me…you suspected there might’ve been room for doubt?’ She struggled valiantly to frame that horribly humiliating question, and her strained voice shook.
Gianni’s lean, dark devastating face was now as still as a woodland pool. He cursed his error in referring to the DNA tests to convince her that Connor was his son and murmured evenly, ‘I’m a very rich man. The DNA testing was a necessary precaution.’
‘A n-necessary precaution…?’ Faith stammered.
‘A legal safeguard,’ Gianni extended with a slight shift of one broad shoulder. ‘Once Connor was proven to be my child I could be sure that if anything happened to me his inheritance rights would not be easily contested.’
Faith nodded uncertainly, thoroughly taken aback by the obvious fact that Gianni D’Angelo had already thought to make provision for her son in his will. She also registered that she herself had already moved on in terms of acceptance and expectation. Only three hours ago she had wanted Gianni to vanish, had denied any need to know what ties they might once have had. But now she badly needed to be reassured that they had had a stable relationship which would not have entailed DNA testing simply to confirm the paternity of her child.
‘You said I was trying to run away from all this,’ she reminded him tautly, her clear blue eyes pinned anxiously to his hard bronzed features. ‘At first, yes, I was. I was so shocked. But now I have a whole lot of questions I need to ask.’
‘About us,’ Gianni slotted in softly. ‘Unfortunately it would be a bad idea for me to unload too many facts on you right now.’
Faith frowned in complete confusion. ‘Why?’
His stunning eyes veiling, Gianni pushed away his plate and lounged back fluidly in his chair to study her. ‘I talked to a psychologist before I came down here.’
‘A psychologist?’ Disconcerted pink surged up beneath her skin at that admission. The embarrassed distaste with which her parents had regarded all such personnel had left its mark on her.
‘It was his view that wherever possible you should only be expected to deal with one thing at a time. That’s why we’re concentrating on Connor,’ Gianni explained, with the slow quiet diction of someone dealing with a child on the brink of a tantrum. ‘At this moment, that’s enough for you to handle.’
‘Let me get this straight,’ Faith muttered unevenly. ‘You are telling me that you are not prepared to—’
‘Muddy the water and confuse you with what is currently extraneous information,’ Gianni confirmed, watching her eyes darken and flare with incredulous anger.
Abruptly thrusting back her chair, Faith rose to her feet. ‘Who the heck do you think you are to tell me that?’
‘Sit down and finish your meal,’ Gianni drawled.
Faith trembled. ‘I have the right to know what role I played in your life. That is not extraneous information!’
‘I think it is. I want to talk about my son because I’ve waited three years to find him and now I would very much like to meet him.’ Gianni’s measured gaze challenged her.
‘You’re not meeting Connor until you tell me what I need to know!’ Faith’s head was starting to pound, not least because a temper she had never known she had was tightening its grip on her, no matter how hard she strove to contain it. ‘What was I to you? A one-night stand? A hooker?’ she slung furiously. ‘Or a girlfriend?’
With pronounced cool, Gianni came upright to face her. Even in the overwrought state she was in, his striking grace of movement caught her eye as he stepped out from behind the table. ‘No to all of the above. Leave this for another day, cara,’ he advised very quietly, incisive dark-as-night eyes resting on the revealing clenching and unclenching of her hands. ‘When the time’s right, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.’
‘Stop treating me like I’m mentally unfit to deal with my own life!’ Faith launched back at him in furious condemnation. ‘I’ll ask you one more time before I walk out of here…what was I to you?’
Gianni expelled his breath in a slow hiss. ‘You were my mistress.’
Faith stared back at him, eyes widening and widening, soft mouth rounding but no sound emerging. The angry tension evaporated from her. Sheer shock stilled her, leaving her looking vulnerable and lost. Then she sealed her lips, forced her feet to turn her around and walked to the door. There she hesitated, wheeled back, and hurried across the room again to retrieve her handbag. Not once did she allow her attention to roam back in Gianni’s direction.
‘Are my car keys in here?’ she asked woodenly.
‘Yes. This is ridiculous,’ Gianni murmured drily.
‘How long was I…your mistress?’ Faith squeezed out that designation as if her mouth was a clothes-wringer.
‘Two years…’
Faith flinched as though he had struck her a second body blow. Then, pushing up her chin and straightening her slight shoulders, she moved back to the door and paused there. ‘I hope you paid me well to prostitute myself,’ she breathed through painfully compressed lips.
In the thunderous silence that greeted that stinging retaliation Faith turned her head. Gianni gazed back at her, not a muscle moving on his darkly handsome features. But for once she could read him like an open book. His golden eyes blazed his fury. Oddly soothed by that reaction, Faith stalked rigid-backed out of the suite and headed for the lift.

CHAPTER THREE
FAITH’S tenuous control crumpled and fell apart the instant she reached the sanctuary of her car.
Snatching in a gasping breath in an effort to calm herself, Faith stared blindly through the windscreen. His mistress! It made a horrible kind of sense. He was filthy rich. She wasn’t from the same world. So of course she hadn’t been his girlfriend, his equal, she reflected bitterly. Now she knew why he had been challenged to quantify their relationship. The commercial element had figured. For two years. Two years, an agonised inner voice screeched in condemnation. It had taken her an inexcusably long time to wake up and see the error of her ways.
For two years, two of her missing years, she had been a kept woman. In exchange for sex he had probably paid for the roof over her head, her clothing, all her bills. Faith shuddered, mortified by the self she had clearly been before she’d lost her memory. What kind of woman could she have been? This woman who had called herself Milly? What further humiliating discoveries still awaited her?
Striving hard to get a grip on her wildly seesawing emotions, Faith started the car and drove away from the hotel. Gianni had said she had disappeared. OK, she told herself, it might have taken her a long time but at least she had finally decided to leave him. She must have planned to make a fresh start. And a fresh start was exactly what she had made, she reminded herself doggedly.
Then, just as she came off the roundabout on the outskirts of town, her searing headache became suddenly so much worse that her vision began to blur. Immediately she pulled off the road and parked. Perspiration beaded her short upper lip.
And then it happened. As if somebody was staging a sudden slideshow inside her head. A picture slotted into her mind. She saw herself clutching a phone like a lifeline, and then her awareness shifted and she was suddenly inside that self.
‘Gianni…I haven’t seen you in three weeks,’ she was saying, and tears were stinging her eyes, but she was working really hard at keeping her voice light and teasing because like any workaholic Gianni hated it when she nagged.
‘Book yourself a seat on Concorde.’
‘OK…’ she agreed with studied casualness, furiously blinking back the tears.
‘I didn’t realise it had been three weeks.’ Gianni paused, and then continued with innate superiority and instinctive attention to detail. ‘No, it hasn’t been three weeks, cara. Don’t you remember I stopped over one night before I went to Rio?’
‘Gianni, much as I love you,’ she groaned, ‘there are times when I just want to reach down this phone line and hit you! You were here for less than five hours!’
And then, just as quickly as it had come, the picture vanished and Faith was left sitting behind the steering wheel of her car in complete shock. But every emotion she had experienced during that slide back into the past had stayed with her, and the revelation of those powerful emotions now took her by storm.
Winding down the window with a shaking hand, Faith drank in great gulps of fresh air. It had happened, this time it had really, definitely happened, and she had genuinely remembered something. But that tiny slice of the past she had relived had been incredibly disturbing.
She had loved him. She had loved Gianni D’Angelo! She had had a capacity for emotion then that had virtually eaten her alive. Until now Faith had never dreamt that at any stage of her life she could have experienced such strong feelings. And it was even more devastating to be forced to accept that once she had adored Gianni D’Angelo, lived from one day to the next on that love, needed him as she needed air to breathe, felt she was barely existing when he wasn’t around…
Emerging from that shattering new awareness, Faith tried to block it out again. It had already been a hell of a day. Tomorrow she would take it all out again and deal with it. Not now.
She drove through town and parked at the rear of Petals, the flowershop she ran with Louise.
Gianni D’Angelo’s mistress. If she had once been that crazy about him, she could even begin to see how she might have ended up trapped in such a relationship. Love had made a fool of her. Love, she told herself urgently, was a lot more presentable an excuse than avarice.
But how was she to tell Edward? Edward was such a conventional man. Faith’s heart sank. Edward had chosen to assume that some flash young man had seduced her and then abandoned her when she fell pregnant. That was how Edward had dealt with getting engaged to an unwed mother. He had effectively excused her from all real responsibility and decided to view her as an innocent victim.
But being kept by Gianni D’Angelo as a mistress was a very different kettle of fish. And how could she not tell Edward, when Gianni was here in the flesh demanding to meet his son? It was all going to come out. Nothing she could do could prevent that. Gianni D’Angelo’s mistress. It was sordid. Why had she tried briefly to persuade herself otherwise? Edward and her parents would be extremely shocked. And Gianni wasn’t likely to sink back into the woodwork again. Climbing out of her car, Faith paled at that awareness.
The shop was empty of customers. Louise was dusting shelves and humming to herself. Her partner turned round, and as Faith moved into the light she frowned. ‘Heck, what’s happened to you?’
Faith stiffened defensively like a hedgehog under sudden attack. ‘Nothing…nothing’s happened to me.’
‘What have you done with your hair?’ Louise demanded. ‘My goodness, I never realised you had that much of it!’
‘I had a headache…have a headache,’ Faith corrected awkwardly. ‘I’m sorry. I should’ve called you to tell you that I would be out for so long.’
‘Nonsense. Go back home this minute. You look awful,’ Louise told her bluntly.
Relieved by that advice, Faith went back out to her car and drove slowly home to the rambling old farmhouse her parents had bought and renovated when she was a child. In the cosy front hall, the scent of beeswax polish and the ticking of the old grandfather clock enveloped her like a healing blanket.
Connor ran out of the kitchen, loosed a noisy whoop of welcome and flung himself at her. ‘Mummy!’ he carolled.
Faith reached down and lifted her son. She hugged him so tightly he gave a yelp of protest. Instantly she loosened her grip and pressed an apologetic kiss to his smooth brow. A great gush of love had just engulfed her, but for the first time there was a piercing arrow of fearful insecurity inside that love.
He was a gorgeous little boy. The combination of her blonde hair with his dark brows, sparkling brown eyes and golden skin tone was unusual. But all of a sudden Connor wasn’t exclusively her little boy any more. He was the son of a very rich man, who wanted a share of him. How much of a share?
Her mother emerged from the kitchen. ‘Are you taking the rest of the afternoon off?’ she asked, and then frowned. ‘Oh dear, what’s happened to your hair?’
‘I lost the clasp.’
Davina Jennings, a small, comfortably rounded woman with short greying fair hair and an air of bustling activity, sighed. ‘You should take time off more often. You do look tired, darling.’
‘Do I?” Averting her head, Faith lowered Connor to the floor.

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