She resisted him once...

But this billionaire is playing to win!

A luxury villa on Capri will be the latest jewel in playboy Leonardo Fabrizzi’s crown—until he discovers Veronica Hanson stands to inherit it. She’s the only woman to ever resist his charms, but he’s determined to tempt her into sensual surrender! He seduces her cleverly and slowly, and their explosive chemistry is spectacular. But so are the consequences when Veronica reveals she’s pregnant!

Enjoy this entertaining story of pregnancy and passion!

Born and raised in the Australian bush, MIRANDA LEE was boarding-school-educated, and briefly pursued a career in classical music before moving to Sydney and embracing the world of computers. Happily married, with three daughters, she began writing when family commitments kept her at home. She likes to create stories that are believable, modern, fast-paced and sexy. Her interests include meaty sagas, doing word puzzles, gambling and going to the movies.

Also by Miranda Lee

A Man Without Mercy

Taken Over by the Billionaire

Rich, Ruthless and Renowned miniseries

The Italian’s Ruthless Seduction

The Billionaire’s Ruthless Affair

The Playboy’s Ruthless Pursuit

Marrying a Tycoon miniseries

The Magnate’s Tempestuous Marriage

The Tycoon’s Outrageous Proposal

The Tycoon’s Scandalous Proposition

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Italian’s Unexpected Love-Child

Miranda Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07260-1

THE ITALIAN’S UNEXPECTED LOVE-CHILD

© 2018 Miranda Lee

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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To my daughter Veronica, who has read all my books,

and said nice things about every single one.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

LAURENCE SHOOK HIS head as he read the investigator’s report for the second time. Frustration consumed him, along with dismay. He’d assumed his daughter would be married by now. Married with children. She was twenty-eight, after all. Twenty-eight and beautiful. Very beautiful.

His eyes moved over to the photo attached to the report, his heart filling with pride when he saw that his genes had produced a truly gorgeous creature. Gorgeous, but childless.

Such a waste!

Sighing, he returned to re-read the report.

Veronica had been engaged three years earlier to a doctor she’d met at the children’s hospital she worked in. She was a physiotherapist and her fiancé an orthopaedic surgeon. Tragically, he’d been killed in a motorcycle accident two weeks before their wedding. After that, there was no evidence of her ever dating anyone again. She didn’t even seem to have many friends. She’d become a loner, still living with her mother and not doing much of anything besides work, which she did from home now, rather than in hospitals.

Laurence understood grief. He’d been devastated when his wife of forty years had died several years ago, not of the cancer—which they’d both expected would take her, given she’d carried a dangerous cancer gene—but of a stroke. He’d retreated into himself after that, retiring permanently to the holiday home they’d bought together on the Isle of Capri, never looking at another woman, never wanting to move on, as the saying went. But he’d been seventy-two at the time of her death, not in his twenties. His daughter was still young, for pity’s sake.

But she wouldn’t stay young for ever. Men could father children for a long time, but women had a biological clock ticking away in their bodies.

As a geneticist, Laurence knew all about human bodies and human genes. His in-depth knowledge on the subject was the reason behind his having donated his sperm to Veronica’s mother in the first place. His gesture had been inspired more by hubris than caring, however. Male ego. He hadn’t wanted to go to his grave without passing on his oh-so-brilliant genes.

Laurence shook his head from side to side, remorse filling his soul, as well as guilt. He should have contacted his daughter after Ruth died. Then he would have been there for her when her fiancé had been killed.

But it was too late now, he accepted wretchedly.

He was dying himself—ironically, of cancer. Liver cancer. Too late to do anything, really. His prognosis was not good. Advanced liver cancer was not very forgiving, though he only had himself to blame. After Ruth had died, he’d drunk far too much for far too long.

‘I did knock,’ a male voice intruded. ‘But you didn’t answer.’

Laurence looked up and smiled.

‘Leonardo! How lovely to see you. What brings you home so soon after your last visit?’

‘It’s Papa’s seventy-fifth birthday tomorrow,’ Leonardo said as he walked along the terrace and sat down in the afternoon sunshine, sighing appreciatively as he gazed out at the sparkling blue Mediterranean. ‘Dio, Laurence. What a lucky man you are to have a view like this.’

Laurence glanced over at his visitor with admiring eyes. How well Leonardo looked. How handsome. And how full of life. Of course, Leonardo was only thirty-two, and a man of many talents—not least of which was everything women would find both fascinating and irresistible.

This last thought evoked a deep thoughtfulness.

‘Mamma said she invited you to the party but you declined. It seems you have to go back to England tomorrow to see your doctor.’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ Laurence agreed as he folded the report carefully so that Leonardo couldn’t see it. ‘My liver’s playing up.’

‘You do look a little jaundiced. Is it serious?’

Laurence shrugged. ‘At my age, everything is serious. So, have you to come to play chess and listen to some decent music, or to try to buy my home again?’

Leonardo laughed. ‘Can I do all three?’

‘You can try. But my answer to selling this place will be no, as usual. When I’m dead and gone you can buy it.’

Leonardo looked startled, then uncharacteristically sombre. ‘I hope that won’t be for some years yet, my friend.’

‘That’s kind of you to say so. Now, do you want me to open a bottle of wine or not?’ he asked as he rose from his chair, carrying the report with him.

‘Are you sure that’s wise, under the circumstances?’

Laurence’s smile was wry. ‘I don’t think a glass or two is going to make much difference at this stage.’

CHAPTER ONE

VERONICA SMILED AS she accompanied her last client of the day to the front door. Duncan was eighty-four, and a darling, despite suffering terribly from sciatica. But he wasn’t a complainer, which Veronica admired.

‘Same time next week, Duncan?’

‘Can’t, love. Wish I could. You keep me going, you really do. But it’s my granddaughter’s twenty-first next week and I’m flying up to Brisbane for her party. Thought I might stay a week or two at my son’s place while I’m there. Be warmer, for starters. This last winter in Sydney has got right into my bones. I’ll give you a call when I get back.’

‘Okay. Now, you have a good time, Duncan.’

She watched Duncan shuffle his way down Glebe Point Road in the direction of the small terraced house where he lived. Most of her clients were locals, elderly people with lots of aches and pains, though she did treat a smattering of students from nearby Sydney University. Young men, mostly, who played rugby and soccer and came to her for help with their various injuries.

Frankly, she preferred dealing with her older male clients. They didn’t try to hit on her.

Not that she couldn’t handle the occasional pass. Veronica had been handling male passes since she’d reached puberty, the natural consequence of having been born good-looking. No point in pretending she wasn’t. She’d been very blessed in the looks department, with a pretty face, dark, wavy hair, good skin and large violet eyes.

Jerome had called her a natural beauty.

Jerome...

Veronica closed her eyes for a few seconds as she tried to wipe all thought of that man from her mind. But it was impossible. Jerome’s sudden death had been hard enough to handle, but it was what she’d learned after his death that had truly shattered her.

She still could not believe that he’d been so...so wicked.

Naive of her, she supposed, given what her mother had suffered at the hands of the man she’d married. Still, as she’d grown up, Veronica had never bought into her mother’s cynicism towards the opposite sex. She’d always liked men. Liked and admired them. Yes, she’d grown up understanding that some men were players. But she’d always steered well clear of those. When a couple of her boyfriends had proved to be a bit loose on the moral side, neither of them had lasted long.

Veronica wasn’t a prude. But she couldn’t abide men who flouted society’s rules just for the hell of it—who were disrespectful, insensitive or downright reckless. Her perfect man—the one she’d always envisaged marrying—would be none of those things. He’d be successful, and preferably handsome. But most importantly he would be decent and dependable. After all, he wasn’t going to be just her husband. He was going to be the father of her children. At least four children, she’d always pictured. No single-child family for her.

When Jerome had come along, she’d thought he was perfect husband-and-father material.

But Jerome had not been perfect at all. Far from it.

Veronica gritted her teeth as she walked down the hallway towards the kitchen. She supposed she still had her work. Her personal life might be a non-event, with her dreams of a happy family shattered and her trust in relationships totally destroyed, but her professional life was still there. There was a lot of satisfaction in easing other people’s pain.

Veronica was just filling the kettle with water when her mobile rang.

Probably someone wanting to make an appointment, she thought as she pulled her phone out of her pocket. She didn’t get many personal calls these days.

‘Yes?’ she answered a little more abruptly than usual. Thinking about Jerome had left a residue of simmering anger.

‘Is that Miss Veronica Hanson?’ a male voice asked; a rich male voice with a slight accent. Possibly Italian.

‘Yes, speaking,’ she confirmed.

‘My name is Leonardo Fabrizzi,’ he said, at which point Veronica almost dropped her phone. Her fingers clutched it more tightly as she tried to get her head around who was on the other end of the line.

Because surely there couldn’t be too many Italians called Leonardo Fabrizzi in this world?

It had to be him. Though perhaps not. The world was full of coincidences.

‘Leonardo Fabrizzi, the famous skier?’ she blurted out before she could think better of it.

There was dead silence for a few tense seconds.

‘You know me?’ he said at last.

‘No, no,’ she denied quickly, because of course she didn’t know him. Though, she’d met him. Once. Several years ago, at an après ski party in Switzerland. They hadn’t been properly introduced, so of course he would not recognise her name. But he’d been very famous at the time, a world-champion downhill racer with a reputation for recklessness, both on the slopes and off. His playboy status was well deserved, she’d learned that night, shuddering at how close she’d come to becoming just another of his passing conquests.

‘I... I’ve heard of you,’ she hedged, her voice still a little shaky. ‘You’re famous in the ski world and I like skiing.’

More than liked. She’d been obsessed with the sport for a long time, having been introduced to it as a teenager by a classmate’s family. They’d been very wealthy and had taken her along on their skiing holidays as company for their very spoilt but not very popular daughter.

‘I am no longer a famous skier,’ he told her brusquely. ‘I retired from that world some time ago. I am just a businessman now.’

‘I see,’ she said, not having skied herself since Jerome had died. Her interest in the sport—and most other things—had died along with the man she’d been going to marry.

‘So how may I help you, Mr Fabrizzi?’ It suddenly occurred to her that maybe he’d come here to Australia on business and was in urgent need of treatment after a long flight. He might have looked up Sydney physiotherapists online and come up with her website.

‘I am sorry,’ he said in sombre tones, ‘But I have some sad news to tell you.’

‘Sad news?’ she echoed, startled and puzzled. ‘What kind of sad news?’

‘Laurence has died,’ he told her.

‘Laurence? Laurence who?’ She knew no one called Laurence.

‘Laurence Hargraves.’

Veronica was none the wiser. ‘I’m sorry, but that name means nothing to me.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive.’

‘That is strange, because your name meant something to him. You’re one of the beneficiaries in his will.’

‘What?’

‘Laurence left you something in his will. A villa, actually, on the Isle of Capri.’

‘What? Oh, that’s ridiculous! Is this some kind of cruel joke?’

‘I assure you, Miss Hanson, this is no joke. I am the executor of Laurence’s will, and have a copy of it right in front of me. If you are the Miss Veronica Hanson who lives in Glebe Point Road, Sydney, Australia, then you are now the proud owner of a very beautiful villa on Capri.’

‘Goodness! This is incredible.’

‘I agree,’ he said, with a somewhat rueful note in his voice. ‘I was a close friend of Laurence and he never mentioned you. Could he have been a long-lost relative of some kind? A great-uncle or a cousin, perhaps?’

‘I suppose so. But I doubt it,’ she added. Her mother was an only child and her father—even if he knew of her existence—certainly wouldn’t have an English name like Hargraves in his family. He’d been an impoverished university student from Latvia who had sold his sperm for money and wasn’t even on her birth certificate, which said ‘father unknown’. ‘I’ll have to ask my mother. She might know.’

‘It is very puzzling, I admit,’ the Italian said. ‘Maybe Laurence was a patient of yours in the past, or a relative of a patient. Have you ever worked in England? Laurence used to live in England before he retired to Capri.’

‘No, I haven’t. Never.’ She had, however, been to the Isle of Capri. For a day. As a tourist. Many years ago. She recalled looking up at the hundreds of huge villas dotted over the hillsides and thinking you would have to be very rich to live in one of them.

Veronica wondered if Leonardo Fabrizzi was still rich. And still a playboy.

Not that I care, shot back the tart thought.

‘It is a mystery, all right,’ the man himself said. ‘But it doesn’t change the fact that you can take possession of this property once the appropriate papers are signed and the taxes paid.’

‘Taxes?’

‘Inheritance taxes. I have to tell you that, on a property of this considerable value, the taxes will not come cheap. Since you are not a relative, they stand at eight percent of the current market value.’

‘Which is what, exactly?’

‘Laurence’s villa should sell for somewhere between three-and-a-half and four million euros.’

‘Heavens!’ Veronica had a substantial amount of money in her savings account—she spent next to nothing these days—but she didn’t have eight percent of four million euros.

‘If that is a problem, then I could lend you the money. You could repay me when you sell.’

His gesture surprised her. ‘You would do that? I mean...it could take some time to sell such a property, couldn’t it?’

‘Not in this circumstance. I would like to buy Laurence’s villa myself. I often visited him there and I love the place.’

Veronica should have been grateful for such an easy solution. But for some reason she was reluctant just to say yes, that would be great, yes, let’s do that.

He must have picked up on her hesitation, despite her not saying a word.

‘If you’re worried that I might try to cheat you,’ he said, sounding somewhat peeved, ‘you could get an independent valuation. Which amount I would be happy to pay in full. And in cash,’ he added, highlighting just how rich he was.

Veronica rolled her eyes, never at her best when confronted by people who trumpeted their wealth. Jerome’s parents had been very rich. And had never let her forget it, always saying she was a very lucky girl to be marrying their one and only child.

Hardly lucky, as it turned out.

‘Perhaps you would like some time to think about all this,’ the Italian went on. ‘I imagine this has all come as a shock.’

‘More of a surprise than a shock,’ she said.

‘But a pleasant one, surely?’ he suggested smoothly. ‘Since you didn’t know Laurence personally, his death won’t have upset you. And the sale of his villa will leave you very comfortably off.’

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ she mused aloud.

‘I do hope you don’t think me rude, Miss Hanson, but I noticed your birth date on the will. I know women don’t like to talk about their ages but could you please confirm for me that the details are correct?’ And he rattled off the date.

‘Yes, that’s correct,’ she said, frowning. ‘Though how this Laurence person knew it, I have no idea.’

‘So you were twenty-eight as of last June.’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re a Gemini.’

‘Yes. Though I don’t think I’m all that typical.’ According to a book on star signs she’d once read, she could be light-hearted and fun-loving one day, and serious and thoughtful the next. That might have been true once but she seemed to be stuck these days on the serious and thoughtful. ‘You believe in star signs, Mr Fabrizzi?’

‘Of course not. It was just an idle remark. A man is master of his own destiny,’ he stated firmly.

Spoken like a typically arrogant male, Veronica thought, but didn’t say so.

‘You’re sure you know of no one called Laurence Hargraves?’ he persisted.

‘Absolutely sure. I have a very good memory.’

‘It is all very curious,’ the Italian admitted.

‘True. I’m finding it pretty curious myself. So, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Firstly, how old was my benefactor?’

‘Hmm. I’m not quite sure. Let me think. Late seventies, is my best guess. I know he was seventyish when his wife died, and that was some years back.’

‘Quite elderly, then. And a widower. Did he have any children?’

‘No.’

‘Brothers and sisters?’

‘No.’

‘What did he die of?’

‘Heart attack. Though I found out after the autopsy that he also had liver cancer. He told me the weekend before he died that he was going to London to see a doctor about his liver. Instead, all he did was make a will, then dropped dead shortly after leaving his solicitor’s office.’

‘Goodness.’

‘Perhaps a mercy. The cancer was end stage.’

‘Was he a heavy drinker?’

‘I wouldn’t have said excessively so. But who knows what a lonely man does in private?’

Veronica was taken aback at how sad he suddenly sounded. This evidence of empathy made her like Leonardo Fabrizzi a little bit, which was a minor miracle. Playboys were not her favourite species.

Though maybe she was doing him an injustice. Maybe he had changed. It was, after all, several years since the night he’d cast his charismatic eye on her and casually suggested she join him and the blonde dripping all over him for a threesome.

No, she thought with a derisive curl of her top lip, men like that didn’t change. Once a player, always a player.

‘If you give me your email address,’ he continued, ‘I’ll send you a copy of the will and you can get back to me with your decision in a day or two. Alternatively, I could ring you at this time tomorrow and we can talk some more. Would that be suitable?’

‘Not really.’ She and her mother always went down to the local Vietnamese restaurant for dinner early on a Saturday evening. ‘What time is it in Italy at the moment?’ she asked, not liking the idea of waiting to make a decision. ‘You are in Italy, aren’t you?’

‘Si. I’m in Milan. In my office. It is nine-twenty.’

He really did speak beautiful English, very polished with correct grammar, all in a mild but disturbingly attractive accent. Veronica had always found Italian men attractive, having met quite a few during her obsessive skiing years.

One, however, stood out amongst all the rest...

‘Right,’ she said crisply. ‘The thing is, I would like to talk to my mother first. Ask her if she ever knew a Laurence Hargraves. Maybe she can clear up this mystery for us. But, no matter what I find out, I can’t see there will be any problem with your buying the villa, Mr Fabrizzi. Much as it would be lovely to have a holiday home on Capri, I really can’t afford it. I will ring you back in about an hour or so. Okay?’

‘Certo. I will look forward to your call, Miss Hanson.’

They exchanged relevant details, after which he hung up, leaving Veronica feeling slightly flustered. Which irritated the hell out of her. She thought she was over being affected by any member of the opposite sex, especially one with Leonardo Fabrizzi’s dubious reputation.

Giving herself a mental shake, she retreated down the hallway and made her way up the stairs to the extension her mother had had built a few years back, a necessity once Nora had started up her home-help business on the Internet. The upstairs section included a small sitting room, a well-appointed office and a spacious bedroom and en suite. As it turned out, the extension had become a real blessing after Jerome’s death, with Veronica able to convert her mother’s old front bedroom into a treatment room for her own home-based physiotherapy business.

It wasn’t until Veronica reached the upstairs landing that her thoughts returned to the annoyingly fascinating Italian and the astonishing reason behind his call. All of a sudden, an idea of who Laurence Hargraves might be zoomed into her head. An astonishing idea, really. Not very logical, either, knowing her mother. But the idea persisted, bringing with it a strange wave of alarm. Her heartbeat quickened and her stomach tightened, sending a burst of bile up into her throat. She swallowed convulsively, telling herself to get a grip.

What you are thinking is insane! Insane and illogical! The man was English, not Australian. Besides, Mum would not lie to me—not over something like this.

Finally, after scooping in several deep breaths, she lifted her hand to tap on her mother’s office door, annoyed to see her hand was shaking. Her mouth went dry. And her heart started pounding again. Not quite a panic attack, but something close.

‘Yes?’ came her mother’s impatient query.

It took an effort of will to turn the knob and go into the room.

‘Mum,’ she said on entering, pleased that her voice wasn’t shaking as well.

Her mother didn’t look up from where she was frowning at the computer screen.

‘Yes?’ she repeated distractedly.

Veronica walked over to perch on the corner of her mother’s desk, gripping the edges with white knuckles. ‘Mum, does the name Laurence Hargraves mean anything to you?’

Veronica had seen people go grey with pain in the course of her work; seen all the blood drain from their faces. But she’d never seen her mother go that particular colour.

Strangely enough, as she watched her mother’s reaction, Veronica no longer felt panic. Just dismay. And the fiercest disappointment. Because now she knew the answer to the mystery, didn’t she?

‘He was my father, wasn’t he?’ she said bleakly, before her mother admitted to anything.

Nora groaned, then nodded. Sadly. Apologetically.

Veronica groaned as well, her face screwing up with distress, her hands balling into fists in defence of the flood of emotion which threatened to overwhelm her. Not since she’d discovered the awful truth about Jerome had she experienced such shock and anger. Funny how you could suspect something, but when you were actually faced with some awful truth your first reaction was still pained disbelief, quickly followed by outrage and anger.

‘Why didn’t you tell me the truth?’ she threw at her mother in anguished tones. ‘Why give me that cock-and-bull story about my father being some impoverished sperm donor from Latvia? Why not just tell me you had an affair with a married man?’

‘But I didn’t have an affair with Laurence!’ her mother denied, her face flushing wildly. ‘It wasn’t like that. You don’t understand,’ she wailed, gripping her cheeks with both hands as tears filled her eyes.

For the first time in her life, Veronica felt no pity for her mother’s tears.

‘Then how was it, Mum?’ she asked coldly. ‘Make me understand, especially why you didn’t tell me the truth about my father’s identity.’

‘I... I couldn’t tell you. I gave Laurence my word.’

Veronica could not believe she was hearing this. She’d given her word to some adulterer? The mind boggled.

‘Well, your precious Laurence is dead and gone now,’ Veronica snapped. ‘So I don’t think your giving him your word matters any more. I dare say you’ll also be surprised to hear that my errant father has left me something in his will,’ she finished up caustically. ‘I’ve just received a call from the executor. I’m now the owner of a villa on the Isle of Capri. Lucky me!’

Nora just stared at her daughter, grey eyes blinking madly.

‘But...but what about his wife?’

‘She’s dead too,’ Veronica said bluntly. ‘Quite a few years ago, apparently.’

‘Oh...’

‘Yes. Oh.’

Her mother just sat there, stunned and speechless.

‘I think, Mum,’ Veronica bit out, her arms crossing angrily as she tried to contain her emotions, ‘That it’s time you told me the truth.’

CHAPTER TWO

LEONARDO EMAILED OFF a copy of the will then settled back down at his desk, trying to put his mind to studying the designs for next year’s winter range. But his mind wouldn’t cooperate. It remained firmly on the call he’d just made to Sydney, Australia.

Who in hell was Veronica Hanson? And why had Laurence never mentioned her?

A great-niece, perhaps? Leonardo speculated. Most people did like to leave their estates to relatives.

Though, if that were the case, why not leave her some money as well? Why just leave her the villa, then leave the rest of his considerable portfolio of cash, bonds and shares to cancer research?

It was a mystery all right.

Hopefully, Miss Hanson’s mother would provide some pertinent information.

Glancing at his watch, Leonardo saw that less than ten minutes had passed since he’d hung up. He could hardly expect a call back this soon.

Unfortunately.

Leonardo’s sigh was one of exasperation. He had no hope of concentrating on anything until he heard back from Miss Hanson. Patience had never been one of his virtues. But he had no alternative on this occasion but to wait.

Still, he didn’t have to wait in here, at his desk, pretending to work. Jumping up, he decided to get himself some coffee, bypassing his PA’s offer to get it for him with the excuse that he needed some air.

Leonardo needed some air a lot. He’d described himself as a businessman to Miss Hanson. But whilst Leonardo had quite enjoyed setting up his top-of-the-range sportswear company—and making a huge success of it—being just a businessman was not the way Leonardo ever saw himself. He was a sportsman, a man of action. A doer, not a pencil pusher. He actually hated offices and desks. Loathed meetings of any kind. And despised sitting for too long.

His spirits lifted once he was outside the building and into the fresh air. The sun was shining and a mild breeze was blowing. Milan in late August was glorious, though too busy, of course, the streets filled with tourists.

Leonardo breathed in deeply and headed for his favourite cafe, which was tucked away down a cobbled side street and never too crowded. There, his espresso was already waiting for him by the time he reached the counter, the female barista having spotted him as he strode into their establishment. He drank the strong black liquid down in one gulp, as was his habit. She smiled at him as he smacked his lips in appreciation, her big brown eyes flashing flirtatiously. She was a very attractive girl, with the kind of dark eyes and hair which Leonardo especially liked.

‘Grazie,’ he said, then placed the empty cup back on the counter, keeping his own smile very brief and not in any way flirtatious. Best not to encourage the girl. She might think he wanted more from her than good service.

There was a time in his younger years when he would have jumped into bed with her weeks ago. But he had more control over his hormones these days. And he was miles more careful, having narrowly escaped being trapped into marriage by a fortune-hunting female a few years back, shuddering whenever he thought of how close he’d come to being shackled for life to a girl he didn’t love.

Leonardo shuddered anew as he strode from the cafe and headed back to his office.

Of course, he could have refused to marry the girl, even if she had been pregnant. Which it had turned out she wasn’t. But Leonardo hadn’t been brought up that way, having it drummed into him as a young man that, if he ever fathered a child, he’d better marry the mother pronto. Because if he didn’t do the honourable thing then he wasn’t ever to bother coming home again.

Such an outcome would have been untenable to Leonardo. His parents meant the world to him. So, yes, he would have married the girl. And loved his child. But his life would not have been the life he’d planned for himself, which was no marriage and children until he was ready to settle down. Which he certainly hadn’t been back then.

Thank God his uncle had stepped in and demanded another pregnancy test by an independent doctor. Leonardo’s relief at the news there was no baby had been a lesson well learned. After that he never believed a girl when she said she was on the pill. And he always used a condom. Always!

As an added precaution, he only dated women these days who were less likely to be looking at him as a meal ticket for life. Women with careers of their own. Money of their own. And minds of their own.

On Leonardo’s part, he had no intention of marrying until he met the love of his life. Which he hadn’t so far. Strange, given all the clever and attractive girlfriends he’d had. But none had captured his heart. None had inspired the kind of wild passion he’d always imagined being truly in love would engender. Yes, sex with them was satisfying. But not mind-blowing. It never compared to the thrill of hurtling down a snowy mountain, knowing that he was going faster than any of his competitors.

Leonardo sighed. Ah, those were the days. Days which would never be repeated, his many falls and injuries having caught up with him by the time he’d turned twenty-five, forcing his retirement from the sport. Yes, he’d been a famous skier, as Miss Hanson had pointed out. But fame was fleeting and life moved on. Seven years had passed since then; seven successful but, perversely, frustrating years. He should have been satisfied with his life. Fabrizzi Sport, Snow & Ski was doing very well, with stores in all the major cities in Europe. He’d become a wealthy man in his own right, not just the spoiled only grandson of a billionaire.

But Leonardo wasn’t satisfied. Sometimes he was consumed with the most awful emptiness, the result perhaps of not having been able to fulfil his ambitions on the ski slopes, injury always having got in the way of success in major championships. There was a restlessness living inside him, a manic energy at times which refused to be quelled, no matter what he did.

And he did plenty. He still skied in the winter, though not competitively. He went yachting and waterskiing in the summer, along with mountain climbing and abseiling. Recently, he’d gained his pilot’s licence for both small planes and helicopters. His frequent holidays were hectic with activity, but he inevitably returned to work still burning with a fire undimmed.

The only time Leonardo had really relaxed was when he’d been on Capri, sitting on Laurence’s terrace, looking out at the sparkling blue sea and sipping one of his friend’s excellent wines.

Thinking of Capri sent his mind back to Laurence’s mystery heiress. Hopefully she would ring him soon and tell him that he could buy the villa. Because he not only wanted it, he needed it. Life without Laurence’s company would be bad enough. Life without the calming influence of his friend’s beautiful home would be a bitter disappointment.

Leonardo glanced at his Rolex once more, then headed back to his office, not wanting to take Miss Hanson’s call in the street.

CHAPTER THREE

VERONICA LAY ON her bed, her head whirling with what she’d discovered. She found it almost impossible to process her feelings. Was she still angry or just terribly sad? What her mother had told her had sort of made sense, and was much better than her mother having slept with a married man. And, yes, she understood why her mother had promised to keep her father’s identity a secret, even if it still upset her.

What puzzled her the most, however, was the will. Now, that didn’t make sense. Why leave her anything at all? Her father must have known it would stir up trouble and leave so many questions unanswered.

Her father...

Tears filled Veronica’s eyes. She’d had a father. A real father, not some unnamed sperm donor. He hadn’t been a nobody, either. He’d been a famous scientist, a groundbreaking geneticist with a brilliant brain. Oh, how she wished her mother had told her years ago.

But of course she hadn’t been able to. She’d given her word. Down deep, Veronica understood that. Good people honoured their promises. And her mother was a good woman. But, dear God, her father was dead now. Dead and gone. She could never see him or talk to him. Never know what he was like.

‘Are you all right, love?’ her mother asked tentatively from the doorway.

Veronica blinked away her tears then turned her head to smile softly at her very stressed-looking mother. She was well aware that her mother had suffered a big shock too. She had to be worried that her much-loved daughter might never forgive her.

Whilst Veronica still harboured some natural resentment at the situation, she could not blame her mother for what she’d done. If anyone was to blame, it was Laurence Hargraves. The stupid man should have gone to his grave with his secret intact and not left her anything at all! Then she could have gone on being blissfully unaware of having a father whom she would now never have the opportunity to know.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said with feigned composure. ‘It’s just a shock, that’s all.’

‘I know. And I’m so sorry. I don’t know what possessed Laurence to put you in his will. I truly don’t. It was sweet of him, in a way, but he must have known that the truth would come out, and that then you’d be upset.’

‘People do strange things when they’re dying,’ Veronica said with a degree of understanding. She’d seen it time and time again in her work. Once, when she’d been treating an old lady, the woman had confessed she was dying and on impulse had wanted to give Veronica a beautiful ring she was wearing. Veronica had declined, knowing that the woman had a daughter who would have been most hurt by such a gesture. But the old lady hadn’t thought of that. Maybe this Laurence hadn’t thought through the consequences of his will.

Or maybe he’d known exactly what he doing.

The trouble was she would never really know either way. Because she didn’t know the man.

‘Would you like me to make you some coffee, love?’ her mother asked.

‘Yes, that would be nice,’ she replied politely, thinking what she really wanted was to be left alone. She needed to think.

Her mother disappeared, leaving Veronica to ponder the reason why her father had chosen to make his identity known at this late stage, when he could no longer be a living presence in her life. What she wouldn’t have given to have a real father when she’d been growing up, when she’d been at school, when her bitchy so-called friends would tease her about having come out of a test tube. She’d laughed at the time. But she hadn’t found their jibes funny at all. The hurt had struck deep. Teenage girls, she’d found, had a very mean streak. It was no wonder she’d always gravitated to boys when making close friends.

Thinking of boys reminded Veronica that there was one very grown-up boy she would have to ring back shortly.

Leonardo Fabrizzi.

She wasn’t looking forward to telling him that Laurence Hargraves was her biological father. He was sure to ask her lots of questions.

Still, she had lots of questions she wanted to ask him. After all, if he was close enough to her father to have been made executor of his will, then he had to have known him very well. Maybe he had a photo or two that he could send her. She would dearly love to know what this Laurence looked like.

Veronica was nothing like her mother in looks. Nora Hanson was quite short with brown hair, grey eyes and a rather forgettable face and figure. In truth, she was on the plain side. Veronica had always assumed she’d inherited her striking looks from her biological father. Maybe now she’d have the opportunity to see the evidence for herself.

This last thought propelled an idea into Veronica’s brain which had her sitting up abruptly then scrambling off the bed. She raced out into the hallway and bolted down to the kitchen, where she snatched up her phone which she’d left lying on the counter.

‘Goodness!’ her mother said, startled perhaps by her sudden exuberance. ‘Who are you ringing?’

‘The Italian I told you about. Leonardo Fabrizzi. I promised to ring him back once I’d talked to you.’

‘Oh,’ Nora said, looking pained. ‘You’re not going to tell him everything, are you? I mean, does he have to know about your being Laurence’s daughter? Can’t you just sell him the villa and leave it at that?’

‘No, Mum,’ Veronica said firmly. ‘I can’t just leave it at that. And I am going to tell him I’m Laurence’s daughter. For one thing, it makes a difference to the inheritances taxes if I’m a relative. On top of that, I won’t be selling Mr Fabrizzi the villa straight away. There’s something else I have to do first.’

‘What?’

Veronica told her.

CHAPTER FOUR

LEONARDO’S HEART JUMPED when his phone finally rang, then began to race when he saw it was her at last. Why was he suddenly nervous? He wasn’t a nervous person. On the ski slopes, he’d been known for his nerve, not his nervousness. The press had called him Leo the Lion because of his lack of fear. When he’d retired, he’d chosen the image of a lion as the logo for his sportswear company.

‘Thank you for calling me back, Miss Hanson,’ he answered, putting the phone on speaker as he leant back in his leather chair and did his best to act cool and businesslike. ‘Was your mother able to tell you anything enlightening?’

‘She certainly did.’ Her answer was crisp, her voice possibly even more businesslike than his own. ‘It seems that Laurence Hargraves was my biological father.’

Leonardo snapped forward on his chair. ‘Mio Dio! How did that happen?’

‘It seems Mr Hargraves came to Australia about thirty years ago to do genetic research at the Sydney University. He was given a house as part of the deal and my mother was hired as his housekeeper.’

‘And what? They had an affair?’ Leonardo found the concept of Laurence being unfaithful hard to believe. Laurence had been devoted to his wife. They’d been an inseparable couple, their love for each other very obvious to everyone who knew them.

‘No, no, nothing like that. Though my mother said that she and Laurence became quite good friends during the two years she worked for him. With Ruth too. She said she was a lovely lady. No, they didn’t have an affair, or even a one-night stand.’

‘I don’t understand, then.’

‘Mum had me through IVF. I thought my biological father was an impoverished law student from Latvia who sold his sperm for money. That’s what I’d always been told. But it was a lie. Laurence was the sperm donor.’

‘I see... Well, that explains everything, I suppose. Though not the secrecy.’

‘Did you know that Laurence’s wife couldn’t have children?’

‘Not exactly. Though I did know they’d never had children. I didn’t know which of them was the cause of their childlessness. Or whether they’d just decided not to have children. It’s not something you can ask without being rude. Obviously, the problem was Ruth’s.’

‘Yes. Mum told me Ruth had very bad cancer genes which ran through her family and had killed off all her relatives. She decided as a young woman not to pass any of those genes on and had a total hysterectomy. She met Laurence through his work on genes and they fell in love. He told my mother he didn’t overly mind about not having children as his love for Ruth was all-consuming. And so was his work. In fact, his work was the reason behind his becoming my biological father.’

‘His work was the reason?’ Leonardo was not quite getting the picture.

‘Yes. When my mother confided to Laurence that she planned to have a baby through IVF at this particular clinic, he was appalled.’

‘Appalled? Why?’

‘Because he thought they didn’t know enough about the prospective sperm donor’s genes. Yes, the clinic records showed the one she’d chosen was tall, dark and handsome. And intelligent. But Laurence questioned his medical and mental backgrounds, the details of which he said were superficial at best. He said she was taking a risk because she didn’t know enough about the sperm donor’s DNA, whereas his own had been thoroughly checked out. By him.’

Leonardo nodded. Now he understood what had happened.

‘So he offered his own sperm instead,’ he said.

‘Yes. When Mum initially refused, he argued with her about it. Made her feel that if she didn’t agree she was being silly.’

Leonardo nodded. ‘Laurence could be very persuasive when he wanted to be. He introduced me to classical music. And opera. I told him I hated opera but he proved me wrong in the end. Now I love it. I can well understand how he talked your mother into using his sperm. He would have convinced her that she owed it to her child to make sure she wasn’t carrying any unfortunate genes. But what about Ruth? I gather she didn’t know anything about this arrangement?’

‘No. He insisted they keep it a secret from his wife. He said it would upset Ruth terribly if she found out. Mum had to promise to put “father unknown” on the birth certificate and go along with the charade of my father being a Latvian university student.’

‘That makes Laurence sound a bit heartless.’

‘That’s what I thought. Mum said he wasn’t but I don’t agree. Okay, so he bought her the house we live in. Big deal! She still had to live on the single mother’s pension until I went to school and she could go back to work. I mean... Okay, so he didn’t want to upset his childless wife... I get that, I guess. But why didn’t he contact Mum and me after his wife died? Why leave me to find out he was my father after he was dead? What good was that?’

‘I’m sorry, I cannot answer those questions, Miss Hanson. I am as baffled as you are. But at least he left you his villa.’

‘Yes. I’ve been thinking about that too. Why leave me anything at all? And why this villa? On the island of Capri, of all places. He must have had a reason. He was a highly intelligent man, from the sounds of things.’

Something teased at the back of Leonardo’s mind. Something about the last day he’d talked to Laurence. But the thought didn’t stick. He would think about it some more later, when he was calmer.

‘Maybe he just wanted to give you something of value,’ he suggested.

‘Then why not just give me money? From reading his will, I gather he had plenty.’

‘I must admit that thought had occurred to me too, Miss Hanson.’

‘Oh, please stop calling me that. My name is Veronica.’

‘Very well. Veronica,’ he said, and found himself smiling for some reason. ‘And you must call me Leonardo. Or Leo, if you prefer. I know Australians like to shorten names.’

‘I prefer Leonardo,’ she said. ‘It sounds more... Italian.’

Leonardo laughed. ‘I am Italian.’

‘You speak beautiful English.’

‘Grazie.’

‘And grazie to you too. Now... I have made a decision about the villa. I appreciate your offer to buy it, Leonardo. And I will sell you the villa. Eventually. But, first, I want to come and stay there for a while. Not too long. Just long enough to find out all I can about my father...’

CHAPTER FIVE

EXCITEMENT FIZZED IN Veronica’s stomach as the ferry left Sorrento on its twenty-minute ride to Capri. The day was glorious, not a cloud in the sky, the water a sparkling and very inviting blue.

It had taken two weeks for her to organise this trip. She hadn’t wanted to leave her patients in the lurch by departing abruptly so she’d seen them all one more time—or contacted them by phone—telling them that she was taking a much-needed holiday.

Naturally, she hadn’t been about to blurt out the truth behind her trip to Italy. That would have set a cat among the pigeons, sparking far too many questions. They’d all been sweetly understanding, bringing her to tears on a couple of occasions, because they mistakenly thought she was still grieving Jerome’s death.

Which she had been, in a way. For far too long.

But not any more.

Finding out about her real father had been a big shock. But it had also given her the impetus to stop living her life like some mourning widow. Hence her new and rather colourful wardrobe, which had put a serious dent in her savings. But how could she come to this gorgeous and glamorous island looking drab and dreary?

Veronica refused to concede that the effort she’d made with her appearance had anything to do with Leonardo Fabrizzi. As nice as he’d been to her on the phone, he still was what he’d always been. A player.

Curiosity had sent Veronica looking him up on various social media sites and there’d been plenty to look at. Since his retirement from competitive downhill racing, Leonardo had made a name for himself in the world of fashion, Fabrizzi being considered the name in active wear. His company had boutiques in all the main cities in Europe, as well as one in New York. Veronica noted that the press articles didn’t call them shops or stores. No. Boutiques they were called, the kind where only the rich and famous could afford to shop.

Aside from news about his business acumen, it showed Leonardo had also led a very active social life, his name connected with many beautiful women of the type wealthy playboys invariably attracted. Models. Actresses. Heiresses. He’d had countless gorgeous creatures on his arm over the years—and undoubtedly in his bed. Leopards didn’t change their spots. And neither had Leo the Lion.

It was feminine pride, Veronica told herself, which had made her put her best foot forward today. And her best face. All women liked to feel attractive, especially when in the company of a man as handsome and as charismatic as Leonardo Fabrizzi.

And she would be in his company within the next half an hour. Leonardo had made all the arrangements with Veronica over the phone. He was going to meet her at the dock then take her straight to the villa which, she’d learned, was perched above the Hotel Fabrizzi, a small establishment which Leonardo’s parents had been running for over a decade.

This news had surprised Veronica as she’d learned via the Internet that the Fabrizzis were from Milan, Leonardo’s grandfather having set up a textile manufacturing company after the war, becoming extremely wealthy over the years. He’d had two sons and heirs, Stephano and Alberto. What she hadn’t learned—though admittedly she hadn’t looked very hard—was what had happened after the grandfather had died. After all, she was coming to Capri to find out about her own father’s history, not Leonardo’s.

Thinking once more of the reason behind this trip made her heart beat faster. Soon, hopefully, she’d have answers to all the questions this unexpected inheritance had raised. Soon, she’d find out everything she wanted to know about her biological father. What he’d looked like. What he’d liked. What he’d been like!

Veronica no longer harboured any lingering anger over her mother’s lies. What was done was done. No point in going on and on about it. The blame—if there was any blame—lay at her father’s feet. Okay, so she was still upset at his not having contacted her earlier. After all, if he had wanted to keep his identity a secret, why leave her his home in his will?

This was the question which bothered her the most. His leaving her this villa.

Why, Dad? Why?

Her heart caught at finding herself calling him Dad like that. Caught, then turned over. She’d never called the student from Latvia Dad, not even in her thoughts. He’d just been the sperm donor. Not a real person. Just some tadpoles in a test tube. She’d never tried to picture what he looked like. She’d blanked her mind to him. Not so Laurence Hargraves. He was real in her head. Very real. She couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Tears pricked at her eyes, filling them quickly then threatening to spill over. When the girl seated across from her on the ferry started staring at her, Veronica found a smile from somewhere, blinking the tears away before pulling her phone from her straw bag. She’d promised her mum she would take photos of everything and send them to her.

So she did, starting with the ferry, the sea and the approaching island.

* * *

Leonardo wasn’t on the pier waiting for her. Instead there was a middle-aged man holding a sign with her name on it. He looked very Italian, with curly black hair and dark eyes. Clearly, he didn’t know what Veronica looked like, as he was scouring the crowd of tourists with a worried look on his face.

When she walked right up to him and introduced herself, his face broke into a radiant smile.

‘Signora Hanson,’ he said with a thick Italian accent, dark eyes dancing. ‘Why, you are molto bella! Leonardo should have told me.’

Veronica smiled. She didn’t speak Italian but she could recognise a compliment when she heard one.

‘Where is Leonardo?’ she asked, disappointed at his no-show.

‘He said to tell you he is sorry. He was held up. Business. He is flying in soon.’

‘Flying in? But there is no airport on Capri.’

‘There is a helipad. At Anacapri. I am to give you a sightseeing tour then take you there to meet him. Here. Let me take your luggage.’ He tossed the sign with her name on it in a nearby bin.

Veronica didn’t have the heart to tell him she didn’t really want a sightseeing tour, so she just smiled and said, ‘How lovely,’ then climbed into the back of a long yellow convertible that looked like a relic from an early Elvis Presley film.

She was glad after less than a minute that she’d put her hair back into a secure ponytail. The breeze coming off the sea—plus the wind caused by Franco’s rather cavalier driving—would not have made for a pretty result. Veronica tried to appreciate the sights but she really wasn’t in the mood. She’d been so looking forward to meeting Leonardo her disappointment was acute. She politely declined a visit to the Blue Grotto, admitting at that stage that she had been to Capri once before, many years ago, her one-day tour having included a visit to the grotto.

‘It’s a lot busier these days,’ she said, noting the long line of boats waiting to go into the famous cave.

Franco frowned. ‘Too busy. But, come the end of September, things will be better. The cruise ships. They will stop coming. Will you be here then?’

‘Unfortunately not.’ September had only just arrived and her return flight was for just over three weeks’ time.

‘It is too warm for the top to be down,’ Franco decided at this point, and pressed a button which sent a canvas top up and over, shading her from the sun. Which was perhaps just as well, Veronica’s pink-and-white striped top having a deep boat neckline which might catch the sun on her neck. She always lathered herself in sunscreen. She didn’t want to burn.

Once Veronica put aside her disappointment over Leonardo’s no-show, she enjoyed the tour. Franco was a very agreeable guide, his knowledge of the island that of a man born and bred there. It turned out he was also married to Leonardo’s older sister, Elena. They had three children, a boy and two girls.

She wondered if Leonardo had told him she was Laurence’s daughter. Possibly not yet, she decided, swallowing back the questions she was dying to ask about her father. Maybe another day...

Finally, after getting a text on his phone, Franco headed for Anacapri and the helipad.

Despite telling herself there was nothing to be nervous about, Veronica’s stomach tightened and her heartbeat quickened. By the time Franco reached the top of the hill and parked, she found she could not sit in the back of the taxi any longer. Leaving her straw carryall on the back seat, she climbed out and walked around, lecturing herself all the while about her upcoming meeting with Leonardo.

Yes, he’s very attractive, but he’s a playboy, Veronica. Quite a notorious one. Don’t ever forget that. Play it cool when you come face to face with him. Don’t, for pity’s sake, let his good looks—and his undoubted charm—distract you from your quest. You’ve come here to find out about your father, not flutter your eyelashes at Leonardo Fabrizzi.

A helicopter approached from the direction of the mainland. Veronica shaded her eyes to watch it, despite already wearing sunglasses. The helicopter was black with red writing on the side and tinted glass, so she couldn’t see who was sitting in it. As it came in to land, the wind from the huge rotor blades hit her like a mini tornado. Thank God she’d chosen to wear her new white jeans, and not the sundress with its gathered skirt. As it was, a few strands of hair came loose from her ponytail, whipping across her face. Finally, the helicopter’s noisy engine shut down and the blades slowed. A side door on it slid open and out jumped a man, a tall dark-haired man in a pale grey suit and a blinding white shirt open at the neck with no tie.

Veronica recognised Leonardo instantly, despite his hair—which he’d worn disgracefully long back in his skiing days—now being cropped short. It suited him, however, showing off his face to better advantage, highlighting his sculptured features and strong jawline. Still, she’d already known about his new haircut, having studied many images on social media during the last two weeks.

He was, however, even better looking in the flesh than in recent photos, two-dimensional images not able to capture the total essence of this man. He was, Veronica accepted as she watched him stride towards her, not just the stereotype of tall, dark and handsome. Leonardo was more than that. Much more, as evidenced by the way her heart began racing within her chest. Aside from his looks, there was the way he moved. The way he walked. The set of his broad shoulders. The angle of his head. He was the total male package. Arrogant. Confident. And super sexy.

As he drew nearer, her heartbeat accelerated further.

Did he do this to all women? she wondered with exasperation. Did he make them forget everything that life had taught them about males of the ‘player’ species? Did he make them want to act like fatuous female fools?

Possibly.

Probably!

Veronica sarcastically renamed him ‘tall, dark and dangerous’ in her head.

It was a good thought to have. A sensible, soothing thought, giving her the willpower to draw in several deep, gathering breaths, consciously slowing her heartbeat and untangling the knots in her stomach. No way was she going to have her head turned by Leonardo Fabrizzi. She’d avoided that trap all those years ago. Surely she was better equipped not to fall for it this time.

All you have to do is think of Jerome...

He was staring at her, she knew, despite his sunglasses hiding the expression in his eyes. She could sense his penetrating gaze behind the opaque lenses, perhaps because his dark brows were drawn slightly together, forming two little frowning lines. It made her glad she was wearing sunglasses herself. That way he wouldn’t see into her eyes which she knew were, indeed, the windows to her soul.

Not that her soul was bothered by Leonardo Fabrizzi. It was her body which was bothered currently. Her silly, possibly frustrated female body which had been too long without the comfort of a man’s arms around her, without the wonderful feeling of being held, kissed and caressed.

‘Veronica?’ he said in that sexy voice which by now she was familiar with.

Her smile felt forced. ‘Yes,’ she confirmed.

His smile was light. And wry. ‘I should have known you’d be beautiful,’ he said. ‘Laurence was a very handsome man. Welcome to Capri,’ he added, stepping forward to draw her into a very Italian hug.

Her arms were trapped by her side as he pulled her close, the strength and warmth of his body bypassing her resolve to be sensible around him. Oh, God. She could feel herself melting in his arms. Feel her blood charge hot and heady around her veins. Her neck flushed. So did her face.

‘Goodness!’ she exclaimed, pulling back out of his embrace before she combusted. ‘I’d forgotten how very demonstrative Italians were.’

Leonardo’s eyebrows arched. ‘You don’t hug hello in Australia?’

‘We do. Though usually just relatives and close friends.’

‘How very odd. If I overstepped the mark, then I apologise. Come. It is too hot to be standing out here in the sun.’ He took her elbow and turned her back towards where the taxi waited for them, Franco still behind the wheel.

She resisted pulling her arm away, thinking that would be too rude. And too telling. He was just being a gentleman, after all. But, oh, it worried her, that wildly pleasurable sensation which had charged up her arm at his touch.

‘You don’t have any luggage?’ she asked when he dropped her arm to open the back door of the taxi.

‘No need. I keep spare clothes here at my parents’ hotel. My Capri clothes, I call them. No business suits for me when I stay here, isn’t that so, Franco?’ he said as he handed her into the car and climbed in after her.

‘Si, Leo. You are a different man once you come here.’

‘Have you been looking after our visitor? Shown her the more famous sights?’

‘Si. But Veronica, she not want to go to Blue Grotto.’

‘I’ve seen it before.’ Veronica jumped in before Franco could say anything further. ‘I came here as a day tripper when I was in my early twenties. It’s a very beautiful cave but I didn’t want to queue up to see it again.’

Leonardo nodded. ‘Understandable. Actually, the only way to see Capri is by air. I will take you up in the helicopter tomorrow.’

‘Oh,’ she said, thrilled and terrified by his offer. ‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘But I want to. And you will love it. Let’s go, Franco. I’m sure Veronica is anxious to see her father’s villa.’

Oh, Lord, Veronica thought as the taxi moved off. Her father’s villa. The reason she’d come here. And the last thing she’d been thinking about since the very handsome Leonardo Fabrizzi had stepped off that helicopter less than five minutes ago.

CHAPTER SIX

LEONARDO SETTLED INTO the back seat of the taxi and tried to act normally, not like a man who was finding the girl next to him disturbingly attractive. Disturbing, because he wasn’t in the mood to be attracted to any girl at the moment, having decided after today’s fiasco in Rome that the female sex was nothing but trouble.

At the same time, he owed it to his friend’s memory to be hospitable to his daughter. And to satisfy Veronica’s very natural curiosity about the father she’d never known. It was a pity, however, that she had to possess the type of allure which he’d always found difficult to resist. He adored tall, elegantly slender brunettes, especially one whose hair was long and which, once released from a ponytail prison, would cascade down her back in loose curls like the tresses of some mediaeval princess. Combine that with a delicate oval face, clear porcelain skin and a lush mouth and you had a package which would tempt a saint.

And he was no saint.

Hopefully, when she took her sunglasses off, she would have small squinty eyes and a bumpy nose, but he doubted it. Laurence’s eyes had been one of his best features and his nose had been nicely shaped. If his daughter took after him—and he suspected that she did—she would be a classical beauty, with a superb brain and an enquiring mind.

The many hours Leonardo had spent with Laurence stood out as some of the most enjoyable times of his adult life. It hadn’t been just his house he’d enjoyed but the man himself. His company. His knowledge. His probing questions.

Leonardo sighed as he was reminded how much he missed his friend.

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you off the ferry, Veronica,’ he said. ‘I had some unexpected trouble at my boutique in Rome which I had to attend to.’

She turned to glance his way, her jeaned thigh briefly brushing against his. ‘Something serious?’

‘Yes and no. The manager was...what is the expression?...dipping her fingers in the till.’

‘That’s dreadful. Did you have her arrested?’

Leonardo’s laugh was very dry. ‘I would have liked to, but she threatened to ruin me if I did that.’

‘How could she ruin you?’

Leonardo shrugged. ‘Perhaps “ruin” is an exaggeration. She threatened to accuse me of sexual harassment if I had her arrested. In the end, I paid her off and she left quietly. But I’m not sure I trust her to keep her silence. She might still put something nasty on social media about me.’

‘Like what?’

‘She could say that to get her job in the first place she had to sleep with me.’

‘But that’s slander!’

‘Not exactly. I did sleep with her. Once. It was a mistake, but I could not take it back after it happened, could I?’

‘Well, no. I guess not.’

Leonardo noted the dry note in Veronica’s voice. She probably thought he was a playboy. Which he was, in some people’s eyes. But not of the worst kind. He tried not to hurt women’s feelings, but unfortunately the opposite sex often equated lust with love. He glanced over at Veronica and wondered if she was that type.

This thought brought another one.

‘I didn’t think to ask over the phone if you had a boyfriend,’ he said. They’d talked about their professional lives but hadn’t touched on the personal. He’d told her about his sportswear company and she’d explained that she worked from home as a physiotherapist, treating mostly elderly patients. She’d sounded oddly spinsterish over the phone. He could see now how wrong that impression had been. A beautiful woman like her would surely have a love life.

Her face betrayed nothing. But she stiffened a little.

‘No,’ she replied after a small hesitation. ‘No one at the moment. No one serious, at least,’ she added with a wry little smile.

‘Ah. You like to play the field.’

Her laugh was both light and amused. ‘If you like...’

He did like. Oh, yes, he liked that idea a lot, forgetting all about the antagonism towards the opposite sex that this morning’s confrontation had evoked in him. Suddenly, the prospect of keeping this lovely lady company this coming weekend was not a duty but a pleasure.

‘We have arrived,’ he announced when Franco turned his taxi through the high stone walls into the courtyard of the Hotel Fabrizzi. ‘What do you think, Veronica? Is not my parents’ hotel a delightful little establishment?’

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