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She didn’t think she’d ever met a man who’d filled a room the way he did, owning the air and space, swallowing all the oxygen so that she couldn’t breathe.
Most troubling of all was that a small part of her had almost enjoyed the intensity, and that same part of her was humming with awareness. She’d never admit it to anyone but she’d been drawn to his energy and the shimmering heat surrounding him—even though the heat and energy could obliterate her.
Her brain was warning her off, telling her that he was too much for her. Too hard, too confident, too dangerous. Her practical side understood that he didn’t care for her, and that he wouldn’t protect her, that nothing good would come of allowing herself to be intrigued by him.
; But she was already intrigued. She was fascinated and curious and drawn to him...
Standing next to him moments ago, she wanted him to touch her again. She’d wanted him to reach for her and cover her mouth with his and make her feel what she’d felt earlier.
If that wasn’t crazy, she didn’t know what was.
No, crazy was the fact that she didn’t like him, or admire him, and yet she still wanted him to touch her again. She wanted to feel more. Even now, with sofas and tables and armchairs between them, she was still responding to him, the very thought of him kissing her again making her shiver inwardly, making her ache.
“Why do you want the paparazzi to think the baby is ours?” she asked, her voice low and husky.
“It’s simpler.”
“It’s actually not. It is going to be far more work trying to convince people that we were a couple and we had a baby—”
“They already believe it.”
“But I don’t like that story!” Heat rushed through her, the heat so strong that her skin prickled and burned.
“I don’t like it, either, but given our choices, it’s the better one.”
“Why? How?”
“This version deflects attention away from Antonio and Juliet. We can protect and preserve their memory, allowing the mistakes of the past to fade—”
“Antonio and Juliet had a baby. Why is that such a travesty?”
“They weren’t married, or even serious. It was a brief affair, a sexual fling—”
“I disagree. Juliet loved your brother, deeply.”
“I’m sure she wanted to be convincing.”
“She really did care, Giovanni.”
He shrugged. “Maybe as much as she could care, but either way, she was ultimately selfish and destructive and not someone I want associated with my family.”
Rachel recoiled. “That is incredibly harsh,” she breathed, putting a hand to her middle, trying to calm herself, not easy when her stomach did wild flips. Juliet hadn’t been an angel. She didn’t have many altruistic bones in her body, and yet she wasn’t the devil incarnate. She’d been complicated and had had aspirations—aspirations Rachel didn’t understand—but when all was said and done, she was her sister, her younger sister, and it was painful to hear Giovanni’s brutal denouncement. “You met her then?” she asked.
“No. But I know a great deal about her, and women like her.”
His scathing tone made her see red. Her chin jerked up. “Juliet loved him—”
“There was no love. I can promise you that.” Gio’s light blue eyes narrowed, his full mouth firming. He looked hard and darkly handsome, arrogant and utterly unapproachable. “Your sister saw her opportunity to make a fortune and took advantage of the situation.”
“I am absolutely certain Juliet didn’t know he was ill. I didn’t know he was ill, and I was the one that introduced them.”
“You’re responsible.”
She thought for a moment he was joking, or teasing, but there was no softening of his features, or flicker of warmth in his eyes. “Do you need to blame someone? If so, yes, blame me. It’s all my fault. I did it. The love affair, the pregnancy, the tragic loss of two beautiful people—”
“You’re not helping.”
