Gianni's Pride

by Kim Lawrence

You didn’t have to be a psychic to see this redhead would be the high-maintenance sort of woman.

  ‘What?’ Miranda asked, waving a fork in the direction of the man who was watching her when his scrutiny became impossible to ignore. ‘Has nobody ever told you that it’s rude to stare?’ She compressed her soft lips into a thin line, annoyed as much by the fact he got under her skin so easily as his astounding rudeness.

  He rested his elbows on the table. ‘I’ve never seen anyone your size put away that much food,’ he admitted, watching her fork up another mound of golden, fluffy eggs.

  ‘I have a fast metabolism,’ she retorted, feeling like some sort of freak show. It was actually a relief when Liam knocked over his glass of juice and those dark disturbing eyes finally left her face.

  When Liam had finished eating Gianni shooed him back out into the yard and helped himself to another coffee from the pot.

  Miranda collected the plates and put them in the dishwasher. Aware of Gianni Fitzgerald’s silent presence, she opened the fridge and put the jug of milk back inside. The day was already warm and, if the weather forecast on the radio was to be believed, set to get a lot warmer.

  She struggled to keep the eagerness from creeping into her voice as she directed her casual query to the man standing at the open stable door.

  ‘Would you like me to make you some sandwiches for the journey?’

  ‘Journey?’ he echoed, still watching Liam, who was chasing hens around the cobbled yard.

  ‘Well, I assume you’ll want to be going back to …’ Her slender shoulders lifted as she thought, Wherever you come from.

  ‘You assume wrong,’ he drawled, turning his head now to pin her with a look that once more struck her as cold and calculating. Under the smouldering surface and charismatic charm this man was, she recognised, cold—cold at the core. The only time that coldness was entirely absent was when he looked at his son, she realised.

  A little shiver traced a path down her spine as the dark stare continued to pin her. It took a conscious effort to break the contact.

  ‘Call me Gianni—the women who have shared my bed generally do.’

  Miranda shifted uncomfortably as the colour flew to her cheeks. ‘They invited you …’ She lifted her brows. ‘I’m assuming they invited you?’

  ‘You seem interested in my sex life.’

  Her eyes narrowed in dislike as she encountered the speculative and not very kind gleam in his eyes. ‘I’m just thinking what a great role model you are for your son.’

  In the blink of an eye the mocking lazy humour in his eyes morphed into narrow-eyed hostility. This man with his mercurial mood swings could, she realised with a little shiver, be ruthless.

  Not the sort of person you wanted to antagonise. Knowing this, she still couldn’t stop herself adding, ‘It’s probably just as well you’re just a weekend father.’

  His angular jaw tightened another notch. ‘I am not a weekend father.’ Just one who didn’t know if his son liked eggs. ‘I am a full-time parent.’

  ‘But what about his mother?’ She stopped and thought, Oh, God, have I just been as insensitive as hell? ‘Liam has a mother? I mean, she is … alive …?’

  ‘Sam is very much alive, she is just not— She has some contact with Liam but I have full custody.’

  Some contact?

  The clinical statement made Miranda shudder. ‘How terrible for her!’ It was inhuman, in her opinion, to take a child from his mother. The thought of being forced to give up your child—surely no woman would do so voluntarily—sent a fresh judder of pained horror through Miranda. ‘And poor Liam …’

  His dark eyes flashed fire and the muscles around his mouth quivered in reaction to the accusing condemnation in the big eyes fixed on his face.

  ‘Liam does not need your pity,’ he snarled. ‘And neither does Sam. There was no coercion involved. I did not obtain custody under duress. Liam’s mother did not want us—’ He closed his mouth over further revelations. Better late than never, Gianni.

  Dio, what was he doing? She was not the first person to make this assumption, but this was the first time he had felt the need to justify himself and play the sympathy card.

  The simmering silence stretched until it was broken by her gruff, ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What the hell for?’ he ground out. ‘Being nosy?’

  Hearing that ‘us’ again in her head and knowing instinctively that this man was never going to totally forgive her for seeing beyond the macho façade he presented to the world, she shook her head, wishing she hadn’t. He was the last person she had imagined she could feel empathy for, but she was. It had been more comfortable to view him as a smouldering, sexy but ultimately two-dimensional figure; when he was gone her equally two-dimensional lust would be gone too.

  No worries—soon he would be and she could get back to feeding the goat and, what? Feeling sorry for herself? Wasn’t that what she had intended to do? Instead … the guilt switch in her head clicked and her lashes moved downwards in a concealing sweep—she had not thought about the situation with Oliver or Tam all morning!

  ‘It’s none of my business.’

  ‘True,’ he retorted in a cold, clipped voice that should not have made her feel hurt but did.

  ‘What time do you plan on leaving?’ As far as Miranda was concerned it couldn’t be too soon!

  ‘I already said I’m not.’

  She was appalled. ‘But you can’t stay here … obviously.’

  Gianni’s dark brows lifted, emphasising the satyr-like slant she had previously noticed. ‘No …?’ he drawled.

  ‘It wouldn’t be … appropriate.’

  He watched her attempt to compress her lips and fail totally; her lush lips would not accommodate prim. ‘How delightfully Victorian of you.’

  Miranda refused to respond to the jibe.

  ‘And I’ve always had a certain talent for the inappropriate.’ His eyes drifted towards the soft outline of her spectacularly lush lips and any number of inappropriate actions occurred to him.

  For a moment he could almost taste the sweetness and heat of her mouth as he slid his tongue deep … He pushed away the steamy images forming in his head, but not before the flash of testosterone-fuelled heat had settled painfully in his groin.

  Dio, what was happening to him? He had left this sort of indiscriminate lust behind in his teens.

  ‘How nice for you,’ she said frigidly. ‘But the fact remains that you’ll have to leave.’

  ‘Why?’

  Was he trying to be obtuse? she wondered, watching as Gianni unlatched the bottom of the stable door before stepping out into the yard, yelling, ‘No, Liam, don’t open the gate!’ to his son, who was trying to gain access to the paddock with the duck pond.

  ‘There’s not enough room.’

  He turned his head and angled a wry look tinged with amusement back at Miranda over his shoulder. ‘Enough room? At last count there were five bedrooms.’ Though two at least he could not stand upright in.

  Ten bedrooms would not be enough to make her feel comfortable sharing a roof with this man. Her eyes drifted to the vee of golden skin at his throat. He was golden all over—things low in her belly flipped as she failed to block out the earthy image that had imprinted itself in her brain.

  ‘Pity you didn’t choose one of those last night,’ she muttered under her breath as she slammed the fridge closed with unwanted force. She pitched her voice higher and added, ‘I meant …’ She paused, deciding it might not be such a good idea to say what she meant. Not even sure what she did mean … that he made her think inappropriate thoughts …?

  ‘You came to see your …’ she stopped, unable to bring herself to say aunt, finding the term too ludicrous to describe the relationship between the youthful and extremely gorgeous Lucy and this tall, rampantly Latin-looking man ‘… Lucy and she isn’t here, so there’s no need for you to stay.’

  ‘Actually there’s no need for you to stay,’ he countered as he leaned a hand
on the door jamb and glanced towards his son before returning his attention to Miranda. The wind blowing in ruffled his gleaming dark hair, making it stand up in tufts around his face. He smoothed it back with an impatient gesture.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make it right with Lucy.’

  Miranda shook her head, bewildered by the promise. ‘Make it … right?’

  It wasn’t until he reached into his pocket that she took his meaning.

  ‘Has she paid you up front?’ He extracted his hand empty … The lines around his eyes deepened as he tried to recall the last time he had seen his wallet.

  A mixture of irritation and contempt on her face, Miranda lifted her chin. ‘I don’t want your money and I’m not going anywhere. I’ve been paid to do a job and I have every intention of fulfilling my contract.’

  ‘I can look after the place for Lucy.’

  Now that he considered the situation, Gianni could see there were advantages to Lucy being away. For starters he would not have to explain the situation to her—she never had made a secret of her disapproval for Sam, pronouncing herself unable to understand what motivated a woman who rejected her child, a woman who continued to risk her life doing the job she loved.

  Gianni had tried to defend Sam, pointing out that Liam still had contact with his mother, she just left the hands-on parenting to him, but this cut no ice with Lucy.

  ‘This is my job. I’m not here on holiday—I’m here to work. I can’t walk away.’

  ‘What—run a duster around the place and feed a few animals?’

  The disparaging but essentially accurate description of her job brought a scowl to Miranda’s brow.

  ‘I think I can manage that.’

  Miranda found herself wishing he could also manage to fall flat on his perfect face.

  His dark eyes swept her face. ‘I’m offering you a paid holiday here—who refuses an offer like that?’

  Someone who didn’t want to go home in time to see the newly-weds return, seeing the glow in Oliver’s eyes when he looked at her sister.

  ‘A kind offer, but I wouldn’t dream of imposing. I’m being paid to do a job and I intend to do it.’

  ‘Let’s let Lucy decide. I think we’ll find that she’d prefer family to be here.’

  ‘Lucy rang yesterday when she landed—she’s staying somewhere without a landline and there isn’t a signal. She isn’t due to check in again until next week—’ Miranda broke off as a clucking hen ran through the kitchen door. Miranda clapped her hand, having more success in expelling this intruder. ‘I’m not leaving …’ She swallowed and heard the rising note of panic in her querulous addition, ‘I can’t!’

  Gianni’s brows lifted. So the redhead was running away … from what or who? Probably a love affair gone bad … It usually was, he thought cynically.

  ‘I guess that means we’ll have to cohabit.’

  Miranda stared at him in horror, shaking her head at his idea of a solution. ‘No … no, that’s not possible. You can’t stay. Why would you want to?’ she challenged.

  ‘For the pleasure of your charming company?’

  Miranda gave a scornful snort and folded her arms across her chest, refusing to react to the charm.

  ‘The fact is my work schedule doesn’t allow … No, that’s not true—I don’t allow enough time to spend a lot of quality time with Liam.’ Actually, he realised, this wasn’t a lie. ‘Quality time—I know it sounds corny, but it’s true. I try, but not hard enough.’ Again true.

  He opened the door fully and stifled a pang of guilt. He couldn’t afford to waver. When the circumstances necessitated you utilised your opponent’s weaknesses and, for all her attitude, it was obvious that the redhead’s weakness was a soft heart.

  ‘Look at him,’ he invited, gesturing towards Liam, who was playing with the dogs. ‘He’s having the time of his life. Sure, we could go back to London … But he’d be missing out—we both would.’ He studied her from under the sweep of his lashes, watching while she struggled.

  Miranda looked at the little boy playing outside. Gianni Fitzgerald’s honesty had actually touched her. ‘I’m not sure. I’d like to take you up on your offer, but …’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE dogs barking in the yard made Miranda break off mid sentence. She heard the sound of a car door slamming, then a male voice talking to the animals, who immediately quieted.

  ‘Are you expecting visitors?’ Sensing victory had been imminent, he cursed the timing of the interruption, now he had lost the advantage he had gained.

  Miranda shook her head and got to her feet just as a man appeared framed in the top half of the stable door. His back turned to them, he rested the box he was carrying on the top of the closed section before turning.

  ‘Sorry I’m late. I had some extra deliveries, but I put in some extra courgettes—we’ve got a glut—and Mum put in some of her elderflower cordial for you to try. She said thanks for the advice—the new hair cut—’

  He saw them and stopped, an expression of mild surprise spreading across his handsome face. ‘Sorry, I didn’t know Lucy had visitors …?’

  She saw him look from her to Gianni to the child playing now at their feet before she could explain that this was not the cosy domestic scene it appeared at first glance—it felt important to disabuse him of any embarrassing misconception. Gianni spoke up.

  ‘Lucy’s away.’

  The other man did not appear to pick up on the note of dismissal in Gianni Fitzgerald’s voice that Miranda did.

  ‘She is?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Gianni Fitzgerald, for all his smart tongue, could, it seemed, be a man of few words when it suited him; the rudeness was no major surprise.

  ‘Perhaps she forgot to cancel her order?’ Miranda suggested.

  The newcomer gave a rueful shake of his head. ‘Much more likely my brother forgot to tell me. He helps out on sufferance—he’s more interested in getting back home to play his computer games.’

  Miranda got to her feet and slid the latch holding the door. ‘Do you want to put that on the table? It looks heavy.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I’m Miranda. I’m house-sitting for Lucy.’

  ‘I’m Joe Chandler.’ Young, blond and good-looking, Joe brushed his hand on his jeans before offering it to Miranda. She smiled at the sweet gesture and took it. ‘Lucy takes one of our veggie boxes.’

  ‘She did say something about it.’

  ‘All organic.’

  Gianni watched as the guy picked up a deformed-looking carrot from the top of the box and offered it for Miranda’s inspection as if it were the Crown jewels.

  ‘Lucy didn’t say she was away—she always takes a box on Mondays and Fridays.’

  Miranda took the muddy carrot, displaying the sort of interest his sisters might over a pair of designer shoes. ‘Are they grown locally?’

  If her interest was feigned, she was, Gianni decided, a very good actress.

  ‘How much are the boxes?’

  The guy mentioned an amount that seemed fairly extortionate for a few vegetables but Miranda appeared impressed.

  ‘I’ll take the usual,’ she said cheerfully.

  ‘That’s great, but you’ll probably need a bigger order with the family here?’ he said with a glance towards Gianni.

  ‘No, he’s not with me, we’re not … the regular order will be fine, thanks.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘How much do I owe you again?’

  ‘I’ll get that,’ Gianni said, getting to his feet.

  Miranda watched him frown as he began to search the pockets of the jacket slung over the arm of the kitchen chair and a switch suddenly clicked in her head.

  Could she be guilty of missing the signs the way she had with her father?

  The experience had made Miranda more sensitive to signs others might well have missed and she had already been puzzled by the contradictions: he wore expensive clothes, but drove a wreck of a car, but had driven, in Liam’s words, a ‘big, big car’,
now the ‘lost’ wallet—all suggested someone who had suffered a recent change of fortune …

  Was it possible he wasn’t being awkward for the sake of it but simply because he had nowhere else to go? Maybe like her father he had lost his job, possibly even his home. He wouldn’t be the first man, as she knew only too well, who found the subject difficult to discuss.

  Miranda made an impulsive decision. ‘It’s all right,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve got it,’ she added, extracting the notes from her purse, and handed them to Joe before she made a few more admiring noises about the contents.

  ‘Shall I bring the usual delivery on Monday, then?’

  ‘Yes, please, that would be lovely.’ She followed Joe out into the yard discussing the next delivery.

  Her thoughts very much on the man indoors and his possible situation, it took her a moment to respond to Joe’s surprise invitation.

  ‘A drink in the pub?’

  ‘About eight-thirty. I’m meeting a few friends. I could pick you up if you like …?’

  On the point of refusing, she suddenly thought, Why not?

  Back in the house she got straight to the point. ‘Look, I’ve been thinking and you’re right—there’s plenty of room for us all here.’ She reached for the coffee pot and filled her mug. ‘In fact you’d be doing me a favour.’

  Startled by this sudden turnaround, Gianni stared at her suspiciously.

  ‘I would?’

  ‘Yes … this place is a bit in the middle of nowhere, and I’d be nervous at nights here alone …’

  Convinced he was missing something, but not sure what, Gianni put his hand over his mug before she ladled sugar into it. ‘You do not strike me as the nervous type.’

  Her eyes slid from his. ‘Well, I am. Look, do you want to stay or not?’

  His brow furrowed. ‘I want to stay,’ he admitted.

  ‘Fine, well, I’m sure we can manage without getting in each other’s way—it’s a big house.’ Who are you trying to convince, Mirrie? ‘Look, I’ll leave you to … I’ll just go muck out the horses.’

  It was delaying the inevitable but she spent the rest of the morning with the animals. At one point Liam joined her, wanting to ride on the donkey, but before she could respond his father appeared.