by Lynne Graham
Cesare, so far out of his comfort zone that he already felt as if he were trapped in something of a nightmare, finally noticed that it was a two-seat vehicle and that the scruffy dog lay comatose on the only seat available for his own use.
Lizzie leapt back out of the car. ‘I’ll move him and then you can get in,’ she told him, racing round the back of the vehicle to scoop up Archie in trembling hands and usher him in.
‘I could drive,’ Cesare pointed out drily.
‘You don’t know where you’re going and I know where the potholes are,’ Lizzie told him incomprehensibly as she very gently rested Archie down on Cesare’s lap. ‘Please make sure he doesn’t fall.’
Tears were choking Lizzie’s throat. Archie was so quiet and he had never been a quiet dog. Right at that very minute, he could be dying, his brave little life and loving spirit ebbing away, and that was why she wasn’t going to waste time arguing with Cesare Sabatino about anything.
‘Is he still breathing?’ Lizzie demanded, turning out onto the road.
‘I can feel his heart beating,’ Cesare proffered quietly, blocking out his uneasy awareness that the vehicle stank of animals and was far from clean. He stroked the still body for want of anything else to do and was startled when the dog twisted his head to lick at his hand.
‘He trusts you,’ Lizzie informed him.
‘He doesn’t have much choice in the matter,’ Cesare fielded, reckoning that he had been sent to Yorkshire solely to suffer. In his opinion she drove like a maniac. He had spent the day travelling and his day had started at six in the morning in Geneva. Now it was eight in the evening and, not only had he not eaten for hours, but he was also convinced that many more hours would pass before he could even hope for the opportunity. He knew she had no idea that he had planned to take her out to dinner and, since he didn’t have a woolly fleece and cloven hooves, it would never occur to Lizzie to feed him.
Unaware of her unwelcome passenger’s thoughts, Lizzie rammed the Land Rover to an abrupt jolting halt in a small car park. Carefully carrying Archie, Lizzie stalked into the surgery, leaving Cesare, a male who was unaccustomed to being ignored, to follow her. An older man greeted them and carried the dog off to be X-rayed, leaving Lizzie and Cesare in the small, dull waiting room.
In consternation, Cesare watched Lizzie fighting off tears again. Driven by a desperate masculine urge to shift her thoughts to what he viewed as more positive issues, he murmured, ‘So, we’re getting married?’
Lizzie marvelled at his lack of compassion and understanding. Did he really think she was in any frame of mind to discuss that while she was waiting to hear whether Archie would live or die? ‘Yes, but it won’t really be a marriage,’ she parried, striving not to look at him because he really had the most stunning dark golden eyes and every time she looked she ended up staring and she didn’t want him to notice her behaving like a silly schoolgirl.
‘We’re not going for gold, then,’ Cesare assumed, referring to the requirement for a child in the will while surveying her down-bent head with a sense of deep dissatisfaction that took him aback. Why was he feeling that way? Common sense suggested that he should settle for taking Athene for a visit to Lionos and think himself lucky to have gained that much from the exchange.
A tangle of silvery hair brushed the delicate cheekbones of Lizzie’s heart-shaped face and she glanced up through the silken veil of her lashes, green eyes clear and direct. ‘Well, yes, we are. I’ve thought of a way round that.’
‘There’s no way round it,’ Cesare informed her impatiently, marvelling at the luminous quality of those tear-drenched eyes.
‘AI,’ she declared quietly.
His straight ebony brows lifted. ‘AI?’
‘Artificial insemination. We use it with the stock and we can do it that way too,’ Lizzie muttered in an undertone, trying not to succumb to discomfiture because he was really staring at her now as if he had never heard of such a process. ‘I mean, that way there’s no need at all for us to get up close and personal. We can both conserve our dignity.’
Cesare was staggered by the suggestion. ‘Dignity?’ he queried thinly, his first reaction being one of male offence until his clever brain examined the suggestion. For him, it would be a win-win situation, he acknowledged grudgingly. He would not have to sacrifice his freedom in any field because the marriage would be a detached charade from start to finish. That was the civilised sensible approach because there would always be the risk that sexual involvement could muddy the waters of their arrangement. But while his intellect reinforced that rational outlook, he discovered that he was curiously reluctant to embrace the concept of a child fathered in a lab rather than in the normal way and equally reluctant to accept that Lizzie Whitaker would never share his bed.
‘Well, obviously neither one of us would want to be put in the position where we would have to have sex with a stranger.’
Without warning, unholy amusement burnished Cesare’s lean, darkly handsome features. ‘I don’t think you know much about the average male.’
Colour flared like a banner in Lizzie’s cheeks. ‘And if that’s the sort of man you are, I don’t think you should be boasting about it!’ she snapped pointedly.
Cesare breathed in slow and deep and resisted the urge to ask her if she ever lightened up. It was something of a shock for him to discover that there was a woman alive utterly impervious to his looks and charisma. He didn’t believe in false modesty and had been well aware since the teen years that he could attract women in droves, a success rating that had only been enhanced by his gradual rise to billionaire status. Lizzie, however, put out no encouraging vibes and was not remotely flirtatious.
Watching the cool forbidding expression spread across his lean bronzed face, Lizzie took fright and said, ‘I’m sorry...I’m too worried about Archie to mind what I say. I didn’t intend to be rude but you must understand that two people with as little in common as we have really do need a get-out clause when it comes to having a baby,’ she framed with a shy upward glance. ‘And if I agree to that, there would be additional safeguards I would require.’
‘Such as?’
Lizzie breathed in deep. ‘You would have to agree to take on the role of acting as a father to the child until it grew up. Obviously we’ll marry and then divorce...whenever.’ Lizzie shifted an uncertain hand. ‘But a child has specific needs from a parent and those needs must be met with love and security from both of us. That would be quite a responsibility for you to take on for the next twenty years and I need to be sure that you’re willing to accept that.’
A very faint darkening of colour across Cesare’s spectacular cheekbones highlighted his discomfiture. He had assumed that Lizzie was planning to discuss the financial rewards for her willingness to fulfil the terms of the will and her true, infinitely more responsible and caring angle of interest had pierced him with a rare sense of guilt. ‘Why are you so willing to take on that responsibility?’ he prompted.
‘I’ve always wanted a child of my own,’ Lizzie responded, quite comfortable and secure in making that admission. ‘But I don’t really want a man to go with the child, so the arrangement you suggested would probably suit me best of all. At the same time I don’t want to raise a fatherless child, so an occasional father such as you would be is even more acceptable.’
Cesare was quietly stunned by those statements. The women he socialised with were never so frank about a desire to conceive either now or in the future. He wondered if she was still in love with her ex or simply some sort of man-hater because it was unusual for so young a woman to decide that she wanted to live her life alone. And then in dawning dismay he heard himself say, ‘Are you gay?’
Lizzie turned bright pink but recognised why he had interpreted her words in that light. ‘No, that’s not the problem,’ she responded stiffly, determined to keep her reasons for her solitary choic
e of lifestyle strictly private. There was no requirement whatsoever for her to explain herself to him and she was grateful for the fact.
‘If we had a child together, I would hope to meet all your expectations of a father,’ Cesare informed her with quiet conviction. ‘As it happens, I have a very good father of my own and appreciate the importance of the role he plays.’
Lizzie nodded. ‘That was my only real concern... Oh.’ She hesitated but there was no way of avoiding the most pressing requirement. ‘If we’re to proceed with this I’m afraid I’ll need some money from you upfront. I have to be honest—we are all stony broke. My sister needs some cash to stay on at university and I’ll have to rent a property in the village for my dad because when I leave, he’ll be relinquishing the tenancy of the farm.’
Absorbing the fluctuating expressions of embarrassment and apprehension skimming her heart-shaped face, Cesare sent her a soothing smile. ‘Naturally it’s not a problem. I expected something of the sort.’
‘You knew how we were fixed...before you visited?’ Lizzie queried in surprise.
‘I never enter a situation blind,’ Cesare countered unapologetically.
Danny the vet appeared in the doorway. ‘Archie will be out in a minute. My nurse is just finishing up with him. His leg’s broken and he’s had a blow to the skull, which means he’s a little woozy, but other than that he seems fine.’
After the vet had explained his treatment and proffered medication for the coming days, Archie emerged in the nurse’s arms, a cast attached to one small leg and a balloon collar round his neck to prevent him from nibbling at it. Lizzie gathered him close, tears tripping from her eyes again as she huskily thanked the older man while Cesare insisted on taking care of the bill.
‘I’m very attached to Archie,’ Lizzie explained, dashing tears of relief from her eyes with her elbow. ‘You can drive back if you want. The keys are in my pocket.’
Cesare fished out the keys and unlocked the car. ‘I was hoping you would fly back to London with me tonight.’
‘Tonight?’ Lizzie exclaimed in disbelief. ‘That’s impossible!’
‘We have a tight time schedule. I have everything arranged. Is it really impossible?’ Cesare prompted drily. ‘You appear to have no presentable clothes and can’t need to pack much.’
‘But I have to sort out somewhere for Dad to live and move him out of the cottage.’
‘I have staff who will hire professionals to deal with those tasks for you,’ Cesare told her with complete cool. ‘You’ve had your say. I have agreed to your terms and now I need you to come to London.’
It was bite-the-bullet time, Lizzie registered, angrily colliding with brilliant dark eyes as hard as jet. He was being unreasonable. Surely there was no excuse for such haste? But what choice did she have? The arrangement having been agreed, he was now in charge of events. ‘I’ll have to call in with my neighbour to ask him to look after the flock.’
‘Andrew Brook?’
Lizzie stiffened. ‘Yes.’
‘Why did you break up?’
‘That’s private,’ Lizzie told him waspishly.
Cesare gritted his teeth. ‘We’ll go and see him now, so that you can make your preparations.’
Lizzie left Archie asleep in the Land Rover. Esther opened the door and her look of dismay mortified Lizzie, although she had always been aware that Andrew’s last-minute exchange of would-be wives had caused Esther almost as much heartache and humiliation as it had caused Lizzie. People had condemned Esther for sleeping with a man who was engaged to another woman. They had judged her even harder for falling pregnant and thereby forcing the affair into the open and some locals had ignored Esther ever since.
Andrew sprang up from the kitchen table while Lizzie carried out introductions whereupon Cesare startled her by taking charge. ‘Lizzie and I are leaving for London tonight—we’re getting married,’ he explained. ‘Lizzie wants to know if you’ll take her sheep.’
Lizzie saw the surprise and relief darting across Esther’s face and looked away again, her own colour high. Esther would be glad to see her leave the neighbourhood and she didn’t feel she could really blame the other woman for that, not after the way people had treated her.
‘This is a surprise and it calls for a celebration,’ Andrew pronounced with genuine pleasure. ‘I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone, Lizzie.’
Home-made peach wine was produced. Cesare found it sickly sweet but he appreciated the sentiment while he watched and read his companions and made certain interesting deductions. Andrew Brook appeared fond of Lizzie but no more than that. Indeed his every look of warmth was for his wife, who was a rather plain, plump young woman who couldn’t hold a candle to Lizzie in the looks department. Lizzie, on the other hand, Cesare could not read at all. She chatted but was clearly eager to leave as soon as was polite.
‘Are you planning to enlighten me yet?’ Cesare drawled when they returned to the Land Rover, his Italian accent licking round the edges of every syllable in the sexiest way imaginable.
Lizzie was bitterly amused by that stray thought when she didn’t do sex or even know what sexy was. That had lain at the heart of her disastrous relationship with Andrew when she had learned that she was simply one of those women who did not like to be touched. She had assumed—wrongly—when she agreed to marry him that her own response would naturally change as time went on and they became closer. But that hadn’t happened and her feelings hadn’t changed.
‘Andrew had an affair with Esther while we were engaged and she got pregnant. We broke up six weeks before our wedding day and he married her the following month. They’re very happy together,’ Lizzie explained flatly. ‘That means I’ve got an unused wedding gown in my wardrobe, so I’ll bring that down to London.’
‘No!’ Cesare sliced in with innate distaste. ‘I will buy you another dress.’
‘But that’s silly and wasteful when there’s no need for it!’ Lizzie reasoned in bafflement.
‘If we are trying to persuade my family that this is a genuine marriage, you will need a designer gown with all the usual trimmings.’
‘But how could anyone possibly believe it was genuine? We’re chalk and cheese and we only just met.’
‘You’ll be enjoying a full makeover in London and only my father knows when we first met. By the time I’m finished with you, they will believe, cara,’ Cesare insisted.
‘And what if I don’t want a makeover?’
‘If you want to be convincing in the role you’re being paid to take, you don’t have a choice,’ Cesare told her softly. Of course she wanted a makeover, he thought grimly, unconvinced by her show of reluctance. She was willing to do just about anything for money. Hadn’t she already demonstrated the fact? She was prepared to become a mother simply to sell the island to him. But then to be fair, he acknowledged, he was willing to become a father to buy Lionos although, in his case, he had additional and far more presentable motives.
What was the use of working so hard when he had no heir to follow him? What easier way could he acquire a child to inherit his empire? He had seen too many marriages explode into the bitterness and division of divorce, heard too many stories about children traumatised by their parents splitting up. The will had given him a chance to avoid that kind of fallout and the imprisonment of taking ‘for ever after’ vows with one woman. A marriage that was a marriage only on paper and a child born prior to a low-key civilised divorce would suit Cesare’s needs very nicely indeed.
Out of Cesare’s response, only one phrase assailed Lizzie: you’re being paid. It was an unwelcome but timely reminder and she chewed at her full lower lip, restraining a tart response. Hopefully within a couple of months he would have no further use for her and she would get her life back and, even more hopefully, a life that would stretch to include the sheer joy of becoming a mother for the f
irst time. When that time came, maybe she would be able to find some sort of work training course and accommodation near Chrissie. Or maybe that was a bad idea, she reflected uneasily, suspecting that her sibling had the right to her independence without a big sister hovering protectively somewhere nearby.
‘A moment before we go inside...’ Cesare breathed, striding round the bonnet of the rusty farm vehicle.
A frown drew Lizzie’s brows together as she hovered by the back door. When he reached out and tugged her close, Lizzie was so taken aback that she simply froze. His hands came up to frame her cheekbones and she gazed up into glittering golden eyes that reflected the lights shining out from the farmhouse windows, her nostrils flaring on the faint fresh scent of his cologne and the underlying hint of clean, fresh man.
At that point while she was mulling over why he smelled so good to her, Cesare lowered his proud dark head and kissed her. Lizzie stopped breathing in shock, electrified by the sensation and taste of his firm sensual mouth on hers with her heart hammering and her pulse racing as if she were riding a Big Dipper at an amusement park. He nibbled her lower lip and thunder crashed in her ears, the earth literally moving when he swiped his tongue along her full lower lip in an erotic flick that made her quiver like a jelly.
Forbidden warmth burst into being inside her, swelling her breasts, tightening her nipples, spearing down between her legs in a twin assault on her senses. A hard urgency now laced the passionate pressure of his mouth on hers and her head fell back, lips parting by instinct to welcome the deeply sensual dart of his tongue. He pulled her closer, welding her to every powerful line of his lean, powerfully masculine body with a big hand splayed across her hips to hold her in place and in spite of their clothing she felt his arousal, the hard, unmistakeable ridge between them. With almost superhuman force of will because she was on the edge of panic, Lizzie pressed her hand against his shoulder to push him back from her and, to be fair to him, he freed her immediately.
