Heart slamming into her ribcage, she perched on the edge of the sofa. He took the other end, his large body turned towards her so their knees almost touched. Again awareness of just how big, how powerfully built he was, crowded her senses. Her gaze dropped to his hands, large with sleek fingers. She recalled how they’d made her feel, how the light dusting of hair on the back had triggered delicious shivers in her once upon a time.
A different tremble powered up her spine.
Maisie gave herself a silent shake. This wasn’t the time to be falling into a pool of lust. She’d been there, done that, with this man. And look where it had got her.
Look where she was now, about to be given news she instinctively knew would be life-changing.
She glanced up at him. His hazel eyes probed, then raked her face, and his nostrils flared slightly, as if he, too, was finding it difficult to be seated so close to her without remembering what they’d done to each other on a hot September night in Palermo five years ago. His gaze dropped to her throat, her breasts, and she heard his short intake of breath.
‘Romeo...’
He balled his fists on top of his thighs and his chest expanded in a long inhalation. ‘You’re right about the bodyguards. I normally only travel with two members of my security team.’
Her stomach hollowed out. ‘Why...why the increase?’
‘It’s just a precaution at this stage.’
‘What does that mean?’ she demanded. ‘Precaution against what?’
‘It means neither you nor Gianlucca are in danger at the moment.’
‘But you’re expecting us to be at some point?’ Her voice had risen with her escalating fear and the shaking had taken on a firmer hold.
He shook his head. ‘You don’t need to panic—’
‘Oh, really? You tell me my son could be in danger and then tell me not to panic?’ she blurted, all the different scenarios she’d talked herself out of tumbling back again. She brushed her hands over her arms as cold dread drowned her.
‘I meant, there was no need to panic because I’ll ensure your safety,’ he said.
‘Safety from what?’ When he remained silent, she jumped to her feet and paced the small living room. ‘I think you should start from the beginning, Romeo. Who are these people and what do they want with you? With our son?’ She froze. ‘Are you involved in...in criminal activity?’ she whispered in horror.
His mouth compressed and his face set into harsh, determined lines. ‘No, I am not.’
The scathing force of the words prompted her to believe him. But the fear didn’t dissipate. ‘Please tell me what’s going on.’
He rose, too, and paced opposite her. When his fists clenched and unclenched a few times, she approached. At the touch of her hand on his arm, he jerked, as if he’d been elsewhere.
As he stared down at her, his mouth compressed. ‘My past isn’t what you’d call a white-picket-fence fairy tale,’ he said obliquely.
Maisie attempted a smile. ‘Only the books I read to Lucca contain those. Real life is rarely that way.’
A grim smile crossed his lips. ‘Unfortunately, mine was a little more dire than that.’
She kept quiet, mostly because she didn’t know how to respond.
‘The man whose blood runs through my veins was the head of a Sicilian organised crime family.’
She gasped, then stepped back as the import of the words sank in. ‘You’re a member of a Mafia gang?’
‘No, I’m not.’ Again that scathing denial.
‘But your...your father is?’
‘He wasn’t my father. We just share the same DNA,’ he bit out in a harsh tone that spoke of anger, bitterness and harrowing pain.
Maisie’s eyes widened. As if aware of how he’d sounded, Romeo breathed deeply and slid his fingers through his hair. ‘The abbreviated story is that I met him twice. Both times ended...badly. What I didn’t know until yesterday was that he’d kept tabs on me all my life.’
‘Why?’ she demanded.
Romeo shrugged. ‘Since I didn’t know the man, I can only guess it was some sort of power-trip thing to watch whether I failed or succeeded. Or it may have been for other reasons. I care very little about what his motives were.’
Maisie frowned. ‘You talked about him in the past tense...because...’
‘He and his family died in a yacht explosion a year ago.’
The rush of blood from her head made her light-headed. ‘Was it an accident?’ she asked, her lips numb.