The Italian's Christmas Housekeeper Read online

  Rodrigo’s world was spinning. “Son? What’s his name?”

  “Jett. Jett Price.”

  He blinked. “You called him what?”

  “What’s wrong with it?” she said defensively.

  “It sounds like something that might get mentioned in a stock report from Boeing or Airbus. Jet price?”

  “No one will think of it that way!”

  “His surname should be Cabrera.”

  She lifted her chin defiantly. “He’s fine as he is.”

  “I want a paternity test. And then—”

  “Then what?”

  “Then we’ll see,” he said softly.

  Lola looked at him for a long moment. Most of the people in his world feared him, and with good reason. He’d built his media empire by being ruthless and unpredictable. Looking down at her, he half expected to see fear. He should have known better.

  “We’re better off without you.” Her eyes were defiant. “I won’t let you take my child from me, Rodrigo.”

  “And you think you can fight me?” he said softly. “You know what I’m capable of.”

  “Yes.” Lola lifted her chin. “And you know me.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “If you try to take my son from me, you’ll regret it.”

  He looked at her incredulously. “You’re threatening me?”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “It’s a promise.”

  “And how would you fight me?”

  “I’ve made some powerful friends.”

  Her eyes were cold. Rodrigo thought of her date. Sergei was obviously wealthy, and he’d proposed marriage. Was that the powerful friend she meant?

  She’d said she was his secretary. That she’d refused his proposal. But for all he knew, they were lovers. The image came to him of her naked in the man’s arms. The thought made him sick.

  Rodrigo had been Lola’s first lover. Of that, there could be no doubt. When they’d first made love, and he’d discovered her virginity, he’d been shocked, exhilarated, intoxicated with pride. Lola, so beautiful and desirable, had somehow still been a virgin at twenty-four.

  But she might well have taken lovers since then. Any man would want her. While Rodrigo had been celibate as a monk.

  “You and that Russian,” he said with deliberate carelessness, “you are lovers, of course.”

  Her lips twisted. “I’ve never even let him kiss me.”

  He stared at her. No. It couldn’t be true. Blinking hard, Rodrigo regained his reason. All the time she’d worked for him, he’d thought she was a terrible liar. But he must have been mistaken. Of course she was sleeping with the other man. Why else would he propose? What a little actress she was. Really, he should hire her for his next prestige film. “Liar.”

  “I’m not,” she bit out, her eyes flashing. “I’ve only kissed one person in my whole life—”

  She cut off her words, but it was too late. He stared at her, his heart twisting violently in his chest.

  “You’ve never kissed another man? Even now?” He came closer. “Even after all this time?”

  She looked up at him, her eyes shooting sparks. “I loved you, Rodrigo. Do you even know what that means? No. You don’t. How could you, when you felt nothing?”

  A razorblade lifted to his throat. He tried to keep his grip on reason. He ground out his words. “Why would the man propose, if he’s never even slept with you?”

  Her hazel eyes were luminous in the shadows of the ballroom. “Because he thinks it’s the only way he can have me.”

  For a moment, Rodrigo couldn’t breathe. Suddenly, it was as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes. He’d been right all those years he’d thought she wasn’t a good liar. She wasn’t. He could always tell on those rare occasions when she tried to lie. Her voice got strangled, her face turned red. He knew when she was speaking the truth.

  And he could hear the truth in her voice when she said she’d loved him.

  Had he been wrong about her all this time?

  He wasn’t wrong about one thing, at least, he told himself fiercely. He wasn’t wrong about her stealing his child away.

  “I want to see the baby,” he said tightly.

  “Now?”

  “Now.”

  “Fine,” Lola said coldly. “I’ll get my coat. You can meet him. But that’s it.”

  As he followed her out of the hotel ballroom, Rodrigo’s gaze slowly traced down her body. Her generous breasts were even fuller than he remembered, emphasizing her hourglass curves, her tiny waist and perfect hips. She wore no jewelry. She didn’t need jewels. Not when her eyes sparkled in her beautiful face. Not when she had that body. No man in the room could take his eyes off her—and Rodrigo was no exception.

  Damn her.

  His jaw tensed as he remembered the angry tremble of her voice. We’re better off without you.

  It wasn’t true, he thought. He stiffened, remembering his own father. He was nothing like that bastard.

  Maybe he didn’t know much about fatherhood or parenting or happy families, but he could at least give his son a name. A stable home. A good childhood.

  He could give him everything he himself had never had.

  His eyes fell on Lola. Whether she liked it or not, Rodrigo was the one in control now. His eyes traced the full curve of her backside, the span of her tiny waist.

  And he intended to have his way. At any cost.

  Copyright © 2018 by Jennie Lucas

  ISBN-13: 9781488083808

  The Italian’s Christmas Housekeeper

  First North American publication 2018

  Copyright © 2018 by Sharon Kendrick

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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