Caroline was appalled that he was already making plans to alter her parents’ home. ‘Of course,’ she acceded. as if the matter was of no concern to her—because she knew that she had no grounds for interfering.
‘Where are your parents?’ Valente asked with a frown as his companions took off in different directions to do his bidding. He had expected to renew his acquaintance with the older couple who had in the past slighted him with their distaste, quite unaware that as an illegitimate Barbieri he had been abused by true professionals in that field and had developed a tough skin after enduring much more painful rejections and dismissals. He ran his unimpressed gaze over the faded jeans and the ruffled purple shirt that Caroline now sported. The outfit at least fitted her delicate figure and made her look much younger than her years. The shirt also lent a reflected purple depth to her silvery eyes, while less innocently outlining the rounded, tip-tilted firmness of her small bosom. His even white teeth clenched and his body reacted accordingly to those delectable breasts, even before he noted the tight fit of the denim over the curve of her hips.
Registering that all-over distinctively masculine appraisal, Caroline reddened and felt warm all over, as if her temperature had gone haywire. Valente had always had that effect on her. Unlike many very good-looking men, Valente had never gone through a New Man or metrosexual phase. He was an aggressive alpha male who emanated high-voltage sexuality and potent virility. Women of all ages were always aware when Valente was around. ‘My parents are out … my father has a hospital appointment.’
‘Their absence should only make life simpler, ‘Valente remarked. ‘Let’s get on with this. I have a tight schedule.’
He revealed no interest, indeed his frown merely deepened, as she showed him through to the handsome main reception rooms where her mother had spared no expense in either colour scheme or embellishment. ‘Look, you can’t possibly want to live here,’ she told him sharply. ‘I can’t believe that you would have sufficient use for this house, or that it could ever be made over in your style.’
‘If you were waiting here to welcome me when I arrived for a visit, I could learn to like it. In any case—’ a sleek black brow quirked with sardonic cool ‘—what could you possibly know about how I live now?’
‘The designer clothes and the limousines speak for you. This house was never in that class even when it was new!’
‘Sniping at me won’t drive me away, and nor will it win you favours,’ Valente breathed lazily. ‘This property belongs to me and I will do as I like with it.’
‘But my parents—’
‘I don’t want to hear another word! I have a hearty contempt for sob stories,’ Valente incised with chilling bite. He shifted a lean brown hand in dismissal when she attempted to show him the kitchen quarters, and headed for the main staircase instead. ‘Neither of your parents has ever worked a day in their lives, or even had the good sense to cut back on their lifestyle when their business began going down. I refuse to see them as victims of anything but their own self-indulgence.’
Silenced by that harsh condemnation, Caroline swallowed back the protest that her parents deserved a little more sympathy because as their income had dwindled so their household budget had had to be slashed. All extras had been shaved away, the housekeeper and the gardener laid off. Valente was not the man to give her family sympathy, for there was too big a difference between their backgrounds. Caroline had never wanted for anything while Valente had grown up in poverty with a mother whose ill-health had killed her by the time he was eighteen. His tougher experiences had ensured that only major affliction could ignite his compassion.
‘Even so, your parents did not deserve your husband’s betrayal of their trust,’ Valente continued drily with an observation that caused Caroline to stumble on the stairs.
His hand shot out to steady her and he stepped behind her to prevent her from falling backwards. Momentarily, his body braced hers, with all the heady heat and masculinity of his powerful frame. She quivered and then tensed, fighting her awareness of his proximity with all her might.
‘What on earth are you implying?’ Caroline asked curtly.
‘Your late husband was nothing more than a thief, who helped himself to profits even when the business was struggling—’
On the landing, Caroline spun round to face him, agitation and anger colouring her heart-shaped face. ‘He may have spent unwisely on some items, but he was not a thief!’
‘My auditors and the firm’s accountant could tell you otherwise and show you plenty of proof. Your husband set up a dummy business account and he milked it every opportunity he got.’
Her attention resting on the sombre planes of Valente’s darkly handsome features, Caroline registered the depth of conviction in his own words and paled. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Certain. Odd, that, isn’t it, piccola mia?’ Valente remarked softly. ‘Your parents thought I would plunge their little princess into a squalid life, and yet it was the golden, public-school-educated boy-next-door who had the criminal streak and the bad habits. He couldn’t keep his hands out of the till or off his employees!’
Caroline saw red. Trembling in the grip of fury and humiliation, she lifted her hand and slapped him—crack!—across one proud olive cheekbone. ‘Matthew’s dead … show some respect!’
‘Don’t ever dare to hit me like that again.’ Eyes black as coals and angrily bright as diamonds, Valente made his warning soft and low and icy.
‘You took me by surprise. It won’t happen again,’ Caroline told him in a rush, shocked at her complete loss of temper and control.
‘I have no respect for your late husband … or you, for that matter … because you stayed with him until the bitter end. Yet you knew what he was capable of, didn’t you?’ he condemned with lethal accuracy. ‘I saw your face. You weren’t sufficiently shocked to have been ignorant of his greed or his selfishness—’
Still trembling, Caroline moved so that one of the men who had accompanied him into the house could get past her and head down the stairs. ‘I didn’t know about the account you mentioned,’ she admitted in a pained whisper. ‘I knew he had been extravagant but I had no idea that he might actually be stealing. Please don’t publicise the fact—’
‘Even dead, Matthew’s sacred and untouchable, is he?’ Valente derided in disbelief.
‘His parents would never recover from the disgrace if what you’ve just told me got out. He can’t be punished now. Let his family keep their memories of him clean and intact,’ she pleaded vehemently.
Valente was outraged by that plea. Did she truly expect him to throw a cloak of respectful concealment over her late husband’s fraud? Bailey—the guy who had supplanted Valente in her heart and in her bed?
Caroline read the anger in the clenched set of his fabulous bone structure, and the grim glow of displeasure in his hard dark gaze. A kind of panic threatened what remained of her composure and she shifted her feet restively. This was a meeting she had known she had to get right, but instead it was going badly wrong.
From round the corner drifted the sound of male voices engaged in lively dialogue about where to carve out extra bathroom space in the old house.
Before they could be interrupted, and Valente distracted by them, Caroline reached a sudden decision. She opened the door into the unused master bedroom suite behind her and closed a hand over Valente’s sleeve to tug him in there with her. ‘We have to talk …’
‘What about? I made you a simple proposition,’ he declared, with more than a hint of impatience, although he twisted his hand around to catch her fingers in the grip of his. ‘This morning you were undecided—’
Caroline leant back against the door to close it. ‘I was not undecided. I made it very clear that what you were suggesting