The Mediterranean Billionaire's Secret Baby. Diana Hamilton

knew of their dire financial situation. His offer of deferred payment was a kind one, but she wished it hadn’t been voiced in front of Francesco. She did have some pride!

      ‘That won’t be necessary,’ she put in stiffly, heading for the door, the back of her neck prickling in her need to put as much distance as possible between herself and Francesco whose very presence affected her like an arrow to her heart.

      An imperiously drawled, ‘Wait!’ stopped her.

      Exuding sophisticated cool, Francesco stepped forward. ‘Nick? I take it you are he?’ Receiving a startled glance that he took as an affirmative, he ordered with the sublime confidence of a man who expected to be unquestioningly obeyed, ‘There’s no need for you to wait. Fix the battery. I’ll take Anna to collect her van later.’

      ‘Now, hang on a minute!’ Incensed by his assumption that he could call the shots, Anna swung round to face him—and then wished she hadn’t. Because just looking at him, at the upward drift of one strongly marked sable brow, the slight querying smile on that wide sensual mouth as he waited for her to expand on her explosive objection, made her heart leap, her mouth feel as parched as desert sand, her pulses race as she remembered—

      Smothering a groan, feeling the fight ebbing out of her like water down a drain, she capitulated.

      Pointless to avoid the interrogation any longer. The longer she spent dodging That Question, the more uptight and jittery she would become. It couldn’t be good for her baby.

      Flinging Nick an apologetic smile, she said dully, ‘Thanks, pal. I’ll see you later. There’s stuff I’ve got to talk over with—him.’ And if that sounded rude or ungracious, tough.

      She didn’t feel even remotely gracious as Francesco ushered her in her mother’s wake as the older woman headed back to the kitchen. Just sick to her stomach.