She shook her head. ‘No, I’m not.’
‘Fine.’ He dumped his napkin on the table. ‘He told me I wasn’t his son. That Claudia had screwed a dozen other men during their marriage. That I was some other man’s bastard.’
Shock reverberated through her body at the ugly words. ‘But you must have been devastated,’ she murmured. How could the Duke have harboured that nasty little seed in his head all through Gio’s childhood? And then told his son? ‘But what about the custody battle. Why would he…?’
‘He needed an heir.’ Gio shrugged. ‘And he enjoyed dragging Claudia through the courts, I suspect.’
The words were delivered in a gruff, deliberately contemptuous monotone. But underneath it she could hear a plea that he couldn’t quite disguise, of the little boy who had been so easily hurt by the two people who should have cherished him the most.
‘Gio, I’m so sorry.’ She covered his hand where it lay on the table, and squeezed.
‘Why should you be sorry?’ he said, pulling his hand out from under hers. ‘It didn’t matter to me. In fact, it was a relief. I’d always wondered why I could never please the man.’
He was lying. It had mattered. He’d brooded for days every time the Duke had reprimanded him as a teenager. She’d seen the hurt and confusion he’d tried so hard to hide behind surly indifference. And she’d seen how unhappy, how volatile he’d been that night.
And still mattered now.
No wonder he found it so hard to believe that love existed. That relationships could last.
His eyes narrowed sharply. ‘Bloody hell,’ he said. ‘Stop that right now.’ Standing up he threw a fistful of euro notes on the table.
‘Stop what?’ she gasped as his fingers locked on her wrist and he hoisted her out of her chair.
‘Stop psychoanalysing me.’ He shot the clipped words over his shoulder as he walked out of the restaurant, tugging her behind him.
‘I’m not psychoanalysing you,’ she panted, trying to keep up with his long strides. ‘I’m just trying to understand why…’
‘There’s nothing to understand.’ He stopped on the street outside, his voice stiff with frustration. ‘I wanted you and you wanted me. There wasn’t anything significant about that night except you were a virgin. And if I’d figured that out sooner, believe me, I wouldn’t have touched you no matter how tempted I was.’
The fervent denial made her emotion swell to impossible proportions. Why did he find it so hard even now to admit he’d needed someone? Even fleetingly?
‘All right,’ she said placatingly. ‘But I still find it moving that—’
‘Well, don’t.’ He cut her off as he marched down the street again. ‘Because it’s not.’ They reached the scooter. ‘That night was about animal passion.’ Lifting the spare helmet off the handlebars, he thrust it at her. ‘Climb aboard, because I’ve got some more animal passion for you.’
Great. She wasn’t feeling that moved any more. ‘Stop ordering me about.’ She shoved the helmet on her head. Damn, he’d made her pout—and she hated to be a cliché. ‘How about if I said I didn’t want your animal passion?’
‘You’d be lying,’ he said with infuriating certainty as he mounted the scooter and jammed the key into the ignition. ‘Now get on. You’ve got exactly ten seconds.’ He stamped his foot on the start pedal. ‘Or we’re going to be doing it against the back wall of Latini instead of in the privacy of my bedroom. Your choice.’
‘I will not get on your scooter!’ she shouted, as colour flooded her cheeks at the sensual threat—and her traitorous nipples pebbled beneath the thin silk of her blouse.
‘Ten…’
‘How dare you talk to me like that?’ she cried, flustered now, as well as outraged.
‘Nine…’
He’s kidding. He has to be.
‘Eight…’
‘I am not your personal floozy!’
One dark brow arched. ‘Seven…’
Her knickers got moist.
‘Six…’