LITMIR.BIZ

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away, Marcus. Go back to your dream world and don’t bother me again.’

      ‘He’s not a baby, Gemma. He will be starting school in September.’

      Gemma ignored the comment and continued to tidy away the chocolate wrappers from the rug.

      As she reached to fasten the lid on the basket Marcus stretched out and caught hold of her wrist. The contact of his skin against hers sent a jolt of shock shooting through her as if an electric charge had passed through her body. ‘This is something we need to sort out together. If it goes to court you will regret it, Gemma.’

      Although the words were softly spoken the meaning was clear. Nobody took on the might of the Rossini family and won. They had money and influence and they always got what they wanted. Gemma tried very hard not to let panic show in her eyes as she looked over at him. ‘You are not in Italy now, Marcus,’ she reminded him. ‘This is my home turf, and a court will never allow you to take Liam away from me.’

      ‘I don’t want to fight with you, Gemma,’ he said softly. ‘But if you insist on it, then I will use any means possible to make sure I win. If you play with fire then you must expect to be burnt.’

      ‘Daddy!’ Liam’s excited voice cut through the tense atmosphere and Marcus let go of her and turned as the little boy came running across the grass and flung himself into his arms.

      Gemma watched the instinctive way Liam curled his arms around his father’s neck, cuddling in to him as close as he could get. ‘Daddy, will you push me on the swing? Will you? I can go really high, almost up to the sky and…’

      ‘Hey, steady on, partner.’ Marcus laughed. ‘Give me time to draw breath.’

      ‘Liam, we have to go now,’ Gemma cut in anxiously. She just wanted to be away from this situation. Her nerves couldn’t stand being around Marcus a moment longer.

      ‘Ah, Mum!’ Liam groaned. ‘Daddy’s only just come! Can’t he push me on the swings, can’t he, please?’

      ‘You can see him later.’ Gemma stood up and pretended to busy herself brushing down the folds of her long dress. ‘You’re spending tonight over at Daddy’s house. You can play on the swing in his garden.’

      Marcus watched the way her long hair fell silkily over her shoulders, gleaming a rich honey gold in the sun; noticed the deep V of her sundress revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her curvaceous body.

      ‘Can I stay here with Daddy?’

      The words caused a sharp rush of pain inside her.

      ‘No, you can’t.’ Gemma glanced over and met Marcus’s eyes. She imagined there was a gleam of triumph in them, a look that said, See, my son wants to be with me, not you. ‘Please stand up from the rug so I can fold it away,’ she asked him coldly.

      Liam seemed set to argue some more. But, surprisingly, Marcus cut across him. ‘Do as Mummy says, Liam,’ he said, getting to his feet and lifting Liam with him so that Gemma could pack the rug away.

      ‘Thanks.’ Her voice was prickly.

      ‘We need to talk some more,’ Marcus said quietly as he watched her place the folded blanket over the top of the basket.

      ‘There is nothing to discuss. I’ve given you my answer.’

      ‘That’s not good enough.’

      ‘Why? Because it isn’t the answer you want?’ Gemma shrugged. ‘Well, tough, Marcus. I know you are used to getting your own way, but not this time.’

      Anger glimmered in Marcus’s eyes. ‘We’ll see about that.’

      The quiet way he said those words disturbed the cool veneer she had managed to wrap around herself. ‘The whole notion is ridiculous, Marcus, so just forget it.’

      As her voice rose, Liam looked over at her. ‘Are you and Daddy arguing?’

      ‘No, darling, we’re just talking.’ Gemma held out her hand to him. ‘Come on, we have to get home. Uncle Richard said he might call.’

      Marcus felt a flash of annoyance at that remark. ‘Uncle Richard’ was around at the house far too much recently for his liking.

      ‘We’ll talk again later in the week,’ Marcus said as he put Liam down.

      ‘I told you, there’s nothing to talk about.’

      ‘On the contrary, there is a lot to talk about,’ Marcus said coolly. ‘How about having dinner with me next Friday night? Will your mother babysit?’

      ‘Dinner?’ Gemma looked at him as if he’d gone mad. ‘No, she wouldn’t.’

      ‘Okay, I’ll come over to you, then.’

      ‘Marcus, that isn’t convenient.’

      ‘I’ll ring you later in the week to confirm.’ Marcus’s voice was steely.

      Gemma was going to tell him flatly not to waste his time but Liam was watching and listening intently. So she just reached to take hold of the child’s hand. ‘Goodbye, Marcus,’ she said with as much cold finality in her voice as she could muster.

      Marcus watched as she walked away from him across the grass, her long hair swinging glossily behind her in the softness of the breeze, her back ramrod straight.

      Liam was skipping beside her and kept turning to wave at him but Gemma did not look back.

      But she would do as he wanted, Marcus told himself grimly. By the time he had finished she would be begging him to compromise and he would have her exactly where he wanted her: back in his life.

      CHAPTER TWO

      GEMMA groaned and put the letter down on the table, pulling a hand distractedly through her long hair. ‘This is all I need!’

      ‘What’s the matter?’ Her mother walked into the kitchen just at that moment. ‘It’s not a letter from Marcus’s lawyer, is it? This custody battle isn’t going to court?’

      ‘No!’ Gemma looked over at her mother, horrified by the words. ‘There is no custody battle, Mum. Marcus is trying his luck, that’s all. He won’t dare go to court because he knows he’ll lose.’

      Her mother didn’t look convinced. ‘Marcus has never struck me as a man afraid of losing,’ she said curtly.

      The words were not what Gemma needed to hear. She was desperately trying to convince herself that this problem with Marcus would sort itself out, that he would change his mind before things started to get nasty.

      ‘What’s in the letter?’ her mother asked now.

      ‘It’s from the letting agency, informing me that the landlord is putting this house up for sale. They’ve invited me to make an offer, as he will give me first refusal, apparently.’

      ‘Would you be able to afford it?’

      ‘They haven’t said how much he wants for it, but I doubt it. The houses in this square are going for a fortune these days.’

      ‘I suppose you’ve done well getting it for such a low rent for all these years. I don’t know how you’ve managed it. Your friend Jane is paying twice as much for her small flat.’

      ‘Yes, I suppose it was too good to last.’ Gemma had thought her luck was really in when she had found this place. It was a large Georgian house close to her publishing job in the heart of London and within walking distance of her mother’s house. Fully furnished with the most exquisite antiques, there was even a large office where she could work. The rent had been preposterously low but apparently the landlord’s main concern was to have a good tenant who would look after the property, as it had once been his mother’s home. ‘I thought he might bump up the rent one day but somehow I didn’t expect him to sell,’ Gemma reflected sadly.

      She watched as her mother lifted

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