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on that score? Perhaps, like many young women, you hoped to put off pregnancy and hang on to your freedom as long as you could?’ He looked down at her with dark, searing eyes when he saw the way her expression visibly fell. ‘But it is time you settled down now. You will soon overcome your selfish needs when you become my wife and Marco’s mother,’ he finished.

      It was completely against Cesare’s culture, and his own nature, not to cherish and adore children, and he had no sympathy with anyone who did not put them first.

      Having set out to find out about Robin Ingram and Giles Bennett’s divorce—and succeeding—Cesare knew his resolve to make her his wife, the mother of his children, had only deepened.

      Although he hadn’t quite expected such strong resistance from Robin to meeting Marco.

      Not all women were maternal, he accepted that, and some took longer than others to settle down to motherhood. But somehow he didn’t think that was really the case with the deeply responsive Robin Ingram.

      She had obviously loved her older brother very much, and her affection for her father was unmistakeable, so perhaps it was that she feared pregnancy and childbirth?

      Whatever her reasons for not wanting to get on and have babies, she would get over them.

      Because Cesare expected—fully intended—her to mother his nephew and to produce a brother or a sister for Marco within the first year of their marriage …

      CHAPTER FOUR

      ‘YOU ARE LOOKING very beautiful this evening,’ Cesare complimented Robin formally, as he ushered her out of the private lift that opened straight into his hotel suite at seven forty-five.

      Robin eyed him distantly, having deliberately adopted her role of cool and unattainable by wearing a simple black dress that covered her from her throat to just above her knees. Her hair was smoothed back from her creamy brow and fastened in a neat chignon, exposing the plain gold earrings she wore, and a simple linked bracelet was her only other jewellery. Her make-up was deliberately light—only mascara, a sheer foundation and peach lip gloss.

      After all, she had thought as she’d surveyed her reflection in the mirror before leaving home, she wasn’t going out on a date. This evening was probably going to be just another challenging conversation with Cesare Gambrelli.

      And it would introduce her to Marco.

      She drew in a deep breath. ‘I hope you aren’t expecting me to return the compliment?’ She dismissed his own darkly attractive appearance in a black silk shirt and black trousers as she swept past him and into the sitting room of the suite.

      A penthouse suite, she had discovered after making enquiries at the reception desk downstairs, that consisted of the whole of the top floor of the building, with a private lift to whisk her to its lofty heights.

      But what else had she expected? Cesare Gambrelli was one of the richest men in the world, and he could easily afford to keep the top floors of all of his exclusive hotels around the world for his own private residences if he so chose. Which he probably did.

      Cesare’s gaze followed Robin admiringly as he followed her into the sitting room. Whatever her lack of composure earlier today, Robin Ingram had definitely regrouped, looking every inch the beautiful, haughty socialite that she was as she moved to stand in front of one of the giant windows that looked out over the sunset-dappled capital.

      ‘Drink?’ He held up the bottle of champagne he had ready and chilling in a silver ice bucket.

      It was later than seven-thirty, of course. But he had expected that. He’d known that Robin would deliberately be later than the time he had specified, if not as late as she had said she would be, in an attempt to show him that she would not fall in with his plans.

      Not yet, anyway.

      ‘Champagne, Cesare?’ she came back teasingly. ‘Isn’t your … celebration a little premature?’

      ‘Is it?’ he mused unconcernedly, and he poured some of the pink bubbling liquid into a glass for Robin before filling his own and carrying them both over to where she stood. ‘I make a point of always drinking champagne, Robin,’ he explained as he handed her one of the flutes.

      She returned his gaze unflinchingly. ‘How wonderful to be so privileged!’

      Cesare smiled lazily down at her. ‘Not at all. I have found it is the only alcohol that does not result in a hangover!’

      He was so damned sure of himself, wasn’t he? Robin fumed, as she sipped the pink bubbly wine. So confident that he had the upper hand in their dealings with each other.

      And didn’t he?

      It hadn’t been easy introducing the subject of Cesare Gambrelli with her father when Charles had returned home earlier this evening. In fact, it had proved almost impossible. Charles had merely repeated his warning for her to stay away from him when she had mentioned Cesare’s name. A comment he wouldn’t enlarge on, despite her urgings.

      Although it really wasn’t too difficult, after the conversation she’d had with Cesare herself that afternoon, to realise why her father was wary of their family’s tenuous connection to this man. The one concession her father had made to his near-silence on the subject of Cesare Gambrelli was to state that the other man was completely ruthless in his business dealings.

      But just how much more ruthless would he be towards the family he held responsible for his sister’s death?

      But, without alerting her father to the fact that Cesare Gambrelli had paid her a personal visit that very afternoon, she hadn’t been able to press him for any more information.

      Neither had she told him that Cesare was the ‘friend’ she’d said she was meeting for dinner this evening; that would have certainly sparked off a conversation she wasn’t yet ready for. Besides, her father had looked so tired after yet another meeting to discuss Simon’s gambling debts …

      ‘What shall we drink to, Robin?’ Cesare drawled derisively. ‘A successful conclusion to our earlier conversation, perhaps?’ he added, with a mocking smile at her obvious resentment at being there at all.

      Her eyes glittered deeply purple as she looked up at him from between thick, dark lashes. ‘That would only result in your making the toast!’

      Cesare gave an appreciative grin. ‘I have a feeling that we will be doing a lot of things in conflict for some time to come, Robin. But we may as well begin now, do you not think? Drink up,’ he added impatiently as her fingers merely tightened about the slender stem of the glass.

      Instead of doing as he requested she chose to walk away from him, moving across the room to stand beside the door.

      As if poised for flight, Cesare easily guessed. Well, what was the saying? She could run but she couldn’t hide. Robin could try running from him all she wanted, but his mind was completely made up: this woman would become his wife.

      His eyes moved slowly down her body. He knew she had probably chosen to wear that black sheath of a dress as a means of detracting from the graceful lines of her body. As she had also chosen to smooth back and confine the wild beauty of her honey-gold hair.

      Unfortunately for Robin it had the opposite effect; there was something extremely tantalising in the wearing of a dress that hinted at her curves rather than displayed them, and the taming of her hair merely made him want to release those glorious honey-gold tresses and kiss her until she became totally pliant in his arms.

      She would probably be most displeased to learn that her efforts at killing any desire he might feel for her body had only succeeded in increasing his need; he had to know, to caress and kiss every velvety-soft inch of her!

      Robin wished Cesare would stop looking at her in that way. She was feeling completely physically vulnerable under the intensity of his dark, narrowed scrutiny—as if he had stripped every article of clothing from her body. And there wasn’t much; she was only wearing black panties and silk stockings beneath

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