The Italian's Passionate Return Read Online Free PDF

around, noting the fence that needed mending, the roof that surely had leaks and the tiny house that he wouldn’t even use as a storage shed. “Are you saying you don’t need money?”
    Jemma shook her head. “No. I’m fine. We’re not rich, but we manage.” She still didn’t understand his reaction. “You’re not angry?”
    He laughed. “Of course you need money. But you don’t need to pretend that your son is also mine. I think we could care for each other quite well without the other issues.” He started to take her hands in his. “Let’s just talk through the details.” He took her hand and moved her towards the fence-line, his eyes scanning for the horses, impressed with what he saw. The house and fence might be in poor repair, but the horses and puppies in the barn were in excellent health. He loved riding and knew excellent horse-flesh when he saw it. “I can even help you with the running of this farm.”
    She pulled her hand away. “I don’t need your help. And I definitely don’t need your money, Damien. If you’re not interested in knowing your son, then fine. I don’t care.” But she did! Unexpectedly, she really, really did!
    Jemma couldn’t believe how hurt she was, both at his assumptions that she wanted money as well as him assuming she was lying. Goodness, what kind of woman did he think she was?
    That wasn’t fair, she admonished herself. Perhaps the women he dated were more mercenary than she could understand. That didn’t mean she liked it, but it would definitely explain his cynicism.
    Jemma took a deep breath. “That’s why I called you back here,” she said with both relief and disappointment.
    He was surprised. “That’s all?” He moved closer but stopped when she stepped back as well. “Jemma, you don’t have to be embarrassed. I understand.”
    Jemma laughed, suddenly feeling relieved. “I have no clue what you understand, Damien, but I don’t want your money. I don’t even need you in Dylan’s life. He’s a great kid and I can handle things all on my own.”
    Damien’s eyebrows drew down lower over his eyes. “You’re serious? You really think that your son is mine?”
    She shook her head. “No, Damien. I’m saying that you donated the sperm. Dylan is my son.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared up at him. “We’re perfectly fine on our own. I only called you back because I needed to be honest with you.”
    He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes looking confused now. “How do you know that the boy is mine?”
    Jemma shrugged her shoulders. “I know.” She was sure about her son’s parentage because this gorgeous, cynical, intelligent, obviously wealthy and irritatingly arrogant man was the only man she’d ever slept with.
    Damien watched her carefully, not sure what to believe. “Prove it,” he said, thinking she would pull out a birth certificate with his name on it. Which didn’t prove anything since the mother could claim anyone as the father when he was absent from the delivery room.
    Jemma shook her head. “I can’t.”
    His eyes narrowed. “Can’t? Or won’t?” he asked ominously.
    Jemma shivered, understanding that he’d just turned dangerous, but she didn’t care. She was still reeling from disappointment with his cynicism. “Okay, I won’t. I don’t have to prove anything to you. Dylan is my son. I don’t want you in his life. I was just trying to do the right thing by telling you. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve done my duty. Now I have to feed the horses,” she told him and turned her back on him, heading to the barn to start filling up the buckets with oats.
    She felt him behind her but ignored him. Or tried to. Damien was too big to truly disregard. And his personality wasn’t one that would allow someone to pay no attention to him.
    “Is that really the only reason you called me back? To try and convince me that your son is mine?”
    Jemma sighed heavily as she lifted oats. The horses would be coming