Italian Billionaire's Accidental Child

By Sophia Lynn

No man could resist that siren's song…

Things always seem to happen when you least expect them.
And she fitted that definition to a damn tee.

The second I heard Roz sing, I was entranced.
Pulled in by her sweet words…

I had to have her.

Roz was just as sultry between the sheets, but then she left.
I didn't like that.
I was usually the one kicking girls to the curb.

It was pure chance that we met again three months later. She was the new maid at my country property. And there was no way she'd escape me again.

And that baby, my baby, she was carrying inside her, just drove that point home.

Until something else threatened to split us apart.

Now, I have to prove to her that I'm a different man.
A better man.
Someone worthy of her and that baby.

Can Roz open up her heart enough to trust me?

Everything's on the line now…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sophia Lynn
• Release date: Dec 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386245247

Book preview

Table of Contents

Italian Billionaire’s Accidental Child

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Italian Billionaire’s Accidental Child

By Sophia Lynn

All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2017 Sophia Lynn.

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Chapter One

Dammit, girl, put on some foundation, you look like you're going to glow in the dark!

Roz winced a little because Olivia was right, and she glowered at the large mirror in the dressing room. Olivia, with her ink-dark skin and waves of curly hair, looked like a goddess under the harsh light. Roz looked more like a ghost, and she reached for the blusher again.

Dear God, how much of this crap do I have to put on before I look like a person? Roz groused, and Olivia laughed.

Try a little more than that. Are you nervous?

Never, Roz said with a certain amount of well-earned bravado. No one's ever hit me with a tomato yet. Doesn't mean they haven't pitched 'em, but I'm pretty fast, even if I do light up like a Christmas tree.

Olivia laughed, but it wasn't a joke. A year ago, Roz had been singing at far rougher clubs in Marseille. The clientele wasn't always that interested in being kind, let alone sober, and one memorable night, a drunk had actually pitched a tomato at her. The question she had asked that night alone in her bed, was where the hell he had gotten a tomato that late in the season. It was waste, if you asked her, but of course no one did.

Hey, I think that's your cue.

Oh shoot!

Roz took one last despairing look in the mirror before bolting towards the tiny stage. The MC led a round of polite applause for her before stepping back, and putting on her best sultry smile, Roz stepped forward.

"Bon soir," she said, her voice dropping slightly. The Parisian club was smoky, but she could make out a few distinct faces in the darkness. Some of them made her uneasy in a way she couldn't name, but as she had always been taught, the show must go on.

Are you lonely tonight? she asked the audience in soft French. I know I am. My man left me alone, and now all I have is this song...

The quiet piano led into the first phrase of her song, and letting her eyes drift closed, Roz swayed with the music. As she sang about a lover who would never return, a part of her was still awed that this was her life, that she was actually a singer performing in Paris. It had been her dream ever since she was a little girl, even if when she was a little girl, she’d had no idea that the clubs would be quite so seedy.

It didn't matter. It didn't matter at all. In the smoky environment of the club, she could hear her voice wrap around her listeners, could hear them be pulled into her song. Roz had always thought that there was nothing in the world better than having an audience listen to her sing, and that night, she knew she was right. This was only the beginning. She would play bigger and better halls, she would become a singer recognized all over the world. It was a dream come true.

Then, very quickly, it became a nightmare.

Roz was so wrapped up in her song that she didn't even see who threw the first punch. Suddenly, there was a crash and a shout went up. She opened her eyes just in time to see the flash of a knife, and then the crowd lost its mind. A chair was thrown, bottles were broken to use as impromptu weapons, and the air filled with profanities in at least four different languages.

Well, playing in Paris means a more international kind of bar fight at least, she thought grimly.

Roz dropped the mic and sprinted to the back of the stage. The club was tiny enough that it was only two steps from the stage to the wings, and there was a door there that she knew could be bolted for safety. Of course when she got there, she found that someone, likely the MC who had never liked her all that much, had already bolted it.

Let me the hell in, you absolute dicks! Roz shouted, pounding on the door. She repeated herself in French, but there was no answer at all. She raised her fist to pound again, but then some of the fighting spilled onto the stage in the form of two men grappling for control of an improvised club. Roz shrieked as one man fell heavily to the stage in front of her, but somehow she managed to get around them.

Great, that just means that now there's a bolted door AND two fighting thugs between me and safety, Roz thought grimly. She wondered if she should hide, but when another crash sounded from the bar, she realized the only real safety lay in getting out of the club entirely.

Taking a deep breath and wishing she was not quite so obvious in her blue sequined dress, she scurried down the treacherously narrow stairs at the side of the stage, clinging to the wall as best she could. Roz inched her way around the perimeter of the room, moving slowly and dodging the fighters when she found an opening through.

God, this was supposed to be a step up from Marseilles! Roz thought desperately.

She finally got close to the door, but now she needed to step into the open, leaving the refuge of the wall. She knew that barely any time had passed at all since she had left the stage, but it felt like an eternity. Escape was at hand, and she dashed towards the entrance.

She didn't expect a large man to get shoved into her way, however, and when he rolled to his feet, his eyes were on his opponent, not on the small woman in front of him. He bulled past her, pushing her farther into the melee and dropping her flat on her rear.

Damn it! Roz shouted, her cry lost in the ruckus, but the fighting was all around her. She had to regain her feet, she had to get up! She struggled to her hands and knees, and then she nearly lost all the progress that she had regained when a man's foot caught her in the side. It really didn't help to know that it was an accident; it felt like all of the breath abruptly left her lungs, and she gasped with pain.

Oh God, I can't black out or faint, she thought with horror, but before she could get any farther, a pair of strong arms came down around her waist, pulling her up with a hard jerk. She was on her feet for a single moment before she was unceremoniously thrown over someone's shoulder, and that someone started making fast progress towards the door.

Someone shouted something in French, her captor/rescuer turned, and she felt more than saw him deal a hard blow to the man who was pursuing him. The laugh she heard was out of place in a brawl, light and joyful and bright.

Who the hell gets so excited about a damn brawl? Roz wondered, and then he was carrying her away.

Chapter Two

If Matteo Rossi were going to be perfectly honest with himself, he didn't really think that stopping at the cabaret was going to be all that promising. The friend who had promised to show him a good time was at home sleeping off what sounded like a two-day drinking binge, and the woman he had been hoping to impress, a gorgeous redhead by the name of Antoinette, had failed to appear at all.

Possibly I have kept things a little too humble, he said to himself in amusement.

He shrugged. Just because he didn't care to advertise his presence in Paris was no reason he couldn't still have a good time. If Antoinette knew she had stood up one of the richest men in Europe, she would likely have strangled on her own fury, but as it was, he didn't feel the need to enlighten her.

The cabaret was better than he had thought it would be. The singers were indifferent, but the alcohol was surprisingly good. He was sipping a tumbler of excellent whiskey when he heard a husky bon soir. Something about the soft voice sent chills up his spine, and his eyes went wide before he turned to see the singer on the stage.