Читать книгу Italian Mavericks: Forbidden Nights With The Italian - Ким Лоренс, Sarah Morgan - Страница 14

HE HATED hospitals.

Santo scrunched the flimsy plastic cup in his hand and dropped it into the bin.

The smell of antiseptic reminded him of the night his father had died and just for a moment he was tempted to turn on his heel and walk right out again.

And then he thought of Fia, keeping vigil over her grandfather, hour after hour. His anger was still running hot. He was furious with her. But he couldn’t accuse her of not showing loyalty to her family. And he couldn’t leave her alone in this place.

Cursing softly, Santo strode back towards the coronary care unit that brought back nothing but bad memories.

She was sitting by the bed, her hair a livid streak of fire against her ashen skin. Those green eyes were fixed on the old man as if by sheer willpower and focus she might somehow transmit some of her youth and energy to him.

He’d never seen a lonelier figure in his life.

Or perhaps he had, he thought grimly, remembering the first time he’d seen her in his boathouse. Some people automatically sought human company when they were upset. Fia had taught herself to survive alone.

He compared that to his own big, noisy family. He knew from experience that had it been a Ferrara lying in the hospital bed the room would have been bulging with concerned relatives, not just his brother and sister but numerous aunts, uncles and cousins all clucking and fussing.

‘How’s he doing?’

‘They gave him a sedative and some other stuff. I don’t know what. They say the first twenty-four hours are crucial.’ Her slim fingers were curled around her grandfather’s. ‘If he wakes up now he’ll be angry that I’m holding his hand. He’s not great at the physical stuff. Never has been.’

Santo realised that this woman’s whole life revolved around the man currently lying in the bed and the child fast asleep in his car.

‘When did you last eat?’ It was the automatic Ferrara response to all moments of crisis and he almost laughed at himself for being so predictable.

‘I’m not hungry.’ Her voice was husky and she didn’t shift her gaze from her grandfather. ‘In a minute I’ll go and check on Luca.’

‘I just checked him. He hasn’t stirred. He and Luigi are both asleep.’

‘I’ll bring him in here and tuck him up on the chair. Then you can go home. Gina will come and I need to call Ben and ask him to cover tomorrow.’

Santo felt an irrational surge of anger. ‘He doesn’t need to. I’ve already sorted that out. My team will take over running the Beach Shack for the time being.’

Her spine tensed. ‘You’re taking advantage of this situation to take over my business?’

Santo held on to his own temper. ‘You need to stop thinking like a Baracchi. This is not about revenge. I’m not taking over your business, just making sure you still have one to come home to. I assumed you didn’t want to leave your grandfather’s bedside to cook calamari for a bunch of strangers.’

Her cheeks were pale. ‘I’m sorry.’ Her gaze skated back to her grandfather. ‘I am grateful to you. I just assumed—’

‘Well, stop assuming.’ Her fragility unsettled him. And it wasn’t the only thing that unsettled him. The response of his body was equally disturbing. His feelings were entirely inappropriate for the surroundings. ‘You can do no more here tonight. Your grandfather is going to sleep and it’s not going to help anyone if you collapse. We’re leaving now. I’ve told the staff to call me if there is any change.’

‘I can’t leave. It’s too far to get back here again if something happens.’

‘My apartment is only ten minutes from here. If something happens, I’ll drive you. If we leave now you can still get some rest and my son can wake up in a proper bed.’ He’d been trying not to think about that side of things, putting his own emotions on hold in order to maintain the delicate balance of a situation that could only be described as difficult.

Perhaps it was the logic of his argument. Perhaps it was the words ‘my son’. Either way, she ceased arguing and allowed him to lead her away from the bedside to the car.

Ten minutes later Luca was tucked up in the centre of an enormous double bed in one of his spare bedrooms.

Santo watched as she spread pillows on the floor next to the bed. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Sometimes he rolls. I don’t want him to fall onto the tiled floor,’ she muttered. ‘Do you have a baby alarm?’

‘No. Leave the door open a crack. Then we’ll hear him if he wakes.’ Santo strode out of the room and she followed, her eyes tracing every detail of his apartment.

‘Do you live alone?’

‘You think I’m hiding women under the sofa?’

‘I just mean it’s very big for one person.’

‘I like the space and the views. The balconies face over the old part of the town, not that I think Luca will be that discerning. What can I get you to eat?’

‘Nothing, thank you.’ Restless and tense, she walked over to the doors that led to the balcony and opened them. ‘Don’t you keep these locked?’

‘You’re worrying about my security?’

‘I’m worrying about Luca’s security.’ Biting her lip, she stepped onto the small area and ran her finger along the iron railings. Then she gauged the height of the balcony. ‘This is a real hazard. Luca is two years old. His favourite pastime is climbing. He climbs anything and everything he can find. We’re going to have to lock the doors to the balconies and remove the keys.’ She was brisk and practical, but then she walked past him and he caught the scent of her hair. Flowers. She always smelt like flowers.

Irritated with himself for being so easily distracted, Santo followed her back into the apartment. This time her eyes were on the large sunken living room that formed the centrepiece of his luxurious apartment. ‘You’re worrying about the welfare of my white sofas? Don’t. My niece has already spilled something unmentionable on them. I don’t care. People are more important than things.’

‘I agree. And I’m not thinking about your sofas, I’m thinking of Luca. More particularly, I’m thinking about the step down to your living room.’

‘It’s an architectural feature.’

‘It’s a trap for a fearless toddler. He’s going to fall.’

Santo digested that. ‘He walks perfectly well. We will teach him to be careful.’

‘He gets enthusiastic and excited. If he sees something he wants, he runs. If he does that here, he’ll trip and smash his head on your priceless Italian tiles.’

Santo spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘So this place is not exactly child-proofed; I accept that. I will deal with it.’

‘How? You can’t exactly remodel the apartment, can you?’

‘If necessary. And in the meantime I will teach him to watch the step.’ He tried to hide his exasperation. However angry he was, he was well aware that she’d been through the most stressful twenty-four hours of her life and yet, apart from her visible panic when she’d found her grandfather, she hadn’t shown any emotion. She was frighteningly calm. The little girl who had refused to shed a tear had grown into a woman with the same emotional restraint. The only sign that she was suffering was the rigid tension in her narrow shoulders. ‘Are you always like this? It’s a wonder Luca isn’t a bundle of nerves, living with you.’

‘One minute you accuse me of not taking good care of your son and then you accuse me of taking too much care. Make up your mind.’ She picked up a slender glass vase and transferred it to a high shelf.

‘I was not accusing you of anything. Just pointing out that you’re overreacting.’

‘You have no idea what it’s like, living with an active toddler.’

Her words snapped something inside him. ‘And whose fault is that?’ Bitterness welled up and threatened to spill over. Afraid he might say something he’d later regret, Santo strode towards the kitchen, struggling with the intensity of his own emotions.

‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice came from the doorway.

‘What for?’ He dragged open a cupboard. ‘Keeping my son from me or casting doubt on my abilities as a father?’

‘I wasn’t casting doubt. Just pointing out the hazards of having an active toddler in a bachelor pad.’ She looked impossibly fragile standing there with her hair pouring over her shoulders in soft waves of wicked temptation.

He didn’t want to feel anything but anger yet he was sufficiently self-aware to know that his feelings were much, much more complicated than that. Yes, the anger was there and the hurt, but mixed in with those emotions was a hefty dollop of something far less easy to define but equally powerful.

The same thing that had brought them together that night.

‘We’ll do what needs to be done, Fia.’ He left the statement purposefully ambiguous and pulled plates out of the cupboard. ‘We need to eat. What can I get you?’

‘Nothing, thank you. I think I’ll go to bed. I’ll sleep with Luca. That way, if he wakes up he won’t be frightened.’

Santo thumped a fresh loaf of bread in the centre of the table. ‘Who is frightened, tesoro? You or him?’ He sent her a black look. ‘You think if you don’t sleep in his bed you’ll be sleeping in mine?’

Wide green eyes fixed on his face. Those eyes that said everything her lips didn’t. The first time he’d caught her in the boathouse he’d seen misery and fear, but also defiance. Even though she hadn’t said a word, he’d had no trouble reading the message. Go on and tell. See if I care.

He hadn’t told.

And he knew she would have cared.

She showed nothing, and yet he knew she was a woman who felt everything deeply. He wouldn’t have been able to list her favourite colour or whether she liked to read, but he’d never doubted the intensity of her emotions. He’d always sensed the passion in her, simmering beneath the silent surface. And eventually, of course, he’d felt it. Touched it. Tasted it. Taken it. He could clearly remember the feel of her bare skin under his seeking fingers, the scent of her as he’d kissed his way down her body, the flavour of her under his tongue.

Sexual arousal was instant and brutal.

He dragged his gaze from the wicked curve of her hips back to her face.

Those green eyes had gone a shade darker and her cheeks were flushed.

Santo strode over to the fridge and yanked open the door. Maybe he should just thrust his whole body into it, he thought savagely. He had a feeling that was the only way of cooling himself down.

He was about to pull out a dish of caponata when another memory revealed itself. Frowning, he let go of the dish. It wasn’t true to say he knew nothing about her, was it? There was something he knew. His mouth tightening, he put the caponata back and removed pecorino and olives instead. Putting them on the table next to the bread, he gestured. ‘Eat.’

‘I’ve told you I’m not hungry.’

‘I make it a personal rule only to resuscitate one person a day so unless you want me to force-feed you, you’ll eat.’ He tore off a hunk of bread, added a slice of pecorino and some olives and pushed the plate towards her. ‘And don’t tell me you don’t like it. The fact that you love pecorino is one of the few things I do know about you.’

A tiny frown touched her smooth brow as she stared at the plate and then back at him.

Santo sighed. ‘When you hid in the boathouse you always brought the same food.’ For a moment he thought she wasn’t going to respond.

‘I didn’t want to have to go home to eat.’

‘You didn’t want to go home at all.’

‘I know.’ She gave a strangled laugh and pushed the plate away. ‘You do know this is ridiculous, don’t you? Just about the only thing you know about me is that I like pecorino and olives. And all I know about you is that you like really fast, flashy cars. And yet you’re suggesting marriage.’

‘I’m not suggesting marriage. I’m insisting on marriage. Your grandfather approved.’

‘My grandfather is old-fashioned. I’m not.’ Her eyes lifted to his. ‘I run a successful business. I can support my son. We would gain nothing from marriage.’

‘Luca would gain a great deal.’

‘He would live with two people who don’t love each other. What would he gain from that? You’re punishing me because you’re angry, but in the end you will be the one who suffers. We are not compatible.’

‘We know we’re compatible in the one place that counts,’ Santo said in a raw tone, ‘or we wouldn’t be in this position now.’

Colour darkened her cheekbones. ‘You may be Sicilian, but you are far too intelligent to truly believe that all a marriage takes is good sex.’

Santo took the chair opposite her. ‘I suppose I should be grateful you’re at least admitting it was good sex.’

‘You’re impossible to talk to.’

‘On the contrary, I’m easy to talk to. I say what I think, which is more than you do. I won’t tolerate silence, Fia. Marriages are about sharing. Everything. I don’t want a wife who locks away her feelings, so let’s get that straight now. I want all of you. Everything you are, you’re going to give it to me.’ Clearly she hadn’t expected that response from him because she turned white.

‘If that’s what you want, then you really do need a different wife.’

There was a certain satisfaction in having flustered her. ‘You’ve taught yourself to be that way. That’s how you’ve survived and protected yourself. But underneath, you’re not like that. And I’m not interested in the ice maiden. I want the woman I had in my boathouse that night.’

‘That was … It was …’ she stumbled over the words ‘… that wasn’t me.’

‘Yes, it was. For a few wild hours you lost control of this persona you’ve constructed. That was the real you, Fia. It’s the rest of this that is an act.’

‘Everything about that night was crazy—’ her fingers were curled into her palms ‘—I don’t know how it started, but I do know how it ended.’

‘It ended when your brother stole my car and wrapped it around a tree.’ He’d hoped the direct approach might shake her out of her rigid control but apparently even the shock of his blunt comment couldn’t penetrate that wall she’d built around herself.

‘It was too powerful for him. He’d never driven anything like it before.’

‘Neither had I,’ Santo said icily. ‘I’d only received it two days earlier.’

‘That is a monumentally tactless and unfeeling thing to say.’

Then show some emotion. ‘About as tactless and unfeeling as the wordless implication that I was in some way responsible for his death.’

There was a throbbing silence. ‘I have never said that.’

‘No, but you’ve thought it. And your grandfather thought it. You say you don’t know me, so learn this about me right now—I’m not good with undercurrents or people who hide what they’re really thinking and I sure as hell am not going to feed this damn feud that we’ve both grown up with. It ends here, right now.’ The fire burned hot inside him, strengthening his resolve. ‘If what you said to me this morning is true then I presume you want that, too.’

‘Of course. But we can kill the feud without getting married. There is more than one way of being a family.’

‘Not for me. My child will not grow up being shuttled from one parent to another. We’ve never talked about that night, so let’s do it now. Whatever you’re thinking, I want it out in the open, not gnawing holes in that brain of yours. You blamed me for the fact that he took the car. And yet you know what happened that night. I was with you. And we had other things on our mind, didn’t we, bellissima?’

‘I never blamed you.’

‘Really?’ His sardonic tone made her lift her head and look at him.

‘Yes, really.’

He waited for her to elaborate but of course she didn’t and that failure to break through her defences exasperated him because he wasn’t a man who liked to fail. Jaw tense, he breathed deeply, his emotions at war with each other. ‘It’s late and you’ve had a hell of a night. One thing I know about toddlers is that they don’t lie in just because adult life is collapsing around them. What time does he wake up?’

‘Five.’

His working day frequently began at the same hour. ‘If you’re not going to eat, then get to bed. I’ll lend you one of my shirts to sleep in.’

A faint smile touched the soft curve of her mouth. ‘So you don’t have a wardrobe full of slinky nightwear for overnight guests? The world would be disappointed to discover that.’

‘I don’t encourage overnight guests. They can grow roots fast.’ He watched her steadily. ‘This once, I’ll let you retreat. Make the most of it because once we’re married there will be no hiding. Be sure of that.’

‘We’re not getting married, Santo.’

‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow. But everything I said in my office still stands.’

‘No, it doesn’t. You were concerned that Luca had been harmed, but you can see now that he has had a happy childhood.’

‘I admire your efforts to create the family you didn’t have, but my son doesn’t need paid employees to fill that role. He has the real thing. A family ready and willing to welcome him. He’s a Ferrara and the sooner we make that legal the better for everyone.’

‘Is it?’ Her voice suddenly seemed to gain strength. ‘Is it really better for him to be brought up by parents who are strangers?’

Santo’s mouth tightened. ‘We’re not going to be strangers, tesoro. We’re going to be as intimate as it’s possible for a man and a woman to be. I’m going to rip down those barriers you’ve built. When you’re with me you might as well be naked because there is going to be no hiding. Now get some sleep. You’re going to need it.’

As intimate as it’s possible for a man and a woman to be.

What was intimate about that cold, emotionless statement? He was blisteringly angry. Furious. How did he think they could achieve intimacy under those circumstances?

She wasn’t going to marry him. It would be wrong.

Once he calmed down, he’d see sense. They’d come to an agreement about how to share Luca. And perhaps the three of them would spend some time together. But there was no need to make it legally binding.

Worry about her grandfather mingled with worry for her son and herself and Fia curled up in the bed, but there was no rest to be found in sleep, the dreams racing over her in a dark, tangled rush of disturbing images. Her mother, huddled in a corner of the kitchen, trying to make herself as small as possible while her husband lost his temper. The sight of her walking away, leaving her eight-year-old daughter behind. ‘If I take you, he’ll come after me.’ Standing with her grandfather as they buried her father after the drunken boating accident that had taken his life, knowing that she was supposed to feel sad.

She awoke to find herself alone in the bed. A lurch of fear was followed by a brief moment of relief as she heard the sound of Luca giggling. And then she remembered that they weren’t at home, but in Santo’s deathtrap apartment.

Almost tripping in her haste to get to her child, she shot out of the bedroom and followed the sound, ready to drag him out of trouble.

Expecting to find an energetic Luca fearlessly scaling a cupboard or plunging his curious fingers into a piece of high-tech electrical equipment, she instead found him sitting on a chair in Santo’s sleek, contemporary kitchen watching as his father deftly cut shapes out of brioche.

Weak with relief, Fia paused in the doorway, astonished by what she was seeing. Father or not, Santo was a stranger to Luca. A tall, powerfully built intimidating stranger who was in an undeniably dangerous mood since he’d made the unexpected discovery that he had a son. It was true that he’d helped and supported her the night before, but nothing in his demeanour had led her to believe that there was any softening in his attitude.

She’d assumed that some of his anger would reveal itself in his interaction with the child and yet Luca was clearly not only comfortable, but vastly entertained and delighted with the masculine attention he was receiving along with his breakfast.

Judging from his damp hair, Santo had not long left the shower and it was obvious from his bare feet and bare chest that he’d tugged on a pair of jeans in haste, unable to finish dressing before Luca had demanded his attention. But the real change wasn’t in his dress—or lack of it—it was the way he carried himself. There was no sign of the forbidding, intimidating businessman who had called all the shots the day before. The man currently entertaining one small boy was warm and approachable, his smile indulgent as he wiped his son’s buttery fingers. He looked as though he did this every day. As if this was part of their morning routine.

As she watched, Santo bent down and kissed Luca and when the child giggled, he kissed him again as if he couldn’t get enough of him.

Tears sprang to her eyes and Fia leaned against the doorframe for support.

Watching them made her heart clench. Luca had never had that, had he? He’d never known a father’s love. Yes, she’d surrounded him by ‘family’ but even she couldn’t pretend that what she’d created came close to the real thing. One day Gina would move on, Ben would marry and Luca’s ‘family’ would disband.

Yesterday she’d been so sure that marriage between her and Santo would be the wrong thing for her son. She’d seen no benefit to him in being forced to live with two people whose only connection was the child they’d made.

But of course there was benefit and she was staring at it right now.

If they married, Luca would have his father. Not at prearranged times, like single snapshots taken on a camera. But permanently.

Santo still hadn’t noticed her and, as he spoke to their son in lilting Italian, Fia found that she was holding her breath. When Luca replied in the same language pride mingled with emotions she didn’t even recognise.

She was normally the one who gave Luca his breakfast. It was their morning ritual. And yet here he was happily pursuing that ritual with his father as if the two of them had been doing it for ever.

There was a lump in her throat and the lump grew as Santo leaned forward and kissed his son again, indifferent to buttery fingers that grabbed at his hair. He blew bubbles into Luca’s neck and made him giggle. He pulled faces and tickled him.

He had nieces, she remembered, so he was obviously used to children, but still—

She couldn’t ever remember being kissed by her father and she’d certainly never been kissed by her grandfather. And yet here was Santo, openly demonstrative with his child.

‘Mamma—’ Luca saw her, wriggled off the chair and hurled himself at her, brioche squashed in his fist.

Across the top of his head, her gaze met Santo’s.

As she scooped up her child, she swallowed down that lump that still threatened to choke her.

A quizzical gleam lit his eyes, as if he were asking himself how long she’d been standing there. And suddenly she was very conscious that she hadn’t even paused to brush her hair before sprinting from the bedroom.

There was something inappropriately informal about greeting him with her hair spilling wildly over her shoulders while wearing nothing but the shirt he’d lent her. Their attire suggested an intimacy that didn’t exist and she felt herself flush with mortification as his eyes slid down her body and lingered on her bare legs.

‘Buongiorno.’ He injected the word with familiarity. As if this was a scene they both woke up to every morning.

Even though he’d dragged on his jeans in a hurry he looked utterly spectacular. Indecently handsome and more masculine than any single member of the species had a right to look. He didn’t need the handmade suits to look good, she thought numbly, her eyes tracing the smooth swell of muscle that shaped his broad shoulders and drifting to his board-flat abdomen.

‘Fia?’

She was so distracted by his naked torso that she’d missed the question he’d asked her. ‘Sorry?’

‘I asked you which language you use when you speak to him. English or Italian?’

‘English—’ Thoroughly flustered, she sat Luca back down on the chair. ‘My grandfather spoke to him in Italian. We thought that would be less confusing.’ She braced herself for criticism of that approach but he gave a brief nod.

‘Then we will do the same. You do the English. I’ll do the Italian. That’s what I did this morning and he seemed to understand. He’s very bright.’ Pride in his eyes as he looked at Luca, he rose to his feet with that easy grace guaranteed to draw the female eye. The fabric of his jeans clung to the hard length of his long legs and she saw the muscles in his back ripple as he reached into a cupboard for a mug. She’d drawn blood, she remembered. She’d been so driven out of her mind by him, she’d scratched the skin of that smooth, muscled back. The craving had been so intense, the pleasure so deliciously erotic that she’d dragged her nails down his flesh. Not that he’d been gentle. The recollection set her skin on fire. The whole thing had been a hot, hard, violent explosion of earthy animal instinct.

And now she was hyperaware of every move he made. Of the flex of muscle in his strong wrist as he made her coffee, of the dark hairs that shadowed his chest and then narrowed down and disappeared below the snap of his jeans. Everything about him was overtly, unapologetically male and everything about her response was overtly, unapologetically female.

He was the hottest guy she’d ever laid eyes on. Always had been. And that was what made this situation so much harder.

His gaze flicked to hers, those slumberous eyes darkening as he read her mind. Despite the presence of their child, the brief moment they shared was wholly adult.

Desperate to break the connection, Fia blurted out the first thing that came into her head. ‘My phone battery has died. May I use yours to call the hospital?’

The sardonic curve of his mouth told her he knew she hadn’t been thinking about phones or hospitals. And neither had he. Just being in the same room created something so intense that it was almost tangible. It crackled the air between them and snapped the atmosphere tight.

‘I’ve already called.’ He placed coffee on the table without asking her how she took it. ‘Your grandfather had a good night. He’s still asleep. The consultant will be at the hospital in half an hour. I’ve said we’ll meet him there.’

We?

She watched as Luca slid off his chair and wrapped his arms around his father’s legs. Santo scooped him up. ‘I’m starting to understand why you were worried last night,’ he drawled. ‘He’s extremely active.’

‘But you’re coping well,’ she said quickly, ‘so he can stay with you while I go to the hospital.’ She needed respite from the unrelenting stress of being with him. Most of all she needed respite from the constant assault on her senses and the memories that kept replaying in her head. Her heart was going crazy. She was so conscious of him that she couldn’t breathe properly.

He lowered Luca to the floor. ‘I’m coming with you.’

‘I’d rather go on my own.’

‘Of course you would.’ His eyes glinted with deadly mockery. ‘You’d rather do everything on your own, but you’re never going to learn differently if you don’t practise, so you can start this morning. We’ll go together. Say the word after me, Fia. Together.’

Fia stared at her coffee. ‘Do you have milk? I like milk in my coffee. Not that I’d expect you to know that because you don’t really know anything about me, do you? Just as I don’t know anything about you. And that is why this is so ridiculous.’ But the heat had gone out of her argument. Last night she’d been certain, now she was just confused.

‘Stop trying to pick a fight. I’ll win.’

She breathed, ‘All right, we’ll go together. But in that case I need to use a phone. I’ll call Ben and ask him to pick up Luca. He’s too little to be in a place like that for more than a short time.’

The change in him was instantaneous. Any trace of humour was wiped out. It was like watching a cloud suddenly pass over the sun, darkening the land beneath. Those eyes went from burnished gold to deadly black, the threat in them unmistakable. ‘You will not call Ben.’

‘I don’t want Luca at the hospital. It’s exhausting for my grandfather and stressful for him.’

‘I agree. Which is why I’ve arranged—’ He broke off as they both heard a commotion at the entrance of his apartment.

‘Santo?’ a female voice sang out and then a beautiful dark-haired girl strode confidently into the room. Clearly familiar with the layout of the place, she kissed Santo soundly. ‘You,’ she purred, patting his cheek with her hand, ‘are a very naughty boy.’

Fia sat still, frozen to the spot by the sight of this beautiful creature and the ease with which she interacted with Santo. And, to make her pain even worse, he didn’t even have the gall to look embarrassed. Instead he simply unpeeled the woman, gave her a smile and kissed her on both cheeks.

‘Ciao, bellissima.’

Wounded by his lack of sensitivity, Fia stood up abruptly and was about to snatch her son and leave them to it when the woman turned to look at her.

Braced for bared teeth and female jealousy, Fia found herself suddenly wrapped in a tight, effusive hug.

Apart from Luca, no one ever hugged her. The shock of it kept her rigid, but before she could work out who the woman was she’d released her and turned her attention to Luca.

First she covered her mouth with her hands as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Then she scooped an unsuspecting Luca up and showered him with kisses, talking in rapid Italian as she danced round the kitchen with him.

And, instead of howling, Luca seemed delighted by the attention, responding to the woman’s infectious smile with gurgles of laughter.

Fia wanted to snatch her son out of the woman’s arms.

Which one of Santo’s many women was she?

She racked her brain to recreate all those media images of Santo she’d tried to obliterate from her mind. Santo Ferrara and a lean brunette at the opening of the Taormina Filmfest, dining out with a sleek blonde on his arm, leaving his private jet at the airport with a redhead in tow. She’d tried to blot out the female faces, not commit them to memory.

She was just about to make a taut comment when a small girl, a little older than Luca, rocketed into the room and slammed into Santo’s legs.

‘Up!’

‘I think you mean, “up, please”, but your wish is my command, of course.’ His amused drawl suggesting that this was a frequent request, Santo scooped the child up. ‘You need to put in some overtime on the manners here.’ He glanced at the woman and his expression softened. ‘Thanks for coming.’

‘Anything for you.’ With a cheeky smile the brunette put Luca down, dropped her bag on the chair and looked at Fia. ‘I’m really sorry to hear about your grandfather. You must be worried sick, but honestly the hospital is just brilliant. And I expect Santo has them hopping around because he always puts a bomb under them. And you’re not to worry about Luca. We’ll keep him with us until you’re ready to pick him up. I can’t wait to get to know him better.’

Fia felt a flash of fury. Santo expected her to leave her son with one of his women? ‘There is no way—’

‘Dani is my sister, yes? Daniela Ferrara. Although technically she’s no longer Ferrara since she married Raimondo.’ Interrupting smoothly, Santo put the little girl down on the floor. ‘This is Rosa, her daughter. Luca’s cousin.’

Cousin?

Startled, Fia looked at Dani, who looked right back. ‘Er … you didn’t know I was Santo’s sister?’

‘I didn’t recognise you.’ Fia’s voice was a croak and Dani’s eyes widened in contrition.

‘Oh, no! You must have thought—’ Looking at her brother, she gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘Nightmare. We’d kill each other in two minutes. I like to be in charge in my relationships. Talking of which, Raimondo is parking the car. We thought we’d take Luca back home with us because we have all Rosa’s toys there so it’s easier.’ She caught Fia’s anxious look and smiled. ‘You’re thinking you can’t let him go with a stranger, I know you are because I’d be thinking the same thing in your position. But honestly, he’s going to have a great time and better with us than in that vile hospital or here. Santo’s apartment is a deathtrap. You two can spend as long as you need to at the hospital and then go out to dinner or something. Don’t rush. Do something romantic.’

‘Cristo, you are like a one-woman talk show. Breathe, Dani!’ Santo cast his sister a look of raw exasperation. ‘Give someone else the opportunity to speak! You accuse me of being controlling and then you steamroller people with words. Conversation is supposed to be a two-way thing.’

‘Well, no one else is saying anything in this room!’ Dani bristled and Santo ground his teeth.

‘Was there an opportunity? Accidenti! I don’t know how Raimondo puts up with you. I would strangle you within two minutes of being alone together.’

‘I would have strangled you first.’ Dani turned to Fia. ‘Don’t let him bully you. Stand up to him; it’s the only way to handle Santo, especially when he does his threatening act. I used to see you sometimes on the beach but you’ve obviously forgotten me.’

No, she hadn’t forgotten. She just hadn’t recognised the other woman and now she didn’t know what to say. How much did Daniela know? What exactly had he told his family?

It should have been a horribly awkward moment but Dani clearly didn’t tolerate ‘awkward’ in her life. She said something in Italian to her little girl, who eyed up Luca, clearly decided he looked like someone she could play with and promptly dragged him off towards Santo’s living room, leaving the adults alone.

‘There. See? They’re friends already.’ Oblivious to her brother’s glowering disapproval, Dani followed them out of the room. ‘I’ll watch them. There is nothing you can teach me about intercepting toddler trouble.’ At the doorway of the kitchen, she glanced over her shoulder. ‘I’ll leave you two to discuss wedding details. And Santo, it doesn’t matter how rushed a wedding is, a woman still needs to look her best so you’d better take Fia shopping. Or, better still, give me your card and I’ll take her shopping because we all know you hate it.’

Santo’s expression went from irritated to dangerous. ‘Your help with Luca is welcomed. Your interference in any other aspect of my life is not.’

‘Just because you’ve done all this in the wrong order is no reason not to make it romantic,’ Dani said tartly. ‘A woman wants romance on her wedding day. Remember that.’

She vanished to supervise the children, leaving Fia with her face burning.

Romance?

Whatever was between them, it certainly wasn’t romance. What was romantic about a man being forced to marry a woman he didn’t even like?

Santo drained his coffee cup and thumped it down on the table. ‘I apologise for my sister,’ he breathed. ‘She still hasn’t learned the meaning of the word “boundary”. But if she will take Luca for us today, it will make everything a lot easier.’

Nothing, absolutely nothing, would make this situation easier.

The tension between them was like a dark storm brewing in the room. She couldn’t imagine ever being able to relax with him. She was wound so tight that every reaction and response was exaggerated. Her senses were heightened so that the slightest glance was all it took to set her heart pounding.

The look he sent her told her that he felt it too. ‘It is good that she has taken Luca because we need to talk. Properly.’

Fia thought about Luca being hugged and kissed by his father.

Santo clearly interpreted her silence as refusal. ‘You can throw as many obstacles as you like between us,’ he said softly, ‘and I will smash through all of them. Be sure of that. You can say no a thousand different ways and I will find a thousand different ways to tell you why you’re wrong.’

‘I’m not saying no.’

‘Scusi?’

‘I’m agreeing with you. You said that you thought marriage was the best thing for Luca, and I’m agreeing with you.’ Her voice wasn’t entirely steady. ‘Last night I was sure that marriage wasn’t in Luca’s best interests but this morning … well, I saw the two of you together and … and, yes, I think it would be the right thing for Luca.’ Oh, God, she’d said it. What if she were wrong?

Silence pulsed.

‘So you’re doing this because you think it’s the right thing “for Luca”?’

‘Of course. What else?’

He strode across the kitchen towards her.

Fia forced herself to stand still, expecting him to stop, but he didn’t stop until he had her with her back against the wall and nowhere to go.

Jaw tight, he slammed a hand either side of her to block her escape. She was boxed in by rock-hard muscle and testosterone and because she didn’t want to look at him, she looked at his bare chest and that was a mistake too because everything about him made her think of that night. She didn’t need a close-up of his physique to know how strong he was. She’d felt that strength. Why the hell hadn’t he pulled on a shirt? The world around her seemed to fade. She forgot she was in his kitchen. She forgot about her grandfather in the hospital and the cheerful sounds of her child playing in the next room. She forgot everything.

Her world became this man.

‘Look at me.’ His thickened command told her that if she didn’t, he’d make her and so she lifted her gaze and the look they shared unlocked something dark she’d buried deep inside herself. Something she hadn’t dared examine because she was so afraid of it.

The way she felt about him.

Breathing shallow, she stared into those burnished dark eyes that changed colour according to his mood.

‘This is not just about Luca and I need you to acknowledge that because I don’t want some martyr in my bed.’ He lowered his head, his mouth as close to hers as it was possible to be and yet not touch her. He spoke so softly that he couldn’t possibly be overheard and yet each word was delivered with such force and power that she knew they’d be forever embedded in her memory. ‘If we do this, then we do it properly.’

If she licked her lips now, she’d touch him. If she made that single move she’d be kissing him. And she knew how that would feel. Knew how he’d feel. Even after more than three years, she’d never forgotten it. ‘Yes. We do it properly. We … get to know each other.’

‘I already know a lot about you—’ That wicked, sensual mouth held hers hostage. ‘I may not know how you like your coffee, but I know other things about you. Want me to remind you?’

‘No.’ She didn’t need reminding. She’d forgotten nothing. Not the way he tasted nor the way he touched her. And now those memories were unlocked and she could feel herself melting—feel the heat of her own arousal spread through her body and the hard pressure of his.

His hand came up to cup her face, those same fingers that knew how to drive her wild, now firm and determined as they forced her to look at him. ‘Sure? Because if this is going to work for Luca, it has to work for us.’ His mouth was just a breath away from hers, the heat of him a pulsing, throbbing force. ‘I have to get to know all of you, particularly the bits you’re hiding. And you have to get to know all of me, tesoro. Everything.’