cara.’
The softly drawled cara hit her reasoning functions dead centre, delaying her deciphering of the softly seductive insinuation.
When his meaning hit she wanted to crawl under a stone. Instead she lifted her chin and, hampered by the need to keep the noise down, whispered, ‘I didn’t mean...’ She stopped. Of course he knew what she didn’t mean. ‘Funny!’ She sniffed, slinging him an unamused glance as she moved away from the cot containing the sleeping baby.
He followed her; the combination of handsome, half-naked, totally gorgeous man and small room was enough to make anyone hyperventilate. She resisted the impulse to pick a cushion from the rocker and wield it defensively. Instead she pressed a hand to her chest and willed her breathing to slow. ‘I’m sorry if I disturbed you.’
It was the next best thing to pushing him through the door, an obvious signal for him to go; it was equally obvious he didn’t recognise it as such. She ground her teeth in frustration and, seriously, he had to be cold by now. Despite the unbidden thought, by some miracle she kept her eyes above waist level, though the effort raised her own internal temperature by several uncomfortably shameful degrees.
She took another step towards the door and reached across to switch the lamp off, before turning the dimmer on the night light down. The room was now lit by the soft soothing silhouettes of moons and stars revolving on the ceiling.
‘So, goodnight, Mr Rocco,’ she said softly.
He saw the dismissal in her smile and, while part of him recognised walking away was a good idea, he just couldn’t let it go and he didn’t have a clue why!
She hadn’t quite reached the door when his soft voice brought her to a halt.
‘You’ve been crying.’
Her eyes flew to his face, her first instinct to deny this crazy assertion. It was a reflex. People looked at her and saw fragile; she wasn’t, and if it meant acting a bit tougher than she actually was to show them how wrong they were it was a price worth paying.
Fast on the first instinct and overpowering it in a heartbeat was the realisation that letting her guard down to someone who didn’t know her, and who couldn’t care less, someone who wasn’t going to lose sleep over anything, might be the outlet she needed.
In any event the internal debate was useless because the words came of their own volition.
‘It was the blinds.’ Her eyes went to the blinds with their cheery fabric of sailboats and balloons, drawn to cut out the darkness beyond. Flora had her own darkness inside and there was no hiding from that. She felt as though she’d never feel light again.
Only crazy people wept buckets about window dressings. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d made a dash for the door—it would save her making any more of a fool of herself than she had already.
But he didn’t.
‘Sami, my big sister, she made them—she could make anything!’ Her smile dissolved into a gulp as she rushed on. ‘We shopped for the material...’ It had been a girls’ day out in Edinburgh. ‘We had lunch, too many cocktails—it was a perfect day.’
Her big blue eyes lifted to his. It was all there for him to see: the pain, the grief, the aching sense of loss. He didn’t want to see it but he couldn’t stop looking and listening to her beautifully accented, hushed voice.
‘Only I didn’t know that at the time or I would have...’ Her voice trailed away.
‘Cherished it?’
Her eyes flew wide in acknowledgement.
‘It seems to me you did.’ He could have had moments to cherish but... Jaw clenched, he pushed away the thought, unwilling to allow himself the indulgence of self-pity.
He couldn’t change history; he couldn’t have that day with his brother; he couldn’t be part, even for a short time, of the small family that had been so cruelly ripped apart, but he could be there for Bruno’s son.
What do you know about families? sneered the voice in his head.
He turned a deaf ear to the voice and focused on the memory of that almost visceral rush of protectiveness he had felt when he’d seen the baby. Nothing else really mattered.
‘I miss her and Jamie is missing her, too. I know he is.’ Her glance swivelled to the sleeping baby, perceptibly softening as she did so. ‘He’s her son, not mine.’ Her glance lifted from the baby to briefly touch his lean dark face.
He’s a stranger—why are you telling him this?
Because he is a stranger.
‘Hers and Bruno’s.’ Still looking in the direction of the cot, she didn’t see his reaction to her mention of her brother-in-law’s name, the flicker of pain that crossed his handsome face. ‘I’m trying, but I don’t really think I’m cut out for this. Any of it.’ She had dodged the truth for so long that to say it out loud, to acknowledge it, was a massive relief. ‘I make a terrible mother.’
The confession should, under the circumstances, have been music to his ears. Instead as Ivo looked into those tear-filled, tragic, beautiful eyes he was conscious of a totally alien and dangerous instinct to offer comfort.
He didn’t like the feeling; the effort of combatting it made the muscles round his strong jaw quiver.
Flora’s chest felt tight as she struggled to hold in the sob she could feel building inside her.
She was winning the battle when he touched her face. The shock of the contact melted through her, each subsequent ripple of sensation making her insides dissolve warmly. She wanted to look away but his thumb was lodged in the angle of her jaw, framing her face, his finger on her cheek.
‘It must be tough...alone...’ He silenced the sudden stab of guilt with the reminder that everything he had seen told him that his decision to take Bruno back to Italy was the right one. This woman was drowning under the weight of responsibility, and she’d thank him in the long run. Not that he wanted her thanks, he just wanted Bruno’s son back where he belonged.
‘You are alone...?’
Flora nodded, touched despite herself by his understanding. She had actually never felt more alone in her life.
She blinked. His chest was just there, warm and hard and solid. In her head she saw herself laying her face against his skin, feeling his arms wrap around her, resting just for a moment.
She turned her cheek into his big hand. It was a good fit; his fingers were cool against her skin. It felt like a dream and any moment now she’d wake up.
Did she want to?
Had he stepped in closer? Had she? Flora realised she had no idea but she was breathing hard and feeling light-headed as she stared up into his eyes, the swell of feeling to let go inside her surging upwards... She stepped forward, this time consciously.
The floorboard beneath her feet creaked and she froze, the sound breaking her free of the sexual thrall that had held her a willing victim...and that was the shame of it: she’d been
