a person had been asked to judge from his body alone what the Italian billionaire did for a living she suspected a lot would have plumped for professional athlete.
He had the natural grace and the sleek muscle definition that few beyond those whose livelihood depended on it ever achieved.
A man who spent his life making money might be expected to carry a bit of excess weight around the middle. Staring at his she could see that it was washboard-flat.
Dragging her eyes upwards, her cheeks gently tinged with colour, she felt her tension level rise as her eyes connected with eyes that were startlingly dark, heavily fringed by a screen of jet lashes and hard as diamonds.
She wondered guiltily if he’d seen her ogling—not an ideal first impression.
‘Hello, I’m Dervla Smith.’ She flashed her practised soothing smile and had no response. ‘I’ll be the nurse looking after Alberto. Second cubicle,’ she said, nodding to the waiting porter. ‘If you’d like to wait outside someone will come and get you when Alberto is settled.’
‘No.’
Dervla blinked. ‘Pardon…?’
‘Are you hard of hearing?’ he wondered sardonically.
Her smile wobbled as she reminded herself that people reacted to shock and trauma in many ways. Some became aggressive, some became obnoxious—occasionally you came across one who combined the two. Then again maybe this was standard billionaire behaviour…?
Not that it made any difference to the way she’d treat him. As far as she was concerned he was her patient’s father. His bank balance was no more relevant than the preposterous length of his eyelashes—and actually far less distracting.
‘I said no, I would not like to wait outside.’ Leaving her standing there, he began to follow the porters.
Mouth twisted into a rueful grimace, she watched his broad back retreat. Well, you really established your authority there, Dervla. He definitely knows who is boss.
John, having ejected the men in suits, walked by and raised an enquiring brow. ‘All right, Dervla?’
‘Absolutely.’
Her annoyance with the Italian drained away as she approached the bed and saw his expression in profile as he looked down at the unconscious figure of his child. She had seen gut-wrenching fear before and watched people struggle to contain it.
A wave of empathy washed over her—Gianfranco Bruni was living his nightmare.
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