cursed beneath his breath in a barrage of fluent Italian. Even the outwardly unruffled receptionist looked alarmed. But Bliss was adamant that, however effusively Dante di Andrea gave way to temper, all it would achieve would be to make her more determined not to hand Renata over until he had calmed down.
‘The baby is very shy and not used to me.’ Shaking his head, he seemed to suddenly struggle with finding the right words, as if he wasn’t used to having to explain or justify his emotions. Against her will, Bliss couldn’t deny the spurt of sympathy that bloomed inside her. ‘She has recently lost her father. That is why Tatiana—her mother—is ill.’
Bliss went very still. Sensing the change in her posture, Renata glanced up into her eyes, her bottom lip quivering. ‘I’m very sorry to hear that. Look, Mr di Andrea, I’m not trying to make things difficult for you. I just want to make sure that the little girl is all right…for my own satisfaction, you understand?’
For a very surreal moment, Dante was so drawn by those ravishing violet eyes with their curling sable lashes that he forgot he usually concurred with his father’s view that the English were a cold race. The warmth and concern that this unknown Englishwoman was expressing for a total stranger’s child took him aback and made him reassess his former prejudice in a way that was definitely unsettling.
‘Perhaps we should sit down for a moment, sì?’
They moved to a long bench seat a little way off. When Dante sat down beside her, Bliss couldn’t help feeling slightly overshadowed by his awesome male beauty and she withdrew her gaze to the child because focusing on that remarkably handsome visage was making it almost impossible to concentrate.
She’d heard it said that an Italian man’s face told the story of his life. If that was so, Dante di Andrea had a lifetime of experience and confidence and knowing written across his. Along with his smooth bronzed skin and piercing green eyes, he had an allure that could captivate a woman in an instant, and no doubt an inbuilt arrogance that he took as his God-given right. Yes, Bliss had already seen ample signs of that arrogance. She sighed.
Renata was asleep. When Bliss experienced the full weight of that little warm body sagging against her, she capitulated to an instinctive urge to smooth those whisper-soft curls away from her velvet forehead, then planted a tiny kiss on the child’s dampened cheek. If she didn’t hand her back to her intoxicating uncle very soon, Bliss would be in danger of being charged with kidnapping. Why did her maternal instincts have to kick in now with a child who was completely unrelated to her? Why couldn’t they have waited until she was in love and expecting a child of her own? Feeling an almost overwhelming upsurge of emotion inside her, she swallowed to ease the sudden painful cramping in her throat. Where is your head, Bliss Maguire? You know that will never happen!
‘What happened to your sister’s husband…if you don’t mind me asking?’
Dante didn’t want to talk about that now. The pain of Tatiana’s loss was so great that it had affected every one of them like the aftermath of an earthquake. Dante, his brother Stefano, and their parents, Antonio and Isabella—they were all disorientated, like shocked survivors dazedly picking over the remnants of what used to be their homes. One minute Matt Ward had been celebrating a considerable promotion at work, and the next he had been ploughed down by a drunken driver while on his way home to Tatiana and his baby. II mio Dio! His baby sister had been so happy and in love.
Dante had been envious of the joy she had found with the young Englishman, and considered it highly unlikely that he would ever find the same joy with a woman. Not when his considerable fortune and dedication to his work threw up obstacles that seemed insurmountable. Dante wasn’t interested in women who were attracted by his wealth and position as head of the family business. But it seemed gold-diggers were the only type of women who came into his sphere. It had made him wish sometimes that he could have been as carefree as Tatiana, allowed to come to the UK to study and live an ordinary life that didn’t require great responsibility and the level of commitment that Dante had had to contend with. But now he had no cause for envy, only pain and regret that the great happiness Tatiana had enjoyed had been cruelly snatched away and this lovely child would never know her father.
As he momentarily dug his fingers into his brow to try and stifle his distress Dante was startled to feel the consoling press of the Englishwoman’s hand through his suit sleeve. Along with the scent of vanilla and honey, her touch sent ripples of seductive sensations along his already highly sensitised nerve endings.
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ she said softly. ‘You must be anxious to see your sister. Here, take the baby. She’s asleep now.’
Wordlessly Dante took the child, tucking her in close to his broad chest in his exquisitely designed jacket and shirt, feeling his heart swell at the soft, warm body and dreading the anxiety on his sister’s face when he appeared at her bedside. Tatiana had always been so open and so trusting. Now her joy in life was gone. Dante longed for a way to bring it back.
Suddenly distracted by a pair of shimmering eyes the astonishing colour and vivid hue of violets, he willingly focused all his attention on the beautiful girl seated beside him. Her white silk blouse was damp and crumpled at the front where Renata had lain her head against her chest and her rich black hair was slipping strand by silky strand loose from her ponytail. The hotly sensuous charge that surged through his body like a streak of sultry summer lightning as a result of his intense examination was too disturbing for words.
‘Grazie. I was told that you work in the store and that you travelled in the ambulance with my sister. You must allow me to pay for a taxi so you can return.’
‘I can get myself a taxi, but I really don’t want you to pay.’ Bliss got to her feet and, disturbingly, Dante did likewise. As he towered over her once again she couldn’t help feeling consumed by his presence. The man was so attractive and so impossible to be ambivalent towards that it wasn’t funny. To counteract the effect, she deliberately focused all her attention on the sleeping child in his arms, secretly thinking that they made a touching tableau—the handsome, indomitable uncle and his beautiful baby niece. It cut her to the quick to realise she would probably not set eyes on either of them ever again.
‘At least leave me your address, Miss Maguire. My sister will no doubt want to get in touch with you to thank you for all your help.’
Bliss shrugged to hide her sudden awkwardness. ‘She doesn’t have to thank me. It was my pleasure to be able to help. If I want to ring and find out how she’s doing, it’s Mrs Ward, isn’t it?’
‘Tatiana.’
‘What a lovely name.’
‘And Bliss? Where did that come from?’ Raising one dark eyebrow with an almost roguish air, Dante smiled. A wave of heat sailed through Bliss’s body and back again.
‘Maybe it’s what my parents were looking for at the time.’ Her deadpan humour clearly didn’t amuse him. His raised eyebrow was replaced by a distinct frown.
’Felicità.’
‘Pardon?’
‘That is “Bliss” in my language. Felicità. But I think I prefer it in English.’
Oh, my Lord! Do you have to smile at me like that? Bliss felt as if she’d been locked in a pitch-black room only to be let out blinking into the blinding gaze of the sun. What on earth was God thinking of when he made a man as devastatingly irresistible as Dante di Andrea? What he’d said was perfectly innocent, but in that sexy Italian intonation it had sounded to Bliss as if he were making love to
