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
