Shannay gathered her in for a hug, then smoothed a hand over dark curls. ‘Extra-specially nice,’ she agreed, and crossed to let Anna into the apartment.
MARCELLO’S IMAGE haunted Shannay’s subconscious and provided scattered dreams which seemed to reach nightmarish proportion throughout the night.
Consequently she woke to the insistent sound of the alarm clock feeling as if she hadn’t slept at all.
Not good.
She had a responsible job, she worked nights, and right now she’d give anything to bury her head in the pillow, snatch an hour’s dreamless sleep, and face an untroubled day.
Not possible.
‘Are you awake, Mummy?’
Bright eyes, tousled hair, a smile to die for … the light of her life.
Shannay reached for her daughter, gathered her close and pressed a light kiss to Nicki’s forehead.
‘Morning, sweetheart.’
‘We’re going to the park for a picnic today.’
‘Uh-huh.’ She playfully tickled Nicki’s ribs and the action brought forth a series of giggles. ‘Time to rise and shine, dress, have breakfast and—’
‘Be on the road by nine,’ Nicki completed a familiar mantra as she slid from the bed.
The picnic, the ducks, Marcello.
Not necessarily in that order, although combined they were the sole topic of Nicki’s conversation that morning.
Shannay gritted her teeth as she headed home after delivering her daughter to kindergarten.
If she heard his name mentioned again, she’d … do or say something regrettable!
One hour in his company, and he held Nicki in his thrall.
It was so not fair. And so typical of the man’s effect on the female species.
Traffic lights up ahead changed and she eased the car to a halt.
Figuratively speaking she was between a rock and a hard place. Signing or not signing the DNA paternity form only presented a relatively minor issue compared to the big picture.
The demons of the night returned tenfold, and the sudden strident sound of a car horn thrust her back into the present.
The insistent burr of her cellphone within minutes of clearing the intersection resulted in a juggling action as she changed lanes and pulled over to take the call.
‘Shannay.’
The familiar faintly accented male voice upped her nervous tension by several notches, and it took effort to summon a cool acknowledgement.
‘What do you want?’
‘We need to talk. There’s a café not far from your apartment. Meet me there in ten minutes.’
‘I have things to do, Marcello.’
‘This morning,’ Marcello elaborated, ‘in Nicki’s presence, or during your evening work hours, we will talk.’
‘You can’t—’ The words spilled, only to stop midsentence. He had no scruples whatsoever when it came to achieving his objective.
‘Choose.’
She could feel the anger surging through her body, and at that moment she truly hated him. ‘There is no choice.’
‘I’ll order a latte for you.’
Damn him to hell. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him exactly what he could do with the latte, except in some instances silence was golden, and she simply cut the connection.
Shannay reached her apartment block and eased the car down into the underground car park, locked it, then took the lift to ground level and walked out into the morning sunshine.
The café was close by, upmarket with outdoor tables and boutique sun umbrellas. A meeting place where friends assembled over designer coffee and sumptuous food to talk business, chat and watch the world go by.
There, seated outdoors, was Marcello.
Absent was the designer business suit, for today he’d chosen casual dark chinos and a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck.
It lent him a relaxed façade … one she knew to be misleading. Despite appearances to the contrary, Marcello rarely lowered his guard. It was what he’d become, who he was … and it showed.
There was something exigent that wrought a second look, a curiosity, sometimes fleeting, to check the level of power he emanated. A hint of the primitive, which unleashed could cause untold sensual havoc to a woman’s equilibrium.
A quality other men admired and coveted, but few possessed.
Marcello glanced up as she approached, and she felt the full impact of those dark eyes as they seared her own, witnessing for one moment the naked vulnerability apparent before she successfully masked it.
He signalled the waitress as Shannay slid into a seat opposite him.
Make-up free, except for a touch of gloss to her mouth, her hair caught together with a decorative clip, and dressed in jeans and a singlet top she looked scarcely more than a teenager.
Except looks could be deceptive, he mused, all too aware of the latent passion that lurked beneath that cool façade.
He remembered too well the sensual delight of her body, the persuasive touch and her eagerness to share … everything.
Heat unfurled and ran hot as he felt his own unbidden response, the need to render her willing and wanton. His, as she had been … and would be again.
No other woman came close, and he’d wanted what he once had.
Worse, he wanted her to pay for attempting to deny him any knowledge of his daughter.
‘Shannay.’
The waitress delivered her latte, and she selected two sugar tubes, broke them open and stirred in the contents.
Shannay took a deliberate sip of the frothy, milky liquid, then she carefully replaced the glass onto its saucer and met Marcello’s studied gaze.
‘Let’s get this over with, shall we?’ she suggested coolly.
‘Put our cards on the table, so to speak?’ Marcello drawled.
He was a superb strategist who played the game according to his own rules … and inevitably saved the sting for a coup de grâce.
Estimating
