Italian Mavericks: Forbidden Nights With The Italian

She awoke to find herself alone in the bed. A lurch of fear was followed by a brief moment of relief as she heard the sound of Luca giggling. And then she remembered that they weren’t at home, but in Santo’s deathtrap apartment.

Almost tripping in her haste to get to her child, she shot out of the bedroom and followed the sound, ready to drag him out of trouble.

Expecting to find an energetic Luca fearlessly scaling a cupboard or plunging his curious fingers into a piece of high-tech electrical equipment, she instead found him sitting on a chair in Santo’s sleek, contemporary kitchen watching as his father deftly cut shapes out of brioche.

Weak with relief, Fia paused in the doorway, astonished by what she was seeing. Father or not, Santo was a stranger to Luca. A tall, powerfully built intimidating stranger who was in an undeniably dangerous mood since he’d made the unexpected discovery that he had a son. It was true that he’d helped and supported her the night before, but nothing in his demeanour had led her to believe that there was any softening in his attitude.

She’d assumed that some of his anger would reveal itself in his interaction with the child and yet Luca was clearly not only comfortable, but vastly entertained and delighted with the masculine attention he was receiving along with his breakfast.

Judging from his damp hair, Santo had not long left the shower and it was obvious from his bare feet and bare chest that he’d tugged on a pair of jeans in haste, unable to finish dressing before Luca had demanded his attention. But the real change wasn’t in his dress—or lack of it—it was the way he carried himself. There was no sign of the forbidding, intimidating businessman who had called all the shots the day before. The man currently entertaining one small boy was warm and approachable, his smile indulgent as he wiped his son’s buttery fingers. He looked as though he did this every day. As if this was part of their morning routine.

As she watched, Santo bent down and kissed Luca and when the child giggled, he kissed him again as if he couldn’t get enough of him.

Tears sprang to her eyes and Fia leaned against the doorframe for support.

Watching them made her heart clench. Luca had never had that, had he? He’d never known a father’s love. Yes, she’d surrounded him by ‘family’ but even she couldn’t pretend that what she’d created came close to the real thing. One day Gina would move on, Ben would marry and Luca’s ‘family’ would disband.

Yesterday she’d been so sure that marriage between her and Santo would be the wrong thing for her son. She’d seen no benefit to him in being forced to live with two people whose only connection was the child they’d made.

But of course there was benefit and she was staring at it right now.

If they married, Luca would have his father. Not at prearranged times, like single snapshots taken on a camera. But permanently.

Santo still hadn’t noticed her and, as he spoke to their son in lilting Italian, Fia found that she was holding her breath. When Luca replied in the same language pride mingled with emotions she didn’t even recognise.

She was normally the one who gave Luca his breakfast. It was their morning ritual. And yet here he was happily pursuing that ritual with his father as if the two of them had been doing it for ever.

There was a lump in her throat and the lump grew as Santo leaned forward and kissed his son again, indifferent to buttery fingers that grabbed at his hair. He blew bubbles into Luca’s neck and made him giggle. He pulled faces and tickled him.

He 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 one ever hugged her. The shock of it kept her rigid, but before she could work out who the woman was she’d released her and turned her attention to Luca.

First she covered her mouth with her hands as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Then she scooped an unsuspecting Luca up and showered him with kisses, talking in rapid Italian as she danced round the kitchen with him.

And, instead of howling, Luca seemed delighted by the attention, responding to the woman’s infectious smile with gurgles of laughter.

Fia wanted to snatch her son out of the woman’s arms.

Which one of Santo’s many women was she?

She racked her brain to recreate all those media images of Santo she’d tried to obliterate from her mind. Santo Ferrara and a lean brunette at the opening of the Taormina Filmfest, dining out with a sleek blonde on his arm, leaving his private jet at the airport with a redhead in tow. She’d tried to blot out the female faces, not commit them to memory.

She was just about to make a taut comment when a small girl, a little older than Luca, rocketed into the room and slammed into Santo’s legs.

‘Up!’

‘I think you mean, “up, please”, but your wish is my command, of course.’ His amused drawl suggesting that this was a frequent request, Santo scooped the child up. ‘You need to put in some overtime on the manners here.’ He glanced at the woman and his expression softened. ‘Thanks for coming.’

‘Anything for you.’ With a cheeky smile the brunette put Luca down, dropped her bag on the chair and looked at Fia. ‘I’m really sorry to hear about your grandfather. You must be worried sick, but honestly the hospital is just brilliant. And I expect Santo has them hopping around because he always puts a bomb under them. And you’re not to worry about Luca. We’ll keep him with us until you’re ready to pick him up. I can’t wait to get to know him better.’

Fia felt a flash of fury. Santo expected her to leave her son with one of his women? ‘There is no way—’

‘Dani is my sister, yes? Daniela Ferrara. Although technically she’s no longer Ferrara since she married Raimondo.’ Interrupting smoothly, Santo put the little girl down on the floor. ‘This is Rosa, her daughter. Luca’s cousin.’

Cousin?

Startled, Fia looked at Dani, who looked right back. ‘Er … you didn’t know I was Santo’s sister?’

‘I didn’t recognise you.’ Fia’s voice was a croak and Dani’s eyes widened in contrition.

‘Oh, no! You must have thought—’ Looking at her brother, she gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘Nightmare. We’d kill each other in two minutes. I like to be in charge in my relationships. Talking of which, Raimondo is parking the car. We thought we’d take Luca back home with us because we have all Rosa’s toys there so it’s easier.’ She caught Fia’s anxious look and smiled. ‘You’re thinking you can’t let him go with a stranger, I know you are because I’d be thinking the same thing in your position. But honestly, he’s going to have a great time and better with us than in that vile hospital or here. Santo’s apartment is a deathtrap. You two can spend as long as you need to at the hospital and then go out to dinner or something. Don’t rush. Do something romantic.’

‘Cristo, you are like a one-woman talk show. Breathe, Dani!’ Santo cast his sister a look of raw exasperation. ‘Give someone else the opportunity to speak! You accuse me of being controlling and then you steamroller people with words. Conversation is supposed to be a two-way thing.’

‘Well, no one else is saying anything in this room!’ Dani bristled and Santo ground his teeth.

‘Was there an opportunity? Accidenti! I don’t know how Raimondo puts up with you. I would strangle you within two minutes of being alone together.’

‘I would have strangled you first.’ Dani turned to Fia. ‘Don’t let him bully you. Stand up to him; it’s the only way to handle Santo, especially when he does his threatening act. I used to see you sometimes on the beach but you’ve obviously forgotten me.’

No, she hadn’t forgotten. She just hadn’t recognised the other woman and now she didn’t know what to say. How much did Daniela know? What exactly had he told his family?

It should have been a horribly awkward moment but Dani clearly didn’t tolerate ‘awkward’ in her life. She said something in Italian to her little girl, who eyed up Luca, clearly decided he looked like someone she could play with and promptly dragged him off towards Santo’s living room, leaving the adults alone.

‘There. See? They’re friends already.’ Oblivious to her brother’s glowering disapproval, Dani followed them out of the room. ‘I’ll watch them. There is nothing you can teach me about intercepting toddler trouble.’ At the doorway of the kitchen, she glanced over her shoulder. ‘I’ll leave you two to discuss wedding details. And Santo, it doesn’t matter how rushed a wedding is, a woman still needs to look her best so you’d better take Fia shopping. Or, better still, give me your card and I’ll take her shopping because we all know you hate it.’

Santo’s expression went from irritated to dangerous. ‘Your help with Luca is welcomed. Your interference in any other aspect of my life is not.’

‘Just because you’ve done all this in the wrong order is no reason not to make it romantic,’ Dani said tartly. ‘A woman wants romance on her wedding day. Remember that.’

She vanished to supervise the children, leaving Fia with her face burning.

Romance?

Whatever was between them, it certainly wasn’t romance. What was romantic about a man being forced to marry a woman he didn’t even like?

Santo drained his coffee cup and thumped it down on the table. ‘I apologise for my sister,’ he breathed. ‘She still hasn’t learned the meaning of the word “boundary”. But if she will take Luca for us today, it will make everything a lot easier.’

Nothing, absolutely nothing, would make this situation easier.

The tension between them was like a dark storm brewing in the room. She couldn’t imagine ever being able to relax with him. She was wound so tight that every reaction and response was exaggerated. Her senses were heightened so that the slightest glance was all it took to set her heart pounding.

The look he sent her told her that he felt it too. ‘It is good that she has taken Luca because we need to talk. Properly.’

Fia thought about Luca being hugged and kissed by his father.

Santo clearly interpreted her silence as refusal. ‘You can throw as many obstacles as you like between us,’ he said softly, ‘and I will smash through all of them. Be sure of that. You can say no a thousand different ways and I will find a thousand different ways to tell you why you’re wrong.’

‘I’m not saying no.’

‘Scusi?’

‘I’m agreeing with you. You said that you thought marriage was the best thing for Luca, and I’m agreeing with you.’ Her voice wasn’t entirely steady. ‘Last night I was sure that marriage wasn’t in Luca’s best interests but this morning … well, I saw the two of you together and … and, yes, I think it would be the right thing for Luca.’ Oh, God, she’d said it. What if she were wrong?

Silence pulsed.

‘So you’re doing this because you think it’s the right thing “for Luca”?’

‘Of course. What else?’

He strode across the kitchen towards her.

Fia forced herself to stand still, expecting him to stop, but he didn’t stop until he had her with her back against the wall and nowhere to go.

Jaw tight, he slammed a hand either side of her to block her escape. She was boxed in by rock-hard muscle and testosterone and because she didn’t want to look at him, she looked at his bare chest and that was a mistake too because everything about him made her think of that night. She didn’t need a close-up of his physique to know how strong he was. She’d felt that strength. Why the hell hadn’t he pulled on a shirt? The world around her seemed to fade. She forgot she was in his kitchen. She forgot about her grandfather in the hospital and the cheerful sounds of her child playing in the next room. She forgot everything.

Her world became this man.

‘Look at me.’ His thickened command told her that if she didn’t, he’d make her and so she lifted her gaze and the look they shared unlocked something dark she’d buried deep inside herself. Something she hadn’t dared examine because she was so afraid of it.

The way she felt about him.

Breathing shallow, she stared into those burnished dark eyes that changed colour according to his mood.

‘This is not just about Luca and I need you to acknowledge that because I don’t want some martyr in my bed.’ He lowered his head, his mouth as close to hers as it was possible to be and yet not touch her. He spoke so softly that he couldn’t possibly be overheard and yet each word was delivered with such force and power that she knew they’d be forever embedded in her memory. ‘If we do this, then we do it properly.’

If she licked her lips now, she’d touch him. If she made that single move she’d be kissing him. And she knew how that would feel. Knew how he’d feel. Even after more than three years, she’d never forgotten it. ‘Yes. We do it properly. We … get to know each other.’

‘I already know a lot about you—’ That wicked, sensual mouth held hers hostage. ‘I may not know how you like your coffee, but I know other things about you. Want me to remind you?’

‘No.’ She didn’t need reminding. She’d forgotten nothing. Not the way he tasted nor the way he touched her. And now those memories were unlocked and she could feel herself melting—feel the heat of her own arousal spread through her body and the hard pressure of his.

His hand came up to cup her face, those same fingers that knew how to drive her wild, now firm and determined as they forced her to look at him. ‘Sure? Because if this is going to work for Luca, it has to work for us.’ His mouth was just a breath away from hers, the heat of him a pulsing, throbbing force. ‘I have to get to know all of you, particularly the bits you’re hiding. And you have to get to know all of me, tesoro. Everything.’

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