Page 25 of Italian Baby Shock

Lark went over and picked her daughter up, murmuring comfortingly as she cuddled her close. Maya was getting heavy now and of course as soon as she was picked up, she wanted to go back down. She was a very strong-willed little girl and stubborn to boot.

Like her father, perhaps?

Lark kissed the top of Maya’s rose-gold head, trying to ignore the anger that lay like a stone in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t want to think about Cesare Donati and she especially didn’t want to think of him as Maya’s father.

The night before, after the plane had landed, she’d been terribly afraid he’d insist on coming back to her flat with herand seeing Maya. Either that or convincing her to come back to whatever palatial London house he occupied for the night.

She’d been too honest with him on the plane, when he’d loomed over her, surrounding her with his heat and his scent. Her mouth had gone dry and all she’d been able to think about was kissing him again, having him again. She’d wanted to tell him that the sex had meant nothing, her curiosity had been satisfied, but he’d surprised the truth out of her.

Deep down she’d been hoping against hope that sex with him would return her memories, yet it hadn’t. That night was still a black hole. And now she’d had a taste of what she’d missed out on that night with him. What it must have been like that first time, to kiss him, touch him. Have him inside her. Those moments in the plane had been like missing pieces of the jigsaw puzzle falling into place, and yet... The whole picture remained hidden.

Being with him again would only remind her of all those other moments she’d lost, that she’d never get back. Of seeing his first reaction to her body, then the joy of mutual discovery, the thrill of newness, of shared wonder...

That was all gone and it had hurt more than she’d expected it to.

She hadn’t wanted to tell him any of that, but she had, and there had been recognition in his eyes. And genuine understanding. And pity.

‘I’m sorry,’ he’d said...

That had made her ache, which in turn had made her angry all over again. She hadn’t wanted him to be sorry, she’d wanted him to leave her alone, take his intense, distracting presence elsewhere. She had to look forward, not backwards, and sleeping with him again would definitely be going backwards.

Anyway, as it turned out, he’d neither insisted on coming home with her nor tried to tempt her into coming home with him.

As soon as they’d disembarked the plane, he’d told her he’d see her the next day and a car would take her home. Then he’d walked off, his phone stuck to his ear, got in another car and had been driven away.

She’d told herself she was glad, that she didn’t want him anywhere near her. Yet that night, after she’d got home and the nanny had left, and she’d checked on her little girl, she’d gone to sleep and her dreams had been full of him. His hands and his mouth on her. His bare skin against hers. Stroking her, teasing her, taunting her. And then he’d whisper, ‘Beg me, little bird,’ before vanishing.

She’d woken up aching and restless and in a terrible temper.

Getting tied up in knots over a man, no matter how attractive, was a mistake and one she had to avoid at all costs. She wouldn’t be her mother, falling in love with an awful man, marrying him and having his baby only to find herself trapped. Knowing that the only way to protect her child was to run and then be hunted to the ends of the earth.

Okay, so maybe Cesare—Signor Donati—wasn’t quite as awful as her father had been. But he was terrible all the same. He was forceful, opinionated, arrogant and selfish, and those were enough red flags for her.

What if he’s Maya’s father?

Then she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. She just didn’t want to think about it now.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Lark settled Maya on her hip and went to the door to open it, trying to ignore the nerves that leapt and jumped around inside her.

Sure enough, it was him. Cesare Donati. Standing on the doorstep wearing an immaculate handmade suit of dark greywool. His shirt was black this time, his tie the same deep blue as Maya’s eyes.

Behind him, a limo waited at the kerb, looking extremely out of place in her small suburban street, a couple of bodyguards standing nearby.

Not that she was really taking in the limo, not when he was bare inches away.

She’d thought that maybe she’d dreamed his effect on her, that after a night away from him, the force of his presence wouldn’t be so intense, but she was wrong.

The impact of him was almost physical.

Her heartbeat sped up, nervousness coiling and tangling inside her. Then his blue gaze locked with hers and a flood of heat washed through her.

All she could remember were those moments on the plane, sitting naked in his lap. His mouth on hers, his fingers clenched tight in her hair. Of him inside her, moving deep and slow, and the intense pleasure uncurling inside her...

‘Buongiorno, little bird,’ he said in his deep, rich voice, his eyes glittering as if he was remembering the same thing. Then his attention shifted, the pressure of it releasing almost making her gasp aloud, and he stared at Maya instead.

He went very still, utterly transfixed by the sight of her, and Lark was overcome with an urge to shield her daughter from the intensity of his gaze. And she might have if Maya hadn’t been gazing back, studying him with the same intentness.

There was a moment’s silence.

---