Page 18 of Italian Baby Shock

Cesare still didn’t understand, but then he didn’t expect Aristophanes to understand why he was reluctant to have another night with Lark.

He barely understood himself. That night had been special, yet his doubts about repeating it had only made it even more so and he couldn’t allow that.

Aristophanes was right about one thing: a repeat performance meant nothing, only that he’d enjoyed the sex and wanted to do it again. So really, did it matter if he wanted to sit down close to her? If he wanted to talk to her about that night? If he wanted to touch her?

More wisps of honey-gold hair had come out of her ponytail and the pink roses on her blouse made her pale skin even pinker, highlighting the blush that stained her cheeks whenever he looked at her. Those sea-green eyes of hers had flashed with annoyance and it satisfied him unreasonably that her annoyance was because of him.

He’d liked that he affected her and he’d liked it even more when she’d started asking him what they’d talked about thatnight and getting angry. He knew that anger was because she thought she didn’t want to know and yet hadn’t been able to stop herself from asking.

He’d also been conscious of the way she’d watched him as he’d paced up and down the jet’s aisle while talking to Aristophanes. She hadn’t wanted to do that either, yet her gaze kept being drawn to him all the same.

She wanted him.

He remembered that light in her eyes, how the flecks of blue in her green eyes had glittered bright and hot when he’d pulled her into his arms. The same way they’d glittered when he’d kissed her a couple of hours back in his palazzo, and when he’d put his hand over hers just before.

The same way they were glittering now.

She was breathing very fast, her body a soft warm weight in his lap, her vanilla scent winding around him, making him relive that night all over again.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, eyes wide.

‘You wanted to know what happened,’ he said. ‘I’m telling you.’

‘I don’t recall asking for a demonstration.’

Her cheeks were deeply flushed, the pulse at the base of her throat beating fast. Her golden ponytail was draped over his shoulder, golden strands catching in the dark blue wool, and he felt a sudden and deep possessiveness grip him, making him tighten his hold.

‘You really don’t want to remember this?’ he asked. ‘You came into my lap that night without a protest, just the way you did now. And then you wound your arms around my neck and kissed me as if you hadn’t been able to think of anything else except the way I’d taste.’

Her throat moved, her gaze locked with his. She’d softened against him, making all the blood in his veins rush below hisbelt. The pressure of her lovely rear against his groin making him ache.

He wanted her, he couldn’t deny it. That morning when he’d returned to his villa and found his bed empty, he’d told himself he was glad. He hadn’t wanted another night. He’d been there, done that, and trying to track her down was a fool’s game.

He didn’t chase women, not ever, and he wasn’t going to change his habits just for her.

So he’d pushed her out of his thoughts, made himself forget.

But he hadn’t forgotten. That night had imprinted itself on his memory and for the past two years, he hadn’t been able to stop measuring every other woman he’d slept with against her. And it didn’t matter how lovely or passionate or sexually inventive those women had been, something about them always came up short.

He’d told himself it wasn’t because they weren’t her, of course not. That night had been different because of his complicated feelings around the death of his aunt, leaving him the last Donati, nothing else. They weren’t because she was special or different.

Yet looking down into her eyes now, he had to accept that perhaps shehadbeen different. That the night they’d spent togetherhadbeen special. And that he did want to revisit it after all.

It wouldn’t be the same. She had no memory of their connection and while he did, he couldn’t forget that she was the mother of his child.

You really want to complicatethatwith sex? Especially when she’s clearly angry with you?

She might be angry with him, but she still wanted him; he could see the desire flickering in her eyes. And after all, what was complicated about sex? For the past couple of months, he hadn’t found himself a lover, telling himself that he was toobusy. But he knew deep down that he hadn’t found himself a lover because he was still searching for the experience he’d had that night, of Lark in his arms and the pleasure he’d found with her.

Now it was all he could think about.

Here she was and what they’d had that night, they could have again. Or if not that, then something similar. Where would be the harm? It could even be a good thing. Once those test results came back and Maya was revealed as his daughter, they would end up having to deal with things like custody and living arrangements, and he already had a couple of ideas about how he’d like to manage that.

In fact, he’d been thinking about it almost exclusively since he’d arranged for this little agreement to be drawn up and for the jet to be prepared.

‘I might have done then,’ she said. ‘But I don’t care how you taste right now.’

‘No?’ He raised a brow. ‘Then why are you staring at my mouth?’

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