Page 5 of Italian Baby Shock

It was a singular colour that rose gold, as was the intense blue of her eyes. He’d never met anyone else who’d had hair that hue apart from his mother. And as for that blue...

That was Donati blue. Two hundred years ago the Donatis had been patrons of a painter who’d created a paint colour in their honour. And that’s what he’d called it.

It was famous.

Cesare went very still as everything in him slowed down and stopped. Everything except his brain, which was now working overtime. Going back over dates. Going back over that night. Going over everything.

Because if there was one thing he knew, it was that the little girl in that photo was his daughter.

CHAPTER TWO

LARKIMMEDIATELYRELAXEDat the sight of Maya’s smile on her screen. It was fine; of course it was fine. Emily had only sent her a happy photo, making it clear that Maya was feeling better.

Lark’s central nervous system could stand down. Everything was okay.

Completely forgetting that she’d just broken off in midconversation, she began to type a reply, only for a large male hand to reach over her shoulder and pluck the phone from her grasp.

She gasped and turned round sharply to find Signor Donati staring down at her phone’s screen, the expression on his handsome face almost frightening in its intensity.

Lark’s stomach tightened. Why had he grabbed her phone? And why was he looking at the picture of Maya as if he was...angry? She should have been paying attention, she knew that, and answering texts in the middle of a professional conversation was very rude. But it was her daughter. Surely he’d understand?

She plastered a smile on her face. ‘I’m so sorry about that text, but—’

‘This is your daughter?’ He looked up from the phone, the blue of his eyes piercing her right through, the expression in them stealing her breath.

She didn’t want to answer, an inexplicable unease sitting deep in her gut. Yet she couldn’t think of a good reason not to. ‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘That’s Maya.’

He glanced back at the photo. ‘Maya,’ he repeated, his accent making her name sound like music.

Lark swallowed, her unease deepening. ‘Can I have my phone back, please?’

He ignored her. ‘When was she born?’

The uneasiness turned over inside her. Why was he asking her questions about her child? She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all.

‘She just turned one a few months ago,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, but why are you asking so many questions about—’

‘And her father?’

Anger, heavy and unfamiliar, stirred to life in her gut. She tried never to get angry, it was such a depressing, useless emotion, but strange men asking her questions—deeply personal questions—about her and her daughter was a subject that she had no humour about.

‘What about her father?’ She kept her tone polite, because he was still a potential client, no matter his strange behaviour. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t see how that is any of your—’

‘Her father.’ He looked up from the phone, his gaze all sharp blue edges. ‘Who is he?’

He expected her to answer instantly, she could see that, and her usual reaction would be to soothe whatever was bothering him, because something clearly was. You caught more flies with honey than you did with vinegar, and Lark was an expert with honey.

But his line of questioning was deeply disquieting, not to mention that something about him had worked its way under her skin. His male beauty, the force of his presence, the air of authority that cloaked him, the way her heart suddenly seemed to beat out of rhythm when she looked at him... She wasn’t sure which it was. Maybe all three. Whatever the reason, she didn’t want to soothe him. Didn’t want to give him her smile, smooth over all those sharp edges. So she didn’t.

She gave him a cool look instead and said, still polite, ‘I’m very sorry, but as I said, that’s none of your business. I’m here to talk about the antiques you want to sell, not my daughter.’

His perfect features had hardened and the knuckles of his long-fingered hands were white where they held her phone. His gaze glittered and she was sure it was fury she saw there. He looked...dangerous and she was conscious that they were in the room together, alone. And he was a stranger, tall and powerful and so much bigger than she was. It wasn’t that she was afraid of him exactly—or at least it wasn’tonlyfear that wound through her. There was something else, something hotter...

‘You don’t remember me, do you?’ he said.

Lark took a breath, her disquiet turning into a kernel of ice sitting in her gut.

No. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t...

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