Her Sicilian Baby Revelation / The Greek's One-Night Heir. Natalie Anderson

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      The nurse helped Orla get Finn into his pyjamas and put him to bed before Orla told her to go and join the party for a few hours.

      Alone, she stripped off her bridesmaid dress, avoiding the reflection of her bare figure in the mirror. Her scars were itching but she didn’t dare apply the topical lotion her doctor had prescribed for it, not when the knock on the suite door could come at any moment. Instead, she dressed hastily, donning a pair of checked trousers and a long-sleeved black top.

      When Tonino came she wanted to be ready.

      Could she ever be ready for this?

      She’d spent three years trying desperately to remember who Finn’s father was and unearth the memories of their time together. Now that many of them had popped out of the box they’d been contained in, part of her wished she could shove them back in and nail the lid back down while, contrarily, her search for the still-hidden memories became more frantic.

      Much of the time they’d shared together had come back to her, but she still didn’t remember what had happened with her father. Her return to Ireland was still a blur too.

      When the loud rap on her suite’s door finally came, it took more effort than she could believe to drag her legs to it.

      Tonino loomed at the threshold looking exactly as she imagined a vampire would in the moments before it swooped to strike its helpless victim.

      A vampire should not send her pulses soaring with just one look. That was dangerous by any stretch of the imagination.

      Without a word being exchanged, he stepped into the suite and closed the door. Folding his arms across his broad chest, he slowly looked her up and down.

      The intensity of his scrutiny sent something thick and warm trickling through her feverish veins. Shaken, Orla hastily sat herself on one of the suite’s plush sofas.

      She didn’t want to look at him but found herself helpless to do anything else. Tonino had such presence, a magnetic energy he carried with him. All the words she’d prepared stuck on her tongue as she gazed into the dark brown eyes of the man who’d swept her off her feet and then broken her heart in the space of ten days. That same broken heart thundered in her chest. Its thuds pounded in her head. Her thoughts, like her words and memories, were a messed-up jumble.

      She had no idea how to play this. The man she’d had the time of her life with had been a lie, but he was still Finn’s father. He might have all the wealth and power, but he was still Finn’s father. When all was said and done, that was the one inescapable fact. Finn deserved to know his father and Tonino deserved to know his son.

      After a long period of charged silence, he dragged his fingers through his hair and headed to the minibar. ‘I don’t know about you but I need a drink. Do you still drink gin?’

      Startled that he remembered something so innocuous, she shook her head.

      He arched an eyebrow then opened the bar door and pulled out a bottle of red wine.

      He took a corkscrew from a drawer and opened the bottle effortlessly. ‘Will you have one?’

      This time she managed to croak, ‘No, thank you.’

      Since the accident, Orla had lost all tolerance for alcohol, which was a great shame. Before the pregnancy, she’d loved nothing more than going out with her friends, drinking way too much and dancing until the sun came up. She’d been free. No responsibilities, no pain, no dependency on anyone else. No one dependent on her.

      Those days belonged to another woman.

      He poured himself a hefty glass, swirled the red liquid, put the rim under his nose then took a sip. It must have pleased his palate for he then took a much larger sip.

      Tonino, she suddenly remembered, loved good wine.

      When his eyes locked on to hers, a shiver ran down her spine. He looked murderously cold.

      ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ she suggested quietly.

      Tonino, propped against the bar, took another drink as he looked at Orla, dwarfed by the sofa she’d sat herself on, fingers twisting together. She reminded him of a newborn deer that had come face-to-face with its first predator.

      ‘I’m fine where I am,’ he answered.

      She СКАЧАТЬ