Resisting The Italian Single Dad. Katrina Cudmore

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СКАЧАТЬ this morning, he had somehow managed to sweet-talk an appointment with Nina, the office-block receptionist who provided a diary booking service for all the tenants, despite the fact that Carly’s diary was already full for the day. Nina usually guarded the diaries like a Rottweiler on steroids.

      When Carly had questioned Nina on why she had given him an appointment, Nina had given her a soppy smile that was alarming in itself and said he had been referred by Dr Segal, a paediatrician who was increasingly referring patients to Carly, and that she hadn’t had the heart to turn him away; that he had sounded so lovely and sincere and such a concerned dad for his daughter who wouldn’t sleep at night. Tough-as-nails Nina had obviously fallen for that deeply accented voice that no doubt had the potential to melt granite.

      ‘It’s now close to ten minutes past twelve, you’re over half an hour late for your appointment,’ Carly pointed out. From his expensive suit, glistening black leather shoes and a car even her stepfather couldn’t afford, Carly guessed that Mr Lovato was rich. Seriously rich. And no doubt used to getting his own way. But not now. Not with her. She had spent her teenage years being manipulated by a stepfather who had used his wealth to get his own way regardless of the consequences to others. If Mr Lovato was anything like her stepfather he would have no problem in making Carly late for her appointment with a group of other parents, as long as his own needs were met. Money talked for some people and it gave them an inflated sense of entitlement. ‘My receptionist shouldn’t have given you an appointment today. My diary was full. She tried calling you back to make alternative arrangements but you didn’t answer her calls.’

      ‘I was working from home today—between taking care of my daughter and client calls I never managed to call Nina back.’ He shrugged, gave her a hint of an apologetic smile. ‘When it was time to leave I couldn’t find my daughter’s shoes. And when we were finally on our way I realised that I had left her changing bag in the hallway so I had to turn around. You know how it is when you have children—time seems to disappear into a void of chasing your own shadow.’

      Carly cleared her throat, ignoring the nudge of pain in her chest at his not unexpected but incorrect assumption she had children of her own. It was a common assumption many clients made. ‘I don’t have any children of my own but from working with them for the last decade I agree that you have to be very organised around them.’

      His gaze narrowed. Carly pressed on, knowing she had to leave for her meeting despite a nagging feeling that she should give Mr Lovato some time. ‘Nina should be able to schedule you in for some time next week, after the bank holiday.’

      Moving down the steps towards her, he came to a stop directly in front of her. Carly tilted her head to meet his gaze. He was tall. Very tall. At least six feet four, and over eight inches taller than herself.

      He carried himself with a smooth ease, which, combined with his prominent angular features and soul-searching eyes, had the effect of making you forget all that you were thinking, and everything you were about to say.

      ‘I want us to speak now.’

      Carly blinked at the smoothness of his tone, at the bluntness of his words. ‘That’s not possible. I’m giving a talk to a parent group in Kilburn at one. I have to leave now or I’m going to be late.’

      His eyes narrowed but did not move from hers for a moment. Carly had to force herself not to look away, hating the heat that was growing on her skin at his nearness, the strange feeling of undoing that was unravelling in her insides.

      ‘How are you getting there?’

      Carly frowned. ‘The underground.’

      ‘I’ll drive you.’

      Carly stared after him as he moved to the reception doors. He held one of the scruffy blue doors in need of a repaint open for her. Carly followed him down. ‘That’s not necessary, Mr Lovato.’

      His beguiling mouth curved upwards into a hint of a smile. ‘My name is Maximiliano but you can call me Max. We can talk on the journey there. It’s the least I can do considering my lateness for our meeting. Can I carry your box out to the car for you?’

      Irritated, Carly shook her head. ‘No…and I don’t think it’s appropriate you driving me. After all, we have just met.’

      To this he let out an amused exhalation before saying, ‘I’m a seriously sleep-deprived father. I can assure you that you have nothing to fear from me.’ He looked towards reception where Nina was staring in their direction and added in a teasing tone, ‘Nina, I’m driving Ms Knight to her appointment in Kilburn. Should anything happen to her you have my address and telephone number, which you can pass onto the police.’

      Unbelievably, Nina giggled at this. Carly eyed her with exasperation but Nina was too busy ogling their visitor to catch her annoyance.

      ‘I really don’t think—’

      Before she could add anything else, Max interrupted her, his voice low, the intensity of his proud gaze flipping her stomach. ‘I urgently need your help, Ms Knight…as does my daughter.’

      Carly Knight’s cornflower-blue eyes disappeared in a slow blink behind her long and lush eyelashes as she considered his words.

      Max wanted to walk away. He hated asking for help. It wasn’t in his nature. He found it degrading—a sign of weakness. He valued his privacy, disliked having to expose himself and his family to the scrutiny of an outsider. From a young age he had understood the importance of self-reliance. His mother, a strict disciplinarian, had constantly told him that to be dependent on others made you weak. And growing up in a tough suburban neighbourhood of Rome, he had quickly learned that to survive he had to be strong, resilient and, most important of all, never show weakness.

      Carly Knight was not what he had expected. When he had reluctantly called the number his paediatrician had given him, he had imagined meeting an older woman, a grandmother perhaps, with sensible hair and sensible shoes to match her sensible personality. A woman with years of experience dealing with strong-willed toddlers hell-bent on testing their parents.

      He hadn’t expected a woman who hadn’t experienced first-hand the exhausting reality of parenting. He hadn’t expected sparkling white trainers under ankle-length faded blue jeans, a white blouse covered in red stars. He hadn’t expected tumbling blonde hair or creamy skin so smooth he wanted to touch his thumb against her high cheekbones. He hadn’t expected the attitude that said he was an inconvenience in her life.

      He wanted to walk away; to tell her he didn’t want her help after all. But that would be a lie. He did need her help. And so did Isabella, his beautiful, inspiring, contrary-as-a-hungry-goat daughter. They could not go on as they were. As much as he hated to admit it, they were both miserable. He clenched his jaw as the constant slow burn of guilt for failing his family intensified under Carly Knight’s critical gaze.

      Her brow wrinkled but then something softened in her eyes. She let out a deep breath. ‘Okay, I’ll take the lift.’

      Torn between the relief that she had said yes and the deep wish that he had never needed to ask for her help in the first place, he took hold of her box, which she released reluctantly, and guided her out to his car.

      She had resisted even taking a lift from him. How on earth was she going to respond when she learnt of everything he wanted from her?

      Outside she folded her arms and stared pointedly at the double yellow line his car was parked on. He opened the passenger door for her, and nodded down towards the box. ‘Do I smell СКАЧАТЬ