But itwashim. All dark virile power, his thick hair ruffled by the wind, the breadth of his shoulders emphasised by the dark cashmere coat he was wearing. Against the frosty, dusky day, he looked amazing—black eyes glittering like polished jet, in the sheen of golden olive skin. The impact of seeing him was so visceral that her breath dried in her throat, but she recognised that the powerful pull he exerted was more than simply sexual attraction.
Because this was the father of her baby. A bond had been forged between them which could never be broken. He had let her walk out of his life and told her he didn’t want to be part of hers. But he was here, wasn’t he? Lizzie’s heart was filled with a rush of hope but she tried not to let it show, because it was tempered by fear. And wasn’t her biggest fear that he might hurt her all over again, and she would just keep coming back for more?
So don’t lay yourself open to it, she told herself. Protect yourself from this cold, sexy man who finds it easy to make expansive gestures. He can buy you houses and confuse the hell out of you by sending unexpected presents, but he doesn’t want love.
And while it was all very well agreeing to be polite to one another—wasn’t he bending the rules by turning up here without warning?
‘Niccolò!’ she exclaimed. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’
Niccolò’s eyes met hers and saw the unmistakable flicker of challenge flickering from their pale green depths. ‘Perhaps I thought you might refuse to see me,’ he said slowly.
‘That would be extremely foolish, since you’re the one who’s financing my life,’ she said flippantly. ‘Don’t they say you should never bite the hand that feeds you? I’m guessing that the easel was a sweetener?’
Niccolò flinched as her accusatory words washed over him. Was that how she saw him now—as her provider, but nothing else? And could he blame her if she did? ‘I wonder, is this a conversation we should be having on the doorstep?’
‘Well, there’s nobody around to hear us so I’m not worried about that, but itisa cold day.’ She shrugged. ‘So I guess you’d better come in.’
She opened the door wider and he stepped inside and closed the door, though he noticed how quickly she moved away from him, as if any kind of contact was something to be avoided at all costs. Bending his head to avoid the low beams on the ceiling, he went to stand by the fire.
‘If you sit down, I’ll make you a cup of tea,’ she said.
Niccolò gave a reluctant nod. He didn’t want to sit down, and he didn’t particularly want a cup of tea, for the English national beverage had never really appealed to him. In truth, all he wanted was to feast his eyes on her, but in her current spiky mood it might be best to humour her. He looked around, assessing the place Lizzie Bailey had chosen to make her home, taken aback by its modesty, though Lois—for the two women had continued to communicate—had informed him that Lizzie was renting something ‘quirky’.
His eyes narrowed. She certainly hadn’t decided to flash the cash he had given her, that was for sure. The cottage was homely, but small—though the room was alive with colour and warmth from the fire. Flickering light from the flames danced on the bare walls, splashing shades of coral and gold over the half-painted canvas of a rather terrifying-looking cat, which stood on the easel.
He could hear her crashing around in the kitchen, the noisy demonstration of domesticity worlds away from the carefully orchestrated mealtimes which had resumed in his hotel suite in Manhattan, and the irony of that didn’t escape him. Because hadn’t he discovered that the peace and quiet he had craved could suddenly feel like a vacuum? All the things he’d thought he was missing weren’t everything they were cracked up to be, something which was being hammered home to him every second of every day. His lips twisted. Be careful what you wished for.
A few moments later she emerged from the kitchen carrying a loaded tray and he walked over to her.
‘Here. Let me.’
‘It’s quite all right,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself. I’m not some clinging vine, Niccolò. How do you think I manage when you’re not here? I don’t need a man to lean on.’
Despite her spirited objections, Niccolò overrode her protests and took the tray from her, putting it down on the table. But neither of them sat. They just surveyed each other from opposite ends of the weathered surface—as if they were about to engage in a duel. Her expression was mulish as she stared at him, but this was the perfect vantage point from which to study her. She was wearing a paint-spattered smock, with a scarf wrapped round her head, so that stray strands of pale red hair were escaping from their confinement. Her cheeks were rounder since he’d last seen her and so was her belly. Had the removal of complications in her life—like him—contributed to her glowing appearance? Pregnancy suited her, he realised with a sudden ache as he thought how long it had been since he’d seen her in the flesh.
And it was nobody’s fault but his own.
He had wanted Lizzie Bailey out of his life, never dreaming her absence could leave such a hole in his existence.
She pushed a plate towards him. ‘Mince pies. Home-made.’
‘I haven’t come here to eat cake,’ he growled.
‘Well, they’re not strictly cake, of course. These ones are made from orange pastry, filled with a spicy mixture of raisins and currants. I don’t know if you’re familiar with them in America but we...’ And then she lifted the palms of her hands into the air before letting them fall helplessly to her sides. ‘What am Idoing? You turn up on my doorstep without so much as a phone call, and I start talking inanely about mince pies. What the hell is going on, Niccolò?’
He glanced at his watch. ‘Before I answer your question, I’d like to take you for a drive.’
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘Where?’
‘If I told you, it would spoil the surprise.’
‘But we are not a couple, Niccolò. And therefore, you shouldn’t arrive on my doorstep like this, dangling surprises. It’s not appropriate behaviour.’
‘We haven’t exactly been a model of appropriate behaviour from the get-go, have we?’ he questioned drily. ‘Please. Just come for a drive with me, Lizzie. Let’s talk on neutral territory.’
‘I didn’t think there was anything left to say.’ She stared at him defiantly but must have read the determination in his eyes, because she puffed out a sigh. ‘Oh, very well. But I don’t want to be long.’
He waited while she unwound the scarf from her hair, put a guard around the fire and slithered into the coat she’d bought in New York. But he had to subdue his fierce desire to button it up for her—recognising from the warning glint in her eyes that any such gesture would be unwelcome.
