Surely there were pictures somewhere? Even one? Alessandro might find it too painful to contemplate, but watching Julian now it was obvious he yearned for that connection. If he was to ever recover from his tragic loss, he needed to be able to openly grieve and he needed his mother’s life, her existence, to be acknowledged.
‘And next Grandma Poss and Hush went to?—’
‘Hobart!’
Alessandro chuckled. ‘For?’ he prompted as he turned the page.
‘Lamingtons!’
Julian just couldn’t seem to get enough of this damn book – it was their second time through tonight. He seemed to forgeteverything as the story unfolded. About Camilla. And being dragged halfway across the world. And the stiltedness of their father–son relationship. Because, right now, Alessandro was propped against the head of his son’s bed, his legs stretched out in front and Julian was cuddled into his side and it feltsogood.
Nat had been right instituting this nightly ritual. Itwasa special time of the day.
But as happy as he was, it was moments like this that the vile sting of regret was at its most potent. He’d been so busy in London, so involved with his career, that he’d let Camilla drive a wedge between him and Julian.
His guilt at entering into the marriage for all the wrong reasons had convinced him his strained relationship with Julian had been his due. Some kind of cosmic payback. But, then, he’d never imagined his son would be motherless and he would have the sole care of his child who, in so many ways, had become a stranger.
And that was on him as much as his mother.
‘Nat bought me a lamington yesterday.’
Alessandro absently rubbed his chin against Julian’s soft curls, savouring the texture and this time together. Soon the book would end and Julian would become awkward with him again. Three nights ago, Nat had insisted that bedtime stories were a father’s role and firmly shoved the book at his chest. Julian had pouted and begged her to read it but she’d just smiled and kissed Julian goodnight and left them to it.
And now here they were, both enjoying this time together. Enjoying going to another world far away from their own and all its baggage.
‘Did she, now?’ he said good-humouredly. ‘Did it make you invisible?’
Julian giggled. ‘No. But it tasted dee-licious.’
Alessandro smiled to himself at his usage of a Nat word then grimaced as an image of delicious Nat with Napolitano sauce oozing a tempting streak down the swell of her breast rose in his mind. Not what his son had meant but he couldn’t think of a better description.
Had a woman ever tasted so sweet?
Not that it mattered. It wouldn’t matter if she tasted like fairy floss, cinnamon doughnuts and dark chocolate gelato all rolled in one. He was paying penance and Nat, who’d no doubt been sent by the devil to tempt him, was definitely off limits.
A couple of hours later, with Julian tucked up in bed asleep, Alessandro was in his office, ostensibly immersing himself in work but mostly trying to ignore the temptation of Nat when a knock sounded. His pulse gave an extra beat knowing it washer.
He took a deep steadying breath, girding his loins before saying, ‘Entra.’
The door swung open tentatively as he turned in his black leather, Italian-designed swivel chair to face his visitor. She smiled as she stood in his doorway, her gaze averting quickly to his desk, to his computer open at his email, to a couple of empty coffee mugs he’d yet to take back to the kitchen, to several open textbooks and piles of medical journals, some open at articles.
Her eyes wandered to the walls next which were bare and white and stood in stark contrast to the cluttered desk area. She didn’t exactly wince but he figured she was putting his office on her mental next-in-line list to turn this house into a home.
Finally, her eyes fell on him and there was nothing disapproving there as her gazelickedall over him. He was still in his work clothes but he’d taken off his tie and undone the toptwo buttons of his duck-egg-blue shirt and her eyes become all heat and steam as they lingered on his bare throat. Alessandro suddenly felt like he was sitting in a sauna or a hot spring, his pulse a thick, warm surge in his veins.
Keeping his gaze trained on hers despite the compelling urge to let it wander over the enticing cleavage of her T-shirt and the long bare stretch of legs not covered by her shorts, Alessandro raised an eyebrow. ‘You wanted something?’
He watched as her throat bobbed and, God help him, he wanted her. He wanted her right here right now, straddling him on his big old chair.
Inferno!This… pull between them was crazy.
Alessandro flattened his bare feet in the carpet so he wouldn’t reach across the space between them and drag her down to his lap. ‘Nat?’ he prodded, needing her to say something.
Anythingto pull him back from the edge.
‘Yes…’ she said, finally, as if she knew the stakes here too. ‘I wanted to talk to you about…’ She swallowed. ‘Something.’
Alessandro’s gaze took in her mouth, zeroed in on her nervous throat bob. The urge to cuff her throat with his open hand, stroke a finger down the ridge of her windpipe, to follow it with his tongue, rose like a fever in his blood and he curled his fingers around the arm of the chair, anchoring himself. ‘So, talk.’
