Italian Bachelors: Irresistible Sicilians. Michelle Smart

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘But if we’re flying from the main airport, aren’t we supposed to select an advance time slot and—?’

      ‘I’ll fix it. It will not be a problem.’

      She continued to look at him dubiously.

      ‘Does this solution not ease your mind?’

      ‘Only if you promise not to use intimidation or violence to get your own way.’

      He should be affronted that she would think such a thing of him. Yet he could not blame her. Grace was the sort of person who would rather rescue a bug than kill it. Any form of violence was alien to her way of thinking—even if he went through everything about his business ventures and partnership in detail, and explained why things were the way they were, she would never understand. He’d known that from the start, within days of buying into that first casino, when the first man had been foolish enough to steal from it and Francesco’s men had been set upon him. He’d known Grace would never accept it or understand the necessity behind it.

      There were times he struggled to accept and understand it himself. There had been many a time when only the stiffest of Scotches had allowed him to blur the images that played behind his retinas and dulled the nausea that lined his stomach.

      Rubbing his thumb along her soft cheek, he said, ‘The only asset I will use to get my own way will be of a monetary value.’

      ‘You can afford it,’ she said with what could almost be called a smile.

      There was nothing he could say to that. He could afford anything his heart desired. Apart from Grace’s heart, the sly voice came back at him.

      In the beat of a second his head began to pound with the sound of a thousand drums.

      Her eyes held his, a softness in them he hadn’t seen for so long he had forgotten how amazing it felt to be on the receiving end of it. The hazel in them melted and darkened while her lips parted. Her chest rose and fell sharply, colour heightening her complexion as she held the gaze binding them together.

      Dio, but if she wasn’t the most beautiful woman on the planet. Was it any wonder he was having such trouble finding another woman to hold his interest for longer than the blink of an eye when he had married the most desirable of them all? Her small breasts jutted through the tight green cashmere sweater she wore. Unthinking, he raised the hand not stroking her cheek and cupped one, sucking in a breath as an enormous jolt surged through him.

      Her eyes widened, her own shallow breaths hitching. She raised a hand in turn and brought it to his face where it hovered, not quite touching him, before a pained, almost desperate look crossed her features.

      She blinked and shook her head, the softness and desire gone, replaced with the hard wariness he was becoming far too accustomed to. Her full lips, which for a few brief moments he had been about to shape his mouth against and plunder the hot sweetness within, tightened.

      She turned away and got to her feet. ‘Can you leave us now? Lily needs a bath and I need to write a list for your mum.’

      He stared from his wife to his daughter, his head pounding, his heart aching with as much force as the throbbing between his legs. ‘Can I bathe her?’

      She twisted her head to look back at him. ‘You?’

      ‘I’ve missed so much of her life.’ For once there was no accusation in either his tone or his meaning. ‘I meant what I said before. I want to be a proper father to her.’

      He was certain she would refuse. And when she did? Then he would accept her decision. Grace was Lily’s mother. He’d made half her DNA but he would have to earn the right to be her father.

      To his surprise, she inclined her head, a wry smile forming on her lips. ‘If I were you, I would change into something more waterproof. She has a tendency to splash.’

      ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine.’

      Twenty minutes later, he regretted not taking Grace’s advice. He would never have believed someone so small could make so much mess. Lily’s plump legs had kicked most of the water out of the baby bath. The floor was soaked. He was drenched, his bespoke trousers ruined.

      When Grace poked her head round the bathroom door she did nothing to hide her smirk before disappearing again.

      Unlike the night before, when he’d had Lily sleep with him and a lack of proper winding on his part—or so he had learned from his mother when he confessed the incident to her earlier—had made her throw up, he had little trouble putting her nappy on and dressing her. This time it only took three attempts before he was satisfied the fiddly poppers of the romper suit were properly done up.

      Only when Lily was settled in her cot, her belly full and properly winded by Grace, did he leave them.

      He shut the door and expelled a long breath, taken aback at the physical wrench leaving them caused.

      Putting his daughter to bed, his wife by his side...something inside him had shifted. He couldn’t pinpoint what, exactly, but he knew he needed to speak to Pepe before he and Grace flew to Florence the next day. He also knew his scheduled meeting with Francesco Calvetti before the party would have a different agenda from the one Francesco was expecting.