Page 14 of Back to Claim His Italian Heir

‘I...’ He sounded surprised by the question, baffled even, and she opened her eyes to find him staring at her, so clearly at a loss. ‘Look,’ he said finally, ‘you’re obviously exhausted, and you need somewhere to stay. Let’s go back to my hotel. We can have these conversations later.’

As if on cue, his car glided up to the kerb and the driver hopped out. Emma hesitated, because she didn’t really want to roll over and let Nico call all the shotsagain, but she knew she needed a break from the intensity, as well as some sleep, and it was getting late. Maybe tomorrow she’d stumble on a solution she couldn’t seem to find now. She’d figure out a way to have this all make sense.

‘All right,’ she agreed, not all that graciously.

The driver opened the back door of the car and Nico helped her inside. Emma leaned her back against the sumptuous leather as Nico settled himself next to her and the driver closed the door.

‘Where are you staying?’ she asked, and he named one of the city’s most modern and luxurious hotels, in Beverly Hills, of course. Emma had walked by it a couple of times, awed by its tinted windows and sweeping arcs of glass and chrome, a testament to innovation. Nico had always had a taste for culture, a preference for the best. Some things, it seemed, hadn’t changed.

It was the last thought that flickered through Emma’s mind before, thanks to the soft leather seat and the smooth rolling of the car, she fell gratefully into a doze, the cares slipping from her for a few blessed moments.

Nico stared at Emma, now curled on her side, her head drooping towards her knees, already deeply asleep after just a few minutes in the car. He felt a sudden and surprisingly strong flare of protectiveness for her, looking so tired and so vulnerable. Was she really telling the truth about this child? She seemed to be, but still he was wary. He knew he had good reason to be, considering the situation. And, he acknowledged, reasons that had nothing to do with Emma and that she wouldn’t understand. Reasons that still hurt to think about too deeply, when he considered the yawning abyss of knowledge of his own parentage. Now, with his mother dead, he would never know.

But his own child would.

He’d make sure of that.

He should, he supposed, make this simple, and order a paternity test. There was no reason not to, although he wondered if Emma would balk at such a request. But if she was being honest, then surely she wouldn’t? And if the child reallywashis...

He realised that flare of protectiveness he felt was not just for Emma, his wife, but for his child.

His child.

A sense of incredulity, of wonder and hope, flooded through him, buoyed his soul. His own flesh and blood, unlike any other. Someone to love, to protect, to cherish. For ever.

If Emma was telling the truth...

Was he wrong, to doubt her so much? He thought of his cousin dismissing her as a gold-digger, with the cold, hard proof, after all, that she’d insisted on leaving, had taken the money Antonio had offered. And, all right, maybe shehadmarried him for money, back then; she certainly didn’t seem to be denying it now. But that, in itself, was a certain kind of honesty, and besides, she surely had to know that he could order a paternity test and sort this out in a matter of days. Why would she keep lying?

‘Signor?’

Nico was startled from his thoughts by the driver, who had pulled up to the front of the hotel without him even realising.

‘Thank you, Paulo.’

‘Thesignora?’ he asked, nodding towards Emma, still curled up on the back seat.

‘I’ll take care of her,’ Nico replied, realising he meant it in every sense of the word. He got out of the car without Emma so much as stirring, and then, as gently as he could, scooped her up into his arms. She was light—so light!—and she curled into him unthinkingly, her head nestled against his chest. He breathed her in, smiling when he realised she still smelled of soap. Eau de Dollar Store, indeed. It was a heady fragrance.

‘I can walk...’ she mumbled sleepily, without moving, and Nico’s arms tightened around her.

‘It’s fine,’ he said gruffly. In truth, it was more than fine. She was a delectable armful, curled into him, her breasts pressed against his chest, his hands skimming her curves as he hoisted her securely against him. Desire stirred, a persistent ache in his groin, forcing him to shift his tempting bundle. He was not about to complicate things with that element, as wonderful as it had been. Not yet, anyway.

He strode through the ultra-modern foyer, all marble and glass, causing a few raised eyebrows and curious stares, and into the private lift that soared up eighteen flights, directly to the penthouse suite, which took up the entire top floor.

Stepping inside, he deposited Emma gently on one of the cream leather sofas scattered across the black marble floor of the soaring living space, floor-to-ceiling windows giving views of the city in every direction, so it almost felt like being suspended in mid-air.

As he stepped back she lifted her head, blinking the room into focus.

‘Wow.’ Slowly she looked around, taking in the mahogany bar, the grand piano, the priceless modern sculpture scattered about, and, most of all, the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view. ‘Some place.’

‘Do you want to go to bed?’ He’d meant the question innocently, but heat flooded his face—and his groin—at the mere mention of those evocative words. Seeing Emma sitting there, tousle-haired and sleepy-eyed, was firing his blood. Everywhere. ‘I mean,’ he corrected tautly, ‘do you want to go to sleep.’

A small, playful smile curved Emma’s mouth as she glanced at him from underneath her lashes, golden eyes glinting, before the smile dropped and she sighed. ‘I know what you meant. And actually, in all honesty, what I’d really like is a bath. I’m assuming this place has some ridiculously huge, sunken tub? Marble, with jets?’ She raised her eyebrows impishly and he found himself smiling back, even laughing a little.

‘Of course it does.’

‘Excellent.’ She stretched, her yellow dress pulling taut across her breasts, making him ache all the more, before she stood up. ‘Bring it on, then.’