Page 20 of Back to Claim His Italian Heir

‘We do?’ Last night, after their conversation, she’d crashed into bed, too exhausted to as much as stir when Nico had obviously come in to sleep on the other side. She hadn’t been aware he was there until morning, when she’d stretched and come into contact with him, in all his male glory.

‘Yes, I arranged it last night, after you went to bed, with an obstetrician.’

He rose from the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of navy silk boxer shorts, looking utterly magnificent, his skin like burnished satin over bunched muscle, making her long to touch him again. Slide her hand along that warm, satiny skin.

Stop it, Emma.

‘I had a scan two weeks ago,’ she told him. ‘Everything was fine with the baby then. I don’t think I need another—’

‘Well, I want to see for myself,’ Nico replied, his tone firm as he headed towards the bathroom. ‘And then, of course, there’s the matter of a paternity test.’

Oh.Emma stared at his retreating back, watched as he closed the bathroom door with a firm click. Right, a paternity test. Because he still didn’t trust that he was the father. Still thought she might be lying to his face, and about something so important.

Well, maybe stopping things before they got out of handhadbeen a good idea, then. She told herself she shouldn’t feel hurt that Nico was being thorough; after all, they’d known each other for such a short time, and raising a child was a big deal. She told herself that, but Emma knew it didn’t make much difference. Shewashurt, and she was annoyed at herself for being so.

A lifetime of living on the sidelines of other people’s lives had taught her not to care, and definitely not to love or try to be loved. That had never worked out, starting with her mother, from whom she’d been taken away when she was just six months old, and then following with the foster families she’d tried so desperately to belong to. Some had been kind, some not so much, some downright cruel, but not one of them had ever actuallywantedher. Chosen her, even the one she thought might. The one she’d let herself love.

Emma? Absolutely not.

She’d never forget those words, that tone, spoken over the phone by the foster mum she’d come to love, when she’d thought she wasn’t listening. She had been, in hope, knowing the social worker would be calling, thinking her foster mum might finally say the words she’d been waiting to hear her whole life.

Emma. Yes. Of course.

After that she’d made the decision, at ten years old, not to let anybody in ever again. It had been a conscious choice, one she’d always stood by.

Work hard, act tough, be funny, make like you don’t care and then you won’t.

She could not let Nico Santini get under those defences...even if she was married to him. She’d resolved it before, and she would do so again.

Yes, it was a very good thing things hadn’t progressed farther this morning. And they wouldn’t do so again, not until she’d figured out how she was going to navigate this whole situation. Unfortunately a restful night’s sleep had not presented her with a solution. The fact remained she was still married to Nico, pregnant with his child, and unsure what their living situation could possibly look like.

The bathroom door opened, and Nico strode out, a towel slung low around his hips, his hair damp and spiky from the shower.

Emma watched, her mouth drying, as he reached for a pair of boxers from the suitcase open on a luggage rack. He dropped the towel and she hastily averted her eyes.

‘Nico,’ she protested weakly.

‘What?’ He sounded utterly unrepentant as he slid on a pair of boxers. Yes, she’d peeked from the corner of her eye, unable to resist the sight of the fabric sliding over his taut, muscled flesh. ‘It’s not as if you haven’t seen it before, and wearemarried.’

A far cry from the man who had said they would divorce just yesterday. How could she possibly trust him—not just with her own life, but with that of their child? ‘We might be married but not like that,’ Emma replied, determined not to let him befuddle her with his body.

‘Almost like that,’ Nico replied, his voice lowering to a silken purr, making her blush. ‘Very almost, as of this morning.’ He reached for a crisp blue shirt from the wardrobe and slid his arms into it.

‘Yes, about that,’ Emma said, hugging her knees to her chest. ‘I thought you’d sleep on the sofa or something.’

‘The sofas aren’t that comfortable, and besides, the bed was plenty big enough.’ He turned around to face her, his long, lean fingers buttoning up the shirt, hiding his magnificent chest. The chest she remembered exploring with her fingertips just moments earlier.

‘Not that big,’ Emma pointed out. ‘Seriously, Nico...we have to come to some sort of agreement, about what happens now.’

‘What happens now?’ His eyebrows rose as he straightened the cuffs of his shirt. ‘It seems quite simple to me. You’re my wife, I’m your husband, and that—’ he nodded towards her middle ‘—is our baby.’

‘You didn’t seem so sure about that when you booked a paternity test this morning,’ Emma retorted, and Nico looked startled.

‘Emma, be reasonable. I have to be sure.’

Yes, because he couldn’t trust her.

And you can’t trust him.