Page 5 of Back to Claim His Italian Heir

Nico stared at her for an endless moment, and for the first time she got the full effect of his eyes—like emerald lasers—as well as his beauty.Sculptedwas the word that came to mind, except that conjured an image of statues of white marble, lifeless and cold. Nico was very much alive, pulsing with disbelief and anger, and yes, beauty. He really was the most beautiful man. His eyelashes, Emma noted with a distant numbness, were ridiculously long. And curly. What kind of man had lashes like that and still looked formidably, potently male? Because he certainly did.

‘Are you actually laughing?’ he demanded, his voice a low rasp, lightly accented, and she forced her mind away from his eyelashes and shook her head, her hand still pressed to her mouth.

‘No...’ she managed, not all that convincingly.

Nico didn’t have time to reply, because the manager and owner of the restaurant, Tony, swept down upon them, full of apologies—and fury for Emma.

‘Signor Santini, I am so sorry! I cannot believe this has happened! This stupid, clumsy girl, she will be fired! Immediately.’ Tony, who had been all paternal friendliness to Emma before now, glared at her. ‘Get your things. You will leave at once.’

‘It was an accident...’ Emma whispered, rather feebly, because already she knew there was no point. She supposed she deserved to be fired, after such a mishap, and yet it still stung—and scared her. Jobs weren’t easy to get without a reference, and she was living paycheque to paycheque as it was. She had maybe ten bucks in her purse and nothing to eat. She watched as Nico picked a strand of spaghetti from his trousers, and, with a rather wryly self-deprecating look, deposited it on the table.

‘I’ll go,’ she told Tony, ‘but you still owe me a week’s wages.’

‘The impertinence!’ her boss huffed, flapping his hands at her. ‘A week’s wages, when you have insulted my best customer! Away with you.’

Even though she trembled inside, Emma forced herself to stand her ground. ‘I’m very sorry about what happened,’ she replied steadily, trying not to let a telltale tremor creep into her voice, ‘but I have worked here all week and I am owed that money.’ And she needed it. Desperately.

‘Your wages,’ Tony informed her coldly, ‘will go towards reimbursing Signor Santini for his suit.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Nico informed the ruffled restaurateur. He turned to Emma, his look wry but also knowingly magnanimous, as if he were being so very generous with this concession. ‘But I imagine your wages might just about cover the dry-cleaning bill.’

What an absolute gentleman, Emma thought sarcastically,being so generous.

She knew his suit had probably cost hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars, and there was no way she could pay for it—or even the dry-cleaning. Both were well within his budget, though.Hewasn’t wondering how he’d pay the rent this week, or where his next meal was coming from. No one who hadn’t lived on that knife edge could possibly understand how it felt, balancing precariously, always in danger of life slicing you right open.

‘Fine,’ she snapped out, because she had no choice and, even in her most desperate moments, she’d never let herself beg. Not even to a man as potently handsome as this. While Tony fumed and Signor Santini stared at her in bemusement, clearly having expected her to fall about in gratitude, she turned on her heel and stalked away. Her fingers trembled as she undid her apron strings, flung it on the pile of dirty laundry in the kitchen. One of the chefs gave her a sympathetic look.

‘Tough one, Em.’

‘Yeah.’ She tilted her chin, gave him a smile of pure bravado. She might deserve it, but she didn’t particularly want anyone’s pity. She’d stood on her own two feet for too long to go courting that. She took her coat and left the bistro without a backward glance, even though she had no destination in mind. She owed the week’s rent on the shabby room she rented in Hell’s Kitchen, and now she didn’t have it. She could grab her stuff, at least, but she knew her landlord, a guy with a beer belly and a wandering eye, would not allow her to sleep there with the rent unpaid. Not unless she offered him somefavours, which she had no intention of doing.

So what would it be? A homeless shelter? Sleeping on the street? Oh, the options weresoattractive. She didn’t really have any friends in this city, not yet anyway. She’d only been here for a couple of months, trying to figure out her next move, as always, and barely one step ahead. A sigh escaped her as she continued to put one foot in front of the other, yet with no idea where she would go.

She was halfway down the street when Signor Santini caught up with her.

‘Excuse me—miss?’

She turned to him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Did he want her to pay for his suit, after all? As if she could. Or was he angling for something else, the way her landlord was? Although, Emma acknowledged, that might be flattering herself rather a bit too much.

‘It occurred to me that you might have been treated a bit unfairly,’ he told her quietly, surprising her, becausethatshe really hadn’t expected. ‘It was an accident, after all.’

‘Might have?’ Emma repeated, with spirit, before she could control her tongue. ‘Abit?’ He raised his eyebrows and her momentary courage immediately deserted her. Here he was apologising and she still couldn’t keep from coming out swinging. It tended to be her default, along with the laughter. Ways to fight when you had no other weapons. ‘Itwasan accident, and I really am sorry,’ she told him, because she supposed he deserved that much, no matter the man’s arrogance. ‘I really do hope your suit’s not ruined and those papers weren’t too, uh, important.’

‘They were a crucial contract,’ he replied, smiling a little, ‘that has to be signed today.’

‘Oh.’ What was she supposed to say to that?

‘Fortunately, I was thinking I needed a little more time to consider the matter, and now I have it.’ He raised his eyebrows again, a smile lurking about his mouth, revealing a dimple. Suddenly this man—this incredibly handsome, powerful, glorious-looking man—seemed somewhat approachable. Kind, even. And Emma’s deliberately hardened heart thawed the tiniest little bit.

That was when she should have turned around and walked away, Emma reflected as she gazed up at Nico standing above her now, filled with self-righteous fury. She should have run as fast as she could in the opposite direction, knowing it was always better to guard her heart and stay safe. Instead he’d asked her out to dinner, and she’d said yes, because she’d been hungry and she’d had nowhere to go, and also because he’d intrigued her, this man with so much power, and yet who had kind eyes and a dimple. That dinner had turned into an evening, into a weekend, into an affair she’d expected to end at any moment, when Nico said it would.

Instead, three weeks later, they’d been married.

What had heexpectedher to say?

Nico stared at Emma in incredulity, irritated beyond measure that his wife could be so utterly unrepentant. There was not a flicker of guilt in those golden eyes, although she did, he acknowledged, look tired. And pale—too pale. Now that he was looking at her properly, he realised how completely exhausted she seemed, with violet shadows under her eyes, and a drawn look about her mouth. Despite the curves he’d noticed earlier, there was a gauntness to her face and arms that alarmed him. This was not the Emma he remembered, the one he’d left in their marital bed, smiling sleepily up at him as he’d wound a tendril of curling golden-brown hair around one finger and drawn her towards him for one last kiss.

‘I’ll be back in a couple of days,’ he’d told her, and she’d fallen back against the pillows, her heart-shaped face framed by navy satin, a smile of pure satisfaction curving her lips.