One Passionate Night's Miracle: One-Night Baby / The Surgeon's Miracle Baby / Outback Baby Miracle. Carol Marinelli
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dark shadows beneath her eyes. She seemed strung out as if something big was worrying her. Maybe she would crack a lot sooner than he’d thought.
‘A preference?’ she said, refocusing on him.
Her eyes were beautiful and he felt a tug somewhere deep inside him when she looked at him that way. Filing it away for future consideration, he concentrated on the wine list. ‘Do you prefer red or white wine?’
‘Santino …’
‘Yes?’ He looked up, surprised at the discreet, even confidential tone of her voice. ‘What is it?’ He leaned across the table anticipating a full meltdown. His eyes filled with lazy certainty as he waited for her reply. He anticipated a suggestion they order room service instead of eating in the restaurant—the same room service he’d given her five years ago. He waved the waiters and the sommelier away.
‘I don’t like it here,’ she told him bluntly.
‘That’s it?’ He sat back frowning.
‘I feel uncomfortable. I’d like to go somewhere else.’
He had to admit that where sheer, unadulterated front was concerned Kate took the prize. He had brought her to the best place in Rome, the most glamorous place in Rome. As a rule it was necessary to book six months in advance, and then if Luigi didn’t recognise you you were lucky to get a table near the kitchen. What was wrong with her? He was tempted to tell her just how uncomfortable she looked in her ill-fitting suit. ‘What do you expect me to do about it?’
‘Take me somewhere else.’ She held his gaze.
‘Like where, for instance?’ He gave her one last chance to redeem herself with a little softening of those steel-grey eyes.
‘Somewhere traditional and typical of the area …’
Her expression was disappointingly earnest. ‘This is typical of the area,’ he pointed out in an ironic reminder that she was staying in the best part of Rome.
‘You know what I mean,’ she insisted stubbornly. ’Somewhere … Oh, I don’t know … where mamma cooks and papà serves—’
‘How sweet.’ He could barely stop his lip from curling.
‘There’s no need to be sarcastic.’ She gave a nervous laugh to soften the remark. ‘I thought this was a business meeting, not a—’
As her mouth clamped shut he raised his eyebrows, daring her to say date, but she fell silent. Looking down, she licked the full swell of her bottom lip. He wondered if she knew how provocative that was.
Probably not. She was as much a dreamer as her cousin Cordelia, though Kate suppressed her desires under countless onionskins of denial. But why play games when she wanted him? Forget the swollen lips. Raised nipples and flushed cheeks told him all he needed to know. And he wanted her. They were two healthy adults with healthy adult appetites, so what was standing in her way?
‘I know it sounds ridiculous …’
Wisely, he didn’t comment.
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘But I have this urge to eat home-made food.’ Urges he understood.
‘And to be truthful,’ she went on, ‘I don’t feel it’s wise to discuss Caddy’s private affairs with waiters hovering at my shoulder. You never know who’s listening. The paparazzi have spies everywhere and somewhere noisier and less formal would be safer, in my opinion.’
She talked sense.
‘When I flew into Rome I thought I might get the chance to sample some real Italian food,’ she went on. ‘And this menu … not that I’m not grateful,’ she tempered politely, ‘is all in French.’
‘I see what you mean …’ Playing along, he scanned his copy as if he hadn’t eaten in the restaurant a thousand times before.
‘What do you think?’ she pressed.
‘I think I know a better place …’
Santino dismissed the chauffeur and took Kate to a place she would never have found without him. It was at the end of a narrow alleyway, and was the sort of noisy café Aunt Meredith had talked about whenever she and Caddy had pressed her for stories from her back-packing youth.
Pushing open a narrow door with no sign over the top of it to hint at what lay behind, Santino invited Kate to go in ahead of him. The noise, heat and aroma of wonderful food hit her full in the face. The small packed space was crammed with tables covered in red gingham tablecloths, and the only light was that provided by candles flickering in wax-caked bottles. Kate started smiling right away. She could hear ‘mamma’ shouting instructions from the kitchen, while the red-faced ‘papà’ with a tea towel stuck through the ties of his white apron was yelling back to her above the buzz of conversation. Right now their moustachioed host was in the middle of executing an elaborate pirouette as he searched for the correct table upon which to unload the plates and platters wobbling on his outstretched arms.
‘I love it,’ Kate exclaimed impulsively, ‘but can they possibly find space for us?’
The answer came quickly. Having spotted Santino, the chubby restaurateur wiped his hands down the front of his apron and came to welcome them.
‘Santino!’ Dragging Santino down to his own, much shorter level, the older man kissed him robustly on both cheeks. ‘Li vedo portare un ospite!’ he added, pulling back to stare at Kate.
‘I see you have brought a visitor.’ Santino translated for her briskly. ‘For a business meeting,’ he informed the older man in English, causing the restaurateur to view Kate speculatively.
‘Of course … Capisco! I understand,’ he cried, instantly adopting a serious expression. ‘I hope you’re hungry?’ he added out of the corner of his mouth for Kate’s benefit.
‘Starving,’ she assured him with a smile.
‘Bene … bene!’ Rubbing his hands together in anticipation of another hungry customer, their host gazed around until he identified a group about to vacate their table. ‘Two minutes, and the table’s yours,’ he promised Santino with an open-armed flourish.
‘Is this all right for you?’
As Santino checked with her Kate thought both his eyes and his voice were daring her to say no. ‘This is perfect,’ she assured him. ‘And once again I apologise for putting you to so much trouble.’
‘Please …’
His manner both thrilled and frightened her. As he gave a shrug the inflection in his voice was pure charm, but his eyes were dangerous … there was far too much irony in them.
‘You’ll have to lose that jacket or melt,’ he observed as he shrugged his off. ‘Your choice.’
After a moment’s hesitation Kate removed her jacket, and then, because Santino was right about the heat, she opened a couple of buttons at the neck of her shirt too.
They were soon seated in the corner with a mound of fresh crusty bread between them and a bowl of fat green olives slicked with oil. Santino had rolled up his sleeves and the sight of his powerful forearms tanned and shaded with black hair just as Kate remembered them was a worrying distraction. She had to get started on her concerns for Caddy right away and find something safer to think about, she decided.
‘That all sounds perfectly reasonable,’ Santino agreed after they had discussed everything in detail and agreed safety measures be put in place to prevent anything from upsetting Caddy in the future.
But when the business discussion was over and Kate ran out of things to say she knew it was dangerous to attempt small talk. Who knew where it might lead?
‘We can move on to another place,’ he suggested after one protracted silence.
Where did he have in mind? There was an air of innocence