Claiming His Pregnant Innocent. Maggie CoxЧитать онлайн книгу.
charming as you, Lily.’
He’d clasped her to his chest and kissed her soundly on both cheeks. She’d grown very fond of the man, and loved the way his brown eyes crinkled at the corners and sparkled when he was pleased about something. The warmth he conveyed was undoubtedly reassuring.
She wondered if Bastian shared his father’s quality to soothe and reassure...
* * *
He was agitatedly pacing up and down, his boot-heels making the dust motes fly up from the floorboards. Meanwhile his father sat upright in his favourite kitchen chair and patiently allowed his son to vent.
‘I cannot believe you let her move out just like that!’ Bastian fumed. ‘As I understood it she was going to say at the villeta until I returned from my trip. Plus, she said working under the skylight there helped inspire her to do her best drawing. What if that doesn’t come so easily to her in the new house?’
The younger Carrera came to a sudden standstill, dropped his hands to his denim-clad hips and glared.
‘Why are you suddenly so concerned as to whether the signora’s surroundings inspire her or not? You certainly weren’t before. We both know the villeta has to be demolished in order to convert the land. Isn’t that what you urged me to remember when you thought I was being too soft with her? I thought you wanted her to leave as soon as possible?’
‘I did... I do.’
Feeling ill at ease, Bastian impatiently pushed back the rebellious lock of hair that tumbled onto his brow. What was it about this woman that drove him to such levels of agitation? Again he recalled that feeling that she had bewitched him.
‘Forget what I said. If she is quite happy with the arrangement then that suits all of us, does it not? I will call in to see her later, to see how she’s settling in. And to thank her for co-operating at last!’
Releasing a sigh that sounded as if he’d been holding it in for ever, he crossed the floor to squeeze the other man’s shoulder affectionately. Narrowing his gaze, he examined him searchingly.
‘Have you been okay? Dolores tells me that she’s been making sure you’ve been eating well and are getting as much rest as possible. I trust that there’s been no more chest pain or anything like that?’
Alberto scowled. ‘Between the two of you, you make me feel like a sick child who needs round-the-clock care! Now, instead of fussing over me, why don’t you sit down and tell me all about your trip to Brazil. Was it worthwhile?’
His son grinned. ‘Need you ask? You should know by now that I never embark on a business trip that isn’t fruitful!’
IT HAD BEEN a long time since Bastian had been up this way to look at their properties. And even though he knew their caretaker Mario made sure that everything was kept in tip-top condition, Bastian was surprised to see how homely this particular rental house looked.
It was built in the style of a traditional Italian farmhouse, and inside the old-fashioned brick ceilings had been restored and a tasteful degree of modernity added. The kitchen, bedrooms and bathrooms were particularly spacious, and the sea views spectacular.
Outside, at the front of the house, he could see that the earth in between the concrete slabs they’d had laid looked to be recently dug over, ready for planting. Already some bulbs had been bedded in and had started to sprout. There were tantalising glimpses of pink, blue and yellow blooms. Most of the frontage had been pragmatically concreted into a patio...they hadn’t had flowerbeds there for a long time.
Was Lily responsible for this very satisfying new arrangement? He knew Mario would never have taken it upon himself to do such a thing without discussing it with him first...
Rubbing a hand round his jaw, Bastian was still mulling over the changes as he nimbly negotiated the steps to the front door and was surprised to find it open. With a brisk knock against the wood panelling, he put his head round the door.
‘Anybody home?’ he called out, first in his native Italian and then in English.
‘Is that you, Alberto? Just give me a minute, will you? I’m in the middle of something...’
At the sound of the voice he hadn’t realised quite how much he’d been longing to hear, he stepped inside. His pretty tenant was seated with her back to him at the rustic chestnut desk he’d installed long ago, her pencil deftly moving across a large sheet of paper on a drawing board, clearly intent on concentrating.
Her sunlit hair was scooped up behind her head with a simply knotted scarf fashioned out of some emerald-green gauze, and it exposed the lovely ballerina-like slope of her neck. He stilled for a moment, aching to touch his lips to that flawless and inviting bare skin. Thankfully he controlled the impulse just in time, because Lily suddenly turned round and saw him.
Immediately colouring, she said, ‘Signor Carrera... I didn’t know you were back from your trip. When did you return?’
Dropping her pencil onto her sketch pad, she got to her feet, unconsciously smoothing her hand over her hair. Today she was wearing a sleeveless white top that exposed her delicately tanned slim arms, teamed with apricot silk palazzo pants that rippled like the gentlest of streams when she moved.
Bastian tried doubly hard to keep his desire at bay.
‘Yesterday...in the early hours of the morning.’
‘Then no doubt you must still be feeling quite tired?’
‘Not at all...the thought of coming home always helps revitalise me.’
‘Well, I...’ Flushing a little, she gestured towards the kitchen. ‘Can I get you a drink of something?’
‘No. There’s nothing I want right now.’ Except you, his mind flashed. ‘How do you like your new accommodation?’
‘I love it. I don’t know why I worried so much about moving.’
‘Good—that pleases me. I can see that you’re working. Mind if I take a look?’
‘Be my guest. It’s an illustration I’m doing for a new book,’
As she stood back to let him draw closer Bastian breathed in the intoxicating scent that indelibly clung to her. It reminded him of all the good things in life that he loved combined... How could he have forgotten it after the intimacy they had shared?
Even as his blood heated at the memory his gaze fell on the captivating sketch of a tortoiseshell cat with enormous green eyes and an exaggerated suggestion of determination on its face.
‘Is this for someone else’s story or one of your own?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Yes, I think it does. It’s very good, but I’d rather it was for one of yours.’
‘Why?’
He folded his arms and looked at her...really looked at her...almost as if for the very first time. His examining gaze reunited him with the reality of her beauty and grace and, whilst he’d never been possessive about women before, the pleasure and satisfaction that coursed through his veins at knowing he’d made her his, couldn’t be measured.
‘Two reasons. First because it reminds me of you, and I’m guessing any stories you write must equal your drawing talent, and second because it’s too good to give to someone else.’
Feeling undeniably self-conscious, she nodded. ‘Well, you’ve guessed right. I took your advice and this is an illustration for one of my own stories.’
‘So you have taken up your writing more seriously?’
‘Let’s say I’m trying to.’
‘And