Chapter 7
Alessandro followed the sound of chatter and his nose into the kitchen around five o’clock. The smell of garlic and basil – the aromas of his childhood – and Julian’s laughter drew him and he was powerless to resist.
Nat and Julian were cooking. Julian was sitting on the bench next to the hob, a large metal spoon in hand, stirring something in a saucepan as he fired a hundred questions at Nat.
He could see the backs of her supple legs, the outline of one very cute derrière and the swish of her ponytail as she chopped and talked and dipped her finger into the saucepan, savouring the taste.
‘More salt, Julian.’
Alessandro watched as Julian picked up the salt grinder and handled it as well as a four-year-old could. He was concentrating hard, his little pink tongue caught between his teeth. It was awkward and he dropped it. Nat was quick, though, and saved it from landing in the pot.
‘That’s fabulous, Julian.’
Julian beamed at the praise, swinging his legs as they dangled over the edge of the counter. He was clearly enjoying himself and Alessandro was both happy and a little envious.
‘Something smells good.’
Alessandro noticed Nat stiffen a little as Julian’s chatter ceased and his legs stopped swinging.
Steadfastly ignoring their reaction, he pushed into the kitchen determined to claw back some of the distance between himself and his son. ‘What are you cooking, Julian?’
‘Spaghetti,’ Julian replied, his voice stilted. ‘Nat says it’s the proper stuff. From Milano.’
Alessandro’s heart nearly stopped at the perfect way Julian pronounced Milan. He’d always hoped any child of his would be bilingual but Camilla had been adamant.
Keeping his tone light, he said, ‘The proper stuff tastes best.’
Camilla hadn’t been much of a cook. She’d normally bought pre-prepared food from exclusive delicatessens or supermarkets. Julian had certainly been the best-fed toddler in London, with gourmet treasures bestowed on him every day. When they’d entertained it had always been catered.
But not only had Nat filled his fridge and his pantry and their lives in just half a day but she’d also filled his kitchen with incredible aromas.
His stomach growled and he absently realised he was hungry.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten for any reason other than fuel to keep his body going.
When he’d given her his card to go shopping that afternoon he’d imagined she’d buy enough food to get them through the week, but she’d gone way beyond that.
He’d helped them unpack and had been amazed at the items she’d considered necessities.
She’d apologised profusely for the amount she’d spent but he’d shrugged it away.
Money wasn’t an impediment.
Alessandro lounged as casually as he could against the nearby bench, excruciatingly aware that the homey atmosphere he’d walked in on had evaporated and both Nat and Julian were a little tense.
Thankfully, the cat – who appeared to like him much better than Pinocchio – chose that moment to rub against his legs and meow loudly.
At least one living thing in this room was pleased to see him.
‘I think she’s hungry,’ Julian said tentatively.
‘Would you like to feed her?’ Nat asked.
Julian perked up, his eyes brightening. ‘Could I?’
‘Of course. You know where her bowl is in the laundry and where the sachets of food we bought today are kept. Maybe your papa could help you open one and he could show you how to feed her?’
Julian glanced doubtfully at his father. Alessandro glanced at Nat, whose gaze was urging him to take the bait. Alessandro considered her for a moment, tendrils of hair escaping her ponytail and framing her face in almost angelic frothery, belying her steely spine.
‘Good idea,’ he agreed.
Alessandro had hoped if he didn’t push, if he gave Julian room and space, that he would turn to him eventually, but hearing the word mummy fall from his lips earlier had been like a knife plunging deep into Alessandro’s gut, twisting mercilessly.
It was his fault his son didn’t have a mummy any more, and part of him suspected that Julian blamed him for that.
But the journey back to each other had to start with one step.
Skirting around Nat he scooped an unprotesting Julian under the arms and swung him down to the floor. ‘Where’s this food, then, Julian?’
Five minutes later they were done and Julian, preoccupied with Flo, didn’t seem receptive to any more overtures, so Alessandro took that as a hint. Did it hurt a little? Sure. But Rome wasn’t built in a day.
Lounging in the doorway of the kitchen, he watched Nat move. She was wearing her standard crèche attire of shorts and T-shirt – neither particularly risqué – but there was something about the sway of her hips and the bob of her ponytail that tightened his groin.
As if sensing his presence – or maybe the heat in his thoughts – she glanced over her shoulder, her ponytail swishing again. ‘That was quick,’ she murmured, turning back to the spaghetti.
‘He seemed much more interested in the cat.’
She stirred the sauce. ‘That will fade. Give him time.’
Alessandro approached. Her back view was great but he didn’t want her to think he was ogling. Even if, strictly speaking, he had been. As he reached the bench where she was working, he turned to lean his ass into it so he was facing the opposite direction to Nat.
‘It smells great.’
‘Thank you. I figured I couldn’t go too far wrong in this house with some pasta and sauce.’
Alessandro allowed a ghost of a smile to settle on his lips. He turned again, so his hip nudged the bench and he was facing her. ‘May I?’
She nodded, stepping back a pace as Alessandro quickly dipped his finger in the sauce.
And damn, it was good. Almost as good as the way she’d watched him suck his finger into his mouth.
He was pretty sure her pupils had dilated a little.
God knew he was close enough to see the central flare of black shrink the outer rim of blue.
‘Mmm,’ he murmured, low and deliberate, the devil riding him as his tongue swept over his bottom lip, savouring the taste and the way she followed the movement. A pulse thudded to life in his groin. ‘You’ve done this before.’
When she spoke, her voice was husky. ‘My host mother in Milano taught me her secret family recipe for Napolitano sauce.’
The pulse beat a little thicker at her near perfect pronunciation, speaking to him on levels he didn’t know were a thing. ‘You don’t have to cook, you know. Or clean. Or unpack boxes.’
‘I know.’ She nodded, her voice brisker now as if she was on more solid ground. ‘But I enjoy it. It’s not much fun cooking for one so I usually don’t bother.’ She looked down at the saucepan and gave it another stir. ‘I still think it’s missing something.’
She dipped a nearby spoon in and blew on it, bringing it to her mouth, sipping the rich sauce, and it was Alessandro’s turn to closely follow the action.
Hell, he could not look away as the tremble of her hand tilted the spoon, spilling sauce on the soft swell of cleavage just visible above the V of her neckline.
And God help him he followed it, tracking the slow slide of thick red sauce as it unhurriedly made its way south. Involuntarily, he licked his lips. He wanted to taste it, taste her, so badly he couldn’t think of anything else.
Unable to ignore the dictates of his body, he said, ‘I’m good with ingredients. Let me try.’
And before Alessandro could think better of it, he lowered his head, his mouth closing over the swell of her breast as his tongue lapped at the sauce. He barely suppressed a low growl as the taste of her ripe flesh flowed over his taste buds. She was sweet and spicy. And he wanted more.
Breathing roughened. Someone groaned. Was it her? Or him?
‘Nat, is it okay if Flo goes outside?’
A gasp escaped her throat at the same time Alessandro tore his mouth away. His pulse ricocheted around his head as he stepped several paces back. Julian’s voice had come from the other room but it might as well have come from beside them for the galvanizing effect it had had.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He had his head in the cleavage of someone he barely knew when his wife hadn’t even been dead a year. Julian’s mother. What kind of a person did that make him?
‘Sure,’ she called, her breathing as uneven as his, her level of confusion about the same too before she spun back to face the cooktop.
Flo in his arms, Julian entered the kitchen oblivious to the tension between the adults. ‘She ate up all her fish and milk but I think she wants to play.’
‘Of course she does.’
She turned back again to face Julian with a fixed smile that was enough to fool a four-year-old but not Alessandro. She was clearly as flummoxed as he. ‘Flo loves the great outdoors.’
Alessandro gripped the bench at her blatantly husky tone. He’d done that to her. ‘Not too long, Julian,’ he said brusquely, distracted by his stupidity. ‘Dinner isn’t far away.’
At the look of hurt in Julian’s eyes, Alessandro realised he may have come across unintentionally terse and gave himself a mental kick up the ass. Idiot. But Nat – who he’d crossed a very big line with – stepped in to assure his son.
‘It’s okay,’ she said gently. ‘I’ll call you when it’s ready.’
Julian nodded, looking deflated and uncertain as he slumped off and Alessandro hated himself a little bit more.
Damn it to hell. Why hadn’t he thought before he spoke?
Anger and disappointment rode him hard and he couldn’t bear seeing the judgement he knew would be in Nat’s eyes as she slowly turned his way.
So, he did the only thing he could think of – he turned on his heel and left the room, her gaze like a brand between his shoulder blades as he strode through the archway and out of reach of her reproach.