Escape for Easter: The Brunelli Baby Bargain / The Italian Boss's Secret Child / The Midwife's Miracle Baby

Cesare had never needed a woman before. Wanted, yes, but needed, no.

The fact she was carrying his child had been convenient in that it had offered a sufficient excuse for him to legitimately avoid delving too deep into the survival-instinct mentality that had taken over when he had thought of her slipping out of his life.

A wave of self-disgust rolled over him.

He was a selfish bastard, but the recognition did not lessen his determination that this ceremony would go ahead.

He would be a considerate husband, he silently vowed.

She would not regret marrying him.

The door opened with a silent swish; there was no accompanying blast of music. No tissues were lifted to blot emotional tears, no heads turned to gasp at the bride.

It took every last ounce of Cesare’s self-control not to turn his own head in response to the sound of footsteps on the wood-block floor.

Sam recited her part in the charade in a quiet voice that the registrar visibly struggled to hear. Cesare in contrast made his responses in a clear, resonant tone. She kept her eyes carefully trained on the registrar throughout the service and it wasn’t until Cesare was given the smiling all-clear to kiss his bride that she turned and tilted her head, her shaking fingers struggling to lift her veil.

Cesare released a sigh, glad now more than ever that he had ignored the doctor’s earnest advice that morning.

Who would want to be lying in a hospital bed gazing at the sterile white walls when they could be looking at this face? She was beautiful.

He gazed, inscribing to memory every detail of her heart-shaped face. He had traced each contour with his fingers; he knew her skin was smooth and soft; he knew all about the tiny suggestion of a cleft in her small, determined chin and faint frown line between her feathery brows. He knew her mouth was lush and wide and made for kissing.

What he didn’t know about until now was that her lips were pink like roses, the colour only enhanced, not disguised, by the clear gloss she had applied to them.

That there was the creamy glowing tint to her skin, the delicious sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her tip-tilted nose, the glorious Titian of her Pre-Raphaelite curls, and most of all he hadn’t known about the colour of her eyes, an impossible shade of deep velvet blue.

His throat tightened as emotions swelled in his chest. If he woke up tomorrow back in a world of blackness he would carry this memory, that colour, her face with him.

There had been occasions over the past days when he had fallen asleep with her in his arms fantasising about waking up in the morning and seeing her face. He had never actually expected it to happen, but it had and she had not been there.

Not there, but his first instinct had been to tell her. He had picked up the phone, his intention to do just that, to share the miracle.

Then he had heard her sleepy voice the other end and thought, What if it isn’t a miracle? Maybe his sight would vanish as abruptly as it had returned. So he had remained silent and taken the decision instead to seek medical advice.

CHAPTER NINE

‘YES, your vision has returned, Mr Brunelli.’

Cesare had struggled to stifle his impatience with the doctor. ‘I did not need you to tell me that. What I need you to tell me is will it last?’ Or would he wake up tomorrow in the world of blackness once more?

The medic was unwilling to commit himself. ‘We have no idea if this is permanent until we do more tests, Mr Brunelli.’

‘If that is so, Doctor, there are things other than your face that I would prefer to spend what time I have looking at.’

His retort drew a thin smile from the doctor, though the other man clearly didn’t take his objection seriously. ‘I understand, but I must recommend in the strongest terms that you remain in hospital until we have completed more tests.’

Cesare retorted in equally strong terms and in considerably more robust language that he was getting married that afternoon and nothing would keep him from that appointment.

Now, as the ceremony neared the end, he did not regret his decision. He had seen Sam’s face. No one could rob him of that.

The expectation among the small wedding party stretched as Cesare froze, an odd dazed expression on his face. As if, Sam thought miserably, he had just realised the enormity of what he had done and was already regretting it.

She was seized by the humiliating certainty that he wasn’t going to take up the registrar’s invitation to kiss her. She was lowering her head when he reached out and cupped her chin in one hand.

‘You don’t have to,’ she whispered as he dipped his head. Suddenly she couldn’t stand the pretence, the sham. She wanted with all her heart for it to be real, but she knew it never would be. ‘There is no one to act for,’ she added, making her voice cold. The quiver was an addition she had no control over.

Even though she knew it wasn’t possible his eyes seemed to hold hers as his mouth feathered across her lips, soft as a butterfly caress.

‘I’m not acting. We’re married, cara,’ he said, running the tip of his thumb along the outline of her lips. ‘This is for real, not an act.’ The throaty murmur was pitched for her ears only.

The light in his eyes dazzled her, awakening the gnawing need and longing that was always just below the surface when she was anywhere near him.

‘And I kiss you because I want to and you want me to, not to satisfy an audience. You do want me to, don’t you, cara?’

Sam had forgotten they had an audience; she was utterly mesmerised as she whispered, ‘Yes.’

He brushed his lips across hers and Sam’s eyes drifted shut as her lips parted under the light pressure and her fingers tightened around her posy of flowers.

The lingering kiss was so exquisitely tender that it brought a rush of hot tears to Sam’s eyes. When he lifted his head she remained still, her lashes lying dark against her delicately flushed cheeks.

Cesare looked down at her face and felt a swell of emotions so powerful that for a moment he could hardly breathe. From the instant he’d learnt about the pregnancy he’d been telling himself he was a great guy willing to make the supreme sacrifice and marry the mother of his child.

Sacrifice nothing! He’d been acting selfishly. His life would have no meaning without this infuriating, gorgeous redhead!

She opened her eyes and they shone deep violet as she looked up at him. He felt as if someone had reached into his chest and grabbed his heart. When he told her he had got her the sack she was going to hate him.

The registrar cleared her throat and gave an apologetic smile.

‘I’m sorry, but I have another couple booked in for four-thirty…’

Sam blushed and said, ‘Of course…sorry…’ She placed a hand unobtrusively under Cesare’s elbow and murmured softly that there were two steps.

‘As much as I appreciate you being sensitive to my feelings, Samantha, I think it would be a lot easier if I just lean on you.’

Sam flashed an uncertain look at his face as he pulled her into his side. ‘Yes, I suppose it would.’ Not easier for her, though, to maintain an illusion of cool when she was overwhelmingly conscious of the lean, hard body pressed against her own.

But that was all right because brides were not meant to be cool, they were meant to be glowing. She wasn’t, but Sally, Tim’s girlfriend, didn’t seem to recognise there was anything lacking at least.

She was misty eyed as she kissed Sam; Cesare she regarded with nervous awe.

‘Where are you going on your honeymoon?’ she asked Sam as they left the building heading for the waiting limo.

‘Oh, we’re not having a honeymoon.’

Sally’s face fell. ‘Oh, what a pity!’ she exclaimed.

Sam’s eyes slid briefly to the tall man at her side…she’d have to get used to calling and even thinking about him as her husband. ‘Cesare’s got to attend a business meeting early tomorrow and—’