Bound by the Millionaire's Ring(32)

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THE ITALIAN'S CHRISTMAS SECRET

One Night With Consequences

'Santino?' Matteo repeated, wondering if he'd misheard her. He stared at  her, his brow creased in a frown. 'You gave him an Italian name?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'Because when I looked at him … ' Keira's voice faltered as she scraped  her fingers back through her hair and turned those big sapphire eyes on  him ' … I knew I could call him nothing else but an Italian name.'

'Even though you sought to deny him his heritage and kept his birth hidden from me?'

She swallowed. 'You made it very clear that you never wanted to see me again, Matteo.'

His voice grew hard. 'I haven't come here to argue the rights and wrongs of your secrecy. I've come to see my son.'

It was a demand Keira couldn't ignore. She'd seen the brief tightening  of his face when she'd mentioned his child and another wave of guilt had  washed over her.

'Come with me,' she said huskily.

He followed her up the narrow staircase and Keira was acutely aware of  his presence behind her. She could detect the heat from his body and the  subtle sandalwood which was all his and, stupidly, she remembered the  way that scent had clung to her skin the morning after he'd made love to  her. Her heart was thundering by the time they reached the box-room she  shared with Santino and she held her breath as Matteo stood frozen for a  moment before moving soundlessly towards the crib.         

     



 

'Matteo?' she said.

Matteo didn't answer. Not then. He wasn't sure he trusted himself to  speak because his thoughts were in such disarray. He stared down at the  dark fringe of eyelashes which curved on the infant's olive-hued cheeks  and the shock of black hair. Tiny hands were curled into two tiny fists  and he found himself leaning forward to count all the fingers, nodding  his head with satisfaction as he registered each one.

He swallowed.

His son.

He opened his mouth to speak but Santino chose that moment to start to  whimper and Keira bent over the crib to scoop him up. 'Would you … would  you like to hold him?'

'Not now,' he said abruptly. 'There isn't time. You need to pack your  things while I call ahead and prepare for your arrival in Italy.'

'What?'

'You heard me. You can't put out a call for help and then ignore help  when it comes. You telephoned me and now you must accept the  consequences,' he added grimly.