Panic quickened inside her. His chest, which had previously had to suck and labour for each hard-won breath, was almost still. Getting to her feet, she bent over him, her heart racing as she laid her hand on his cheek. His skin felt cool and the hectic flush was gone. In the grey light of early morning he looked milky-pale…
Please…‘
It was a harsh, dry whisper. Stumbling away from the bed, Kate rushed out into the corridor, terror burning like acid in her veins. Nurse…Oh, please!‘
Her voice echoed baldly off the walls of the starkly lit corridor, and the Little Mermaid stared at her with wide eyes—as if Kate had just shouted a rude word. There was the sound of a chair being scraped back and hurried footsteps.
Kate threw herself back into Alexander‘s room and picked up his limp hand, squeezing it tightly.
Mrs Edwards, what is it?‘
It was Nurse Parks—the one with the dyed platinum-blonde hair and the uniform that looked a size too small. The one who always made Kate feel like an over-anxious geriatric from Planet Weird.
He‘s so quiet—he‘s hardly breathing at all.‘ Kate‘s voice broke. And he f-feels icy cold…‘
Calmly the nurse checked the trace on the machine beside the bed, and then picked up Alexander‘s other hand, gazing nonchalantly through the gap in the curtains as she took his pulse. After a minute she turned to Kate with a slightly patronising smile.
He‘s breathing fine, Mrs Edwards, and he feels cold because his temperature has come down.‘
Kate‘s pent-up breath escaped her in a gasping sob. You mean he‘s OK?‘
Absolutely—and he‘s sleeping peacefully.‘ Picking up the clipboard from the foot of the bed, she scribbled some notes. I suggest you do the same. Why don‘t you go and use the relatives‘ room?‘
Kate was shaking her head before the nurse had even finished speaking.
No, thank you. I want to stay here.‘
Nurse Parks shrugged, tucking the pen back into the breast pocket of her uniform and going to the door. Suit yourself, but there‘s no need. I‘ll let you know if he wakes up, or if there‘s any change, but by the look of him I‘d say he‘s definitely on the mend now. He just needs some rest—and so do you. He‘ll be up and about in no time, and you‘ll need all your energy to keep up with him.‘
Do you really think so?‘ Kate whispered. Her throat ached with sudden emotion so her voice came out as a strangled croak.
Uh-huh. I‘d get some sleep while you can.‘
Walking back to the nurses‘ station, Nurse Parks smiled to herself. Mrs Edwards was sweet, but she really needed to get a grip. Sitting down behind the desk, she picked up the cup of tea she‘d just made and the romance novel she‘d been reading, leafing through the pages and trying to find her place. She‘d just reached a really good bit, where the heroine had vowed that she‘d rather die than let the gorgeous Italian hero know about the child she was carrying.
That was all very well in books, Nurse Parks thought, stifling a yawn. There was nothing fun about single parenthood in real life—just look at Mrs Edwards.
No—if a gorgeous Italian walked into her own life she‘d definitely think twice about sending him packing…
The entry buzzer on the door to the ward made her jump. Spilling her tea, she swore crossly.
Yes?‘ she snapped, glancing irritably at the CCTV screen.
I‘ve come to see Alexander Edwards.‘
Her jaw dropped. There, in grainy black and white, stood every female fantasy made flesh. Tall, broad-shouldered, with untidy dark hair falling forward over a face that she would have expected to see on the silver screen rather than a small security monitor in the Children‘s Ward of Leeds City Hospital. Even over the crackly intercom there was no denying the sexiness of the husky Italian voice
I‘m sorry, but visiting hours don‘t start until ten,‘ Nurse Parks stammered, aware that she had circles under her eyes from a long shift, and wasn‘t wearing lipstick. I‘m afraid I can only make exceptions for next of kin.‘
I am. Alexander is my son.‘
Cristiano had been preparing himself for this moment for the last twelve hours or so—since he had seen the words written on that torn piece of paper. But it was the first time he had said them out loud, and they felt strange on his lips.
My son. Mio figlio.
Head down, he walked towards the desk at the end of the corridor. The antiseptic smell transported him instantly back to the months he‘d spent in hospital after his accident, and he felt sweat break out on his forehead. The blonde nurse who had let him in appeared from the office behind it, hastily pressing her lips together as if she had just put on lipstick. Smiling like an air hostess, she directed him to a room along the corridor to the right.
Grazie,‘ Cristiano said curtly, and began to walk in the direction she indicated. Then he stopped and turned back. His throat felt raw.
How is he?‘
The blonde nurse‘s pink lips spread into a smile. He‘s been pretty poorly, but he‘s definitely over the worst now. He‘s a real fighter.‘
Cristiano had a curious feeling in his chest—as if someone had reached in and taken hold of his heart. Wordlessly he nodded, and carried on down the corridor.
Throughout the last twelve sleepless hours, as he had driven through an Alpine blizzard and waited interminably for the runways at Lyon to be cleared enough for take-off, anger had burned and pulsed inside him like a fever. But now, as he approached the room where his son lay, he realised it had deserted him. As he opened the door he just felt…
Dio. Dio mio…
It was Kate he saw first, and once he‘d seen her he found he couldn‘t tear his eyes from her. She was sitting beside the bed, her arms folded on its edge and her head resting on them, like a very tired Botticelli angel. Her eyes were closed, but in the dead grey light of the early morning the violet circles of exhaustion beneath them stood out starkly against her bleached skin.
She looked so very weary and anxious and defeated that for a moment he had to grip the doorframe to stop himself from rushing around the bed and gathering her up into his arms. And then he looked at the little boy on the bed.
His chest felt as if it was imploding.
Automatically he felt himself moving forward, so he could see past the forest of wires and tubes to the sleeping child. He was aware of the blood rushing downwards from his head, a roaring noise in his ears as he looked at his son‘s face for the first time.
It was like looking at himself. Like turning back the clock and seeing himself as a small boy.
Until that moment the strongest emotions he had ever felt—apart from sexual desire—had been anger, frustration, humiliation. Those were the things that had fuelled him as a teenager and driven him to do the things he‘d done. Bad things. Dangerous things.
But this…
This blew all of them out of the water.
His fingers burned with the need to touch that smooth skin. It was slightly paler than his, Cristiano observed as a boulder of emotion hardened in his throat, but there was still absolutely no mistaking the boy‘s Italian heritage. Gently, almost reverently, he reached out his hand and touched Alexander‘s cheek.
His skin was the softest most miraculous thing Cristiano had ever touched.
Like his mother‘s, he thought with a thud. The child stirred a little, his mouth opening as he gave a gusting sigh.
Cristiano moved his hand away, not wanting to wake him. At the other side of the bed Kate jerked awake. Her maternal senses, on high alert, had set some internal alarm bell ringing, and her gaze instinctively flew to Alexander‘s face. His head had rolled to one side, so he would have been looking at her if his eyes had been open, but he slept on, his expression utterly peaceful.
Her heart swelled, and for a moment she was so groggy with sleep and poleaxed with love that she didn‘t notice the dark, imposing figure standing on the other side of bed.
And then he spoke.
He‘s beautiful.‘
Shock jolted through her like forked lightning. Instantly she stumbled to her feet, her heart pounding.
Cristiano…what are you doing here?‘
Her mind was racing frantically. She could almost feel the adrenaline pumping through her, hot and stinging. It shimmered in front of her eyes like a heat haze as she watched him take a step forward towards the bed.
In the sterile, utilitarian setting of the hospital his beauty had a terrifying and dangerous edge. His dark hair was dishevelled, curling over the upturned collar of a long black overcoat, and at least two days of stubble shadowed his jaw, but all of that faded into insignificance compared to the white-hot burn of emotion in his eyes.
I came to meet my son.‘
His voice was as cold and brittle as ground glass. Kate felt faint. A primitive drum-beat of panic shook her whole body, while her overwrought, sleep-deprived brain struggled not to give in to the terror that was closing in on her like icy water.
Some automatic almost animal instinct to protect her child made her wrench her head up and look him in the eye.