Resisting The Italian Single Dad. Katrina Cudmore
was an aloneness, a heaviness of spirit in how he stood stock-still, his feet firmly anchored to the ground, staring upwards. The man’s lips moved briefly in speech as though he was talking to someone.
She needed to leave or she’d be late for her talk, but she couldn’t drag herself away from watching him. She moved closer to the window, placed her palm against the cool glass.
Opening the rear door, he leant into the car for a moment before reappearing with a little girl in his arms.
He kissed her forehead, tenderly smoothed her soft brown curls and attempted to place her down on the footpath. But the little girl, dressed in a yellow jacket and blue pants, and who Carly guessed was about two years of age, refused to let go.
The man shook his head and then began to pace the footpath, the little girl in his arms, glancing all the while down the street. Who was he waiting for?
Carly soon had her answer when a petite, dark-haired woman, holding hands with a similarly dark-haired boy of four or five, rushed towards him. She hugged the man warmly, stroked the little girl’s cheek. They were a beautiful family. Carly’s heart tightened at their intimacy. But then the man attempted to pass the little girl to her mother, but she clung to him, refusing to let go. In the end, he was forced to remove her baby stroller from the boot of his car one-handed, refusing the mother’s offer of help. When he lowered the little girl into the stroller, Carly could hear her cries of protest. Kneeling before the stroller, the man stroked the little girl’s curls, but her leg smacked against his forearm and pushed him away.
The woman said something to him and hugged him again before rushing off with both children.
Fists tightly bunched at his side, the man stared after his family for a long while before turning in the direction of Carly’s building. Carly’s head jerked back at the desolation etched on his face. She stepped back from the window, out of his view, feeling like an intruder on his suffering.
Should she go down and ask him if everything was okay?
The man’s chest rose heavily and when he exhaled, the torment in his eyes disappeared. An aloof, guarded expression took its place. He removed his phone from his pocket, answered a call and strode in the direction of her office block.
Carly frowned. Could this be Mr Lovato? Her client who was supposed to have been here half an hour ago? But why didn’t his wife come in with him?
Locking the office door behind her, she went out onto the stairwell and was on the turn of the stairs when the door to the reception area burst open.
A blur of dark wavy hair, a phone pressed to hard jawbone, an expensive grey suit, the jacket spilling backwards as he climbed the stairs two at a time, raced towards her.
Carly’s heart lurched; it was rather disconcerting to be faced with such male perfection on a Tuesday lunchtime on the concrete stairs of an office block desperately in need of refurbishing.
Light, misty green eyes flicked in her direction as he passed her by.
Turning, she saw that he had already reached the turn in the stairs. ‘Mr Lovato?’
He came to a stop and looked down towards her. Standing still, he was even more devastatingly handsome than when he had been in motion. He considered her through a serious gaze, his mouth shaped like a soft wave, turning ever so slightly downwards at the corners.
He rolled his impressively wide shoulders and gave a nod.
‘I’m Carly Knight, the sleep consultant you made the appointment with. Is everything okay?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’
There was a defensiveness to his tone that had Carly wavering. She wanted to ask if she could somehow help in whatever had been troubling him outside, but the proud tilt of his head told her he would not welcome her intrusion.
Instead she climbed the stairs to stand a few steps below him. ‘I’m sorry but I have another appointment that I have to leave for. If you speak to Nina on reception she will schedule another appointment for you.’
He considered her for a moment, the ever so slight tightening of his jaw the only indicator of his unhappiness. ‘I apologise for my lateness. I promise I won’t delay you for more than ten minutes.’
His voice was deep and—okay, so she’d admit it—really sexy. Where was his accent from? His surname, Lovato, was that Italian or Spanish? His smooth tanned skin and dark hair suggested long, sun-kissed Mediterranean days in whitewashed villages with views of a glistening sea.
For a moment, a deep longing for some sunshine and freedom washed through Carly. After a long icy winter, spring in London had proved to be cold and miserable. And it felt as though she hadn’t seen daylight for years thanks to the ongoing task of establishing her fledgling sleep consultancy business, which entailed working late into the night on far too many evenings.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Lovato, I really have to leave for another appointment.’
‘It’s important that I meet with you now.’
Carly attempted to give him a sympathetic smile, but in truth her earlier irritation with Mr Lovato, which had temporarily disappeared in the face of his upset, was quickly reappearing at his insistent tone. Only this morning, he had somehow managed to sweet-talk an appointment with Nina, the office-block receptionist who provided a diary booking service for all the tenants, despite the fact that Carly’s diary was already full for the day. Nina usually guarded the diaries like a Rottweiler on steroids.
When Carly had questioned Nina on why she had given him an appointment, Nina had given her a soppy smile that was alarming in itself and said he had been referred by Dr Segal, a paediatrician who was increasingly referring patients to Carly, and that she hadn’t had the heart to turn him away; that he had sounded so lovely and sincere and such a concerned dad for his daughter who wouldn’t sleep at night. Tough-as-nails Nina had obviously fallen for that deeply accented voice that no doubt had the potential to melt granite.
‘It’s now close to ten minutes past twelve, you’re over half an hour late for your appointment,’ Carly pointed out. From his expensive suit, glistening black leather shoes and a car even her stepfather couldn’t afford, Carly guessed that Mr Lovato was rich. Seriously rich. And no doubt used to getting his own way. But not now. Not with her. She had spent her teenage years being manipulated by a stepfather who had used his wealth to get his own way regardless of the consequences to others. If Mr Lovato was anything like her stepfather he would have no problem in making Carly late for her appointment with a group of other parents, as long as his own needs were met. Money talked for some people and it gave them an inflated sense of entitlement. ‘My receptionist shouldn’t have given you an appointment today. My diary was full. She tried calling you back to make alternative arrangements but you didn’t answer her calls.’
‘I was working from home today—between taking care of my daughter and client calls I never managed to call Nina back.’ He shrugged, gave her a hint of an apologetic smile. ‘When it was time to leave I couldn’t find my daughter’s shoes. And when we were finally on our way I realised that I had left her changing bag in the hallway so I had to turn around. You know how it is when you have children—time seems to disappear into a void of chasing your own shadow.’
Carly cleared her throat, ignoring the nudge of pain in her chest at his not unexpected but incorrect assumption she had children of her own. It was a common assumption many clients made. ‘I don’t have any children of my own but from working with them for the last decade I agree that you have to be very organised around them.’
His gaze narrowed. Carly pressed on, knowing she had to leave for her meeting despite a nagging feeling that she should give Mr Lovato some time. ‘Nina should be able to schedule you in for some time next week, after the bank holiday.’
Moving down the steps towards her, he came to a stop directly in front of her. Carly tilted her head to meet his gaze. He was tall. Very tall. At least six feet four, and over eight inches taller than herself.
He