It had been an exciting day for a little boy, who once they reached home, wanted only a glass of milk after his bath, and fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.

‘Anna has prepared dinner,’ Dante relayed as they quietly closed Ben’s door behind them.

Togetherness was a fine thing, but Taylor was in overload, and a little wired from spending a few hours in his company.

‘I’m really not hungry.’

A statement which incurred an intense look. ‘You barely ate a thing at the party.’

‘I’m fine.’ He saw too much, divined more, and it put her on edge. ‘I’ll grab a banana, coffee, and spend time on my laptop.’

‘I’ll have Anna bring you a tray.’

She raged a silent battle for a few seconds, then ventured with extreme politeness, ‘I’m capable of doing that myself.’

Dark eyes speared her own, and held, almost as if he knew, then he inclined his head. ‘Your prerogative.’

‘Thank you.’

The air seemed to hold a curious tension…something she chose to ignore as she descended the stairs and made her way to the kitchen, where she apologised to Anna for her lack of appetite, then with a mug of fresh coffee in one hand, a banana in the other, she bade Dante and Anna ‘goodnight’.

‘Don’t work too late.’

Taylor sensed mild amusement beneath his indolent voice, and told herself she didn’t care if he thought she was avoiding him.

What was more, she’d work as late as she liked.

She occupied his home, but she was damned if he’d tell her what to do!

Consequently she entered the home office, opened her laptop, reread the previous day’s work and wrote…weaving characters, motive and suspense into script, becoming lost in the fascination of creative process.

Occasionally she rose from the chair, flexed her shoulders and executed a few calisthenics to ease the tension of repetitive movement.

The night hours were her most productive writing time, and when she’d lived in her apartment she’d often lost track of time, realising the lateness of the hour only when her eyes began to blur…

Now, however, she no longer lived alone…there was Ben, and the compelling man whose home she shared.

Dante, who had led her to believe they’d rarely see each other…except he was there, at every opportunity sharing her life and becoming a large, fundamental part of Ben’s.

So why did it bother her so much? Taylor attempted to rationalise on the edge of sleep…and failed to discover a sensible answer.

CHAPTER FOUR

TAYLOR watched as Dante swept Ben high against his chest as he prepared to leave for the airport…heard the young boy’s delighted laughter, and felt a pang of envy for the easy affection they shared.

It brought so vividly alive how much she missed Casey…the frequent phone calls, sharing, the unconditional affection and innate knowledge they were always there for each other.

A huge gap she attempted to bridge with love for her nephew.

It was enough, she assured fiercely…all she needed. Her writing career was an added bonus and the success it had brought her ensured she was busy and her mind occupied for much of the time too.

So why the longing for something more?

The touch of a man’s lips on her own. Strong, warm arms enfolding her close. Affection. Trust.

The knowledge that she was safe.

‘When will you be back?’

Her voice sounded slightly uneven, and she caught the sudden sharpness in Dante’s eyes, then it was gone.

‘A week, perhaps less.’

Taylor summoned a smile as he released Ben down onto his feet. ‘Take care.’ The words seemed fairly innocuous as she caught her nephew’s hand and crossed the lobby at Dante’s side.

Gianni was seated behind the wheel of the Mercedes as Dante released one of the large doors and moved lithely down the few steps to slide into the front passenger seat.

Ben waved until the car swept through the electronic gates and disappeared from sight.

‘I wish Zio didn’t have to go away.’

She drew him close and dropped a kiss on his nose. Poor little scrap, he sounded quite forlorn.

‘He’s a very busy man,’ she offered gently, and met solemn dark eyes.

‘He promised he’ll call tonight before I go to bed.’

One thing she’d learnt was that Dante kept to his word. ‘I’m sure he will.’ She caught hold of his hand and bestowed a teasing smile. ‘Now, young man, let’s go have breakfast.’

After which she’d oversee his normal morning routine, help him dress, pack his knapsack, drive him to kindergarten…then she’d return to seek seclusion in her home office and write until it was time to go collect Ben.

It was a plan which should work reasonably well, if she managed to gain total focus on the twist needed to extend the suspense element in the story she was currently working on.

The ability to clear her mind and enter the fictional world of her characters required concentrated effort, and fortified with a cup of Earl Grey tea, she opened her current manuscript file and reread the previous day’s work, edited and made a few minor changes before tuning in to the creative process.

At midday she took a break and fixed herself a ham and salad sandwich in the kitchen, filled a glass with apple juice and chose to eat lunch on the terrace.

The sun held little warmth and there was a fresh breeze which hinted at late afternoon showers, borne by a bank of clouds hovering on the horizon.

There were days when she permitted her mind to wander during a lunch break…others when she preferred to keep the momentum going by printing out the morning’s hard copy and editing it as she ate.

Today there was a tendency to lapse into introspection and enjoy the sensation of freedom from Dante’s presence for several days.

Leading separate lives whilst residing beneath the same roof wasn’t really happening, Taylor reflected.

Whether by accident or design Dante entered the informal dining room and shared breakfast with her and Ben each morning…and most evenings he arrived home from the city office in time to join them for dinner. What was more, he supervised Ben’s bath-time, and shared the telling of their nephew’s bedtime story.

Whatever her reservations, she had to concede Dante had Ben’s continuing welfare at heart as he displayed genuine caring and affection at every turn.

Gradually Ben’s tendency towards solemnity was beginning to fade as he smiled more often, and the occasional bad dreams where he woke crying in the night were beginning to diminish.

The move into Dante’s home was proving to be the right choice…for Ben.

So why was she so tense and on edge? Instinctively wary and unable to relax?

The simmering electricity existent beneath the surface whenever she was in Dante’s presence…what was that?

Did he sense it? Or was it merely a figment of her imagination?

Whatever, it was a complication she didn’t want or need.

Oh, for heaven’s sake…take a reality check, why don’t you?

She was one of two surrogate parents, committed to raising their nephew together. This was all about Ben… all of it.

She shared a beautiful, spacious house with a home office to die for, her own suite of rooms, staff to cook and clean, financial freedom.

So why did she have this niggling feeling something was missing? It hardly made sense.

Taylor drained the rest of her juice from her glass, collected her plate and returned both to the kitchen, then she filched a bottle of water from the refrigerator and retreated back to her work until it was time to collect Ben from kindergarten.

He burst through the door when summoned, a finger-painting clutched in one hand, his knapsack in the other, and a delighted smile lighting his face.

‘I got a gold star!’

She caught him close in a warm hug. ‘You did? That’s fantastic.’

‘I did a finger-painting of you, me and Zio Dante. Shelley said it’s very good.’