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Ava’s fists tightened further when he settled back and made himself more comfortable. The movement brought him closer, his powerful thigh brushing hers as he widened his legs. She was trying to shift away from the torturous contact when he turned and held out the phone.
‘Celine wishes to speak to you.’
She drew in a quick breath. ‘Why?’
He shrugged. ‘We never got round to making that phone call. I tried to apologise on your behalf but she wants to make sure there are no bad feelings.’
She snatched the phone from him and placed her palm over the speaker. ‘How dare you apologise on my behalf? I’m not some child whose behaviour has to be excused.’
He regarded her coolly. ‘Well, this is your chance. You can hang up or you can speak to her. Your choice.’
Futile irritation welled up inside her. ‘God, I really hate you sometimes.’
He merely smiled.
She cleared her throat and removed her hand. ‘Celine, hello.’
‘Ciao, Ava,’ she answered. Her tone was warm, totally devoid of censure, which made Ava feel worse.
‘Look, I’m sorry about the other night...’ As she made her apologies, it occurred to her that she’d made a lot of them in the last hour.
‘...being married to a man like Cesare would make any woman guard her place in his heart. He’s very special.’
The arrogant upward curve of his mouth told her Cesare had heard Celine’s words.
‘He’s also stubborn and extremely infuriating,’ Ava muttered.
Celine laughed. ‘You won’t hear any arguments from me. But his heart is in the right place. Please remember that.’
The vehemence in Celine’s tone made Ava frown. She watched Cesare put his tablet away and couldn’t look away from the elegant hand he rested on his thighs. The memory of those hands on her skin hit her sideways. Her fingers clenched around the phone; Celine’s words were lost in a jumble as heat surged through her.
She glanced up to find Cesare’s eyes on her. Unable to pull her gaze away, she pressed her lips together to stop them tingling. After a few seconds his eyes flicked to the phone, his brow raised.
Celine was calling her name. Embarrassed, she apologized—again—then forced herself to conduct a somewhat coherent conversation. Minutes later, she gratefully disconnected the call.
Cesare laughed under his breath.
‘Smugness is an unattractive trait,’ she snapped, her voice disgustingly husky from the feelings rampaging through her.
His smile only widened. ‘But it does my heart good to watch you eat humble pie,’ he returned.
‘Well, before I dig in, you should know I’ve accepted an invitation for Celine’s birthday tonight.’ She named the club. ‘She’s texting me the details shortly.’
His smile disappeared. Cesare hated nightclubs.
With a satisfied smile of her own, she held out his phone. ‘Not so smug now, huh, caro?’
* * *
Cesare let himself into his apartment just before seven that evening and was immediately struck by the silence. It was different from this afternoon, when the sound of Annabelle’s laughter coupled with Ava’s huskier laugh had bounced off the walls. Realising how badly he missed it, he dropped his briefcase and loosened his tie.
Nothing was going according to plan. The business he’d thought he would have concluded by mid-afternoon today had stretched well into the evening. He knew his lack of concentration had been mostly to blame. He hadn’t missed the surreptitious glances his board executives had exchanged when they’d thought he wasn’t aware.
How could they know he was dreading the next few hours? This was the first time he’d be alone—truly alone—with Ava. And he didn’t trust himself one iota.
Stalking to the cabinet, he plucked a glass from the shelf and contemplated the extensive array of drinks. He poured a shot of cognac, knocked it back and slammed the glass down.
Get a grip!
He eyed his briefcase. Part of the answer to his problems lay in there. All he had to do was sign the divorce papers his lawyers had drawn up and Ava would be out of his life.
He stepped forward and stopped when something soft gave way underfoot. Bending down, he picked up Annabelle’s teddy. With a pang, he clutched the toy and clenched his gut against the pain shooting through him.
He loved his child beyond imagining, and yet he’d never been able to celebrate that love without a heavy dose of guilt. How could he when his actions had deprived Roberto of the same joy of being a father?
