The Italian's Doorstep Surprise

True, he couldn’t give her the romantic love she dreamed of. But he could offer so much more, more than enough to compensate. His fortune, of course. His name. Clearly, the marks of status that would appeal to most women didn’t hold much weight with her. So he’d offer more.

He’d lure her with passion, and a partnership based on mutual respect, even friendship. He had to convince her that she could trust him to cherish and provide for them always. That was the most important thing. She had to know their daughter would be raised in a stable home and would always know she was adored, wanted and welcomed by both parents.

Compared to all that, what was some paltry thing like romantic love? Nothing but sickly sweet love poems and wilting roses.

As soon as he could prove to Honora that he’d never break his commitment to them, he knew she’d fall into his arms.

Thinking of it, Nico smiled to himself and ran a little faster on the edges of the white sandy beach, running on the packed wet section close to the blue-gray surf. The sea air felt fresh and new in the dawn. And that was how he felt. Fresh and new.

He’d changed tactics last night when he’d realized his heavy-handed marriage demand wasn’t working. The more he’d insisted he wanted to marry her and that he intended to be a good husband and father, the more she’d argued with him. So he’d backed off. Insinuated he’d changed his mind about marriage.

He hadn’t.

But he’d learned that in business, the most desirable acquisitions usually took extra time and care. It was her own free choice. She had to want to marry him.

So he would convince her.

Nico picked up the pace to a flat-out run, wet sand flying behind him on the beach in the early-morning light.

All he had to do was become the man she needed. A man who was ready to be a good husband, a good father.

He’d already stopped drinking. Next he would cut back on his working hours and return to a healthier lifestyle of exercise and sleeping in a proper bed. It was horrifying to Nico now, in the cold light of dawn, to realize how lost he’d been the last six months. Yes, he’d added millions to his company’s bottom line by working with such monomaniacal focus. But he’d done that only out of desperate need for distraction. Other than the fistfight with the lawyer, he hardly remembered any of it. Because none of it mattered.

What difference did it make if Nico’s net worth went up another hundred million? His father was dead. He’d never have the satisfaction of seeing the old man weep his regret that he’d rejected Nico as a boy, believing him unworthy of being his son.

He’d never been Nico’s family. Honora, their daughter, their other children yet to come—they would be.

He just had to convince Honora he was worthy of her. And since their baby was due in around two and a half months, he was on the clock.

Checking his smartwatch, Nico saw he’d run five miles. He looked at his speed. Not bad, considering that yesterday he’d been a numb, pathetic workaholic without a reason to live. Now he was getting back to life, to his old discipline, he’d soon improve. With his new focus, he’d springboard to even greater wealth, greater power. Only now, instead of rubbing it in the face of that aristocratic bastard, Nico would bask in the glow of a loving wife and adoring children. He would be happy, damn it.

And hopefully that would leave his dead father spinning in his grave.

Turning around, he started running back toward his house five miles down the shore. He wouldn’t put the mansion up for sale after all, he decided. They’d make memories here. Fill those bedrooms with children.

Just thinking of Honora, he felt his blood grow hot. He could hardly wait to have her in his bed. And this time, he’d make sure he remembered every delicious moment of touching her. He could hardly wait.

Maybe tonight. Or tomorrow. How long did it usually take for a man to prove himself worthy of a woman?

Whatever the usual time was, Nico would do it faster. And better.

Honora Callahan didn’t stand a chance.

* * *

Was it hot in here, or was it just her?

“Thank you for the ride,” Honora said, resisting the urge to fan herself. She felt a bead of sweat forming between her breasts. Because she was pregnant, she told herself fiercely. Not because she wanted him.

“My pleasure.” Nico’s voice was a low purr beside her. His hands were casual on the w

heel as he wove the Lamborghini through highway traffic with confidence and grace. His dark eyes gleamed as he gave her a sensual smile. She gritted her teeth. Damn the man.

The morning after she’d refused his marriage proposal, it seemed cruel that he looked even more handsome and desirable than ever, in a white collared shirt that hugged his muscular torso and flat belly, the top two buttons undone around his thick neck, and wearing trim-fitting dark trousers over his powerful thighs.

He gave her a wicked grin. Realizing she was fanning herself, she stopped with a blush and clasped her hands firmly in her lap.

“It’s July,” she said sharply. “Aren’t you hot?”