Three weeks ago, her contractions had kicked in, sending Luca into frenzied panic, even though he had been as cool as a cucumber as the time for the birth had drawn ever closer, wisely telling her when she should pack her bag for the hospital and assuring her that it was all probably going to be far calmer than she feared.
He had stayed with her for the duration of the ten-hour labour, had even helped to deliver their daughter and had only admitted afterwards that he had been close to passing out several times.
He was the most devoted father Cordelia could have hoped for. Now, she felt his arms around her as he shifted against her, levering himself up to gaze at their daughter, breathing softly in her basket, her tiny hands balled into fists. She had a mop of curly dark hair and was pale gold. She was the most wonderful thing they had ever seen and they never tired of admitting it.
Her father had flown over three days after Giulietta was born, along with Doris, and, after fussing over his granddaughter, he had shyly announced that he and Doris would be joining forces to expand the business.
‘When you say joining forces...’ Cordelia had encouraged and he had gone a deeper shade of scarlet.
‘Woman’s only gone and proposed,’ he’d said gruffly, while Doris had looked at him with such tenderness that Cordelia had wanted to rush over and give her a huge hug.
The solitary man who had spent a lifetime mourning the life that had passed him by was finally waking up and Cordelia couldn’t have been happier.
There would be another wedding in three months’ time and Luca was already making noises about having a proper honeymoon afterwards. Somewhere hot and sunny, with a private beach, where they could relive good times, specifically the good times that had brought their beautiful baby into the world.
‘She’s a miracle,’ Luca murmured, wrapping his arm around his wife and nestling closer to her. ‘In case I haven’t mentioned it, you girls are the two most important people in my life.’
‘I think you’ve mentioned it before.’ Cordelia smiled. She wriggled until she was facing him and their bodies were pressed against one another.
‘Have I mentioned, in that case, that I am already thinking that when it comes to family numbers, four seems a far more rounded number than three?’
Cordelia laughed, eyes gleaming. ‘Is that a fact?’
‘I never thought I’d hear myself say it, my dearest love, but loving you is the best thing that ever happened to me...’
If you found yourself head-over-heels for Expecting His Billion-Dollar Scandal you’ll love these other stories by Cathy Williams!
Marriage Bargain with His Innocent
Shock Marriage for the Powerful Spaniard
The Italian’s Christmas Proposition
His Secretary’s Nine-Month Notice
Available now
Keep reading for an excerpt from Taming the Big Bad Billionaire by Pippa Roscoe.
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Taming the Big Bad Billionaire
by Pippa Roscoe
CHAPTER ONE
‘Always stay on the path,’ her grandmother had said. ‘For bad things lurk in the woods...dark things, monsters and wolves.’
But Little Red Riding Hood didn’t listen to her grandmother because she didn’t believe in fairy tales. Deep down, she knew that the most dangerous stories were the ones we told ourselves.
The Truth About Little Red Riding Hood
—Roz Fayrer
IT WAS THE smell of coffee, as strong and bitter as his quest for vengeance, that usually heralded the beginning of Roman Black’s day, not damp earth and tree bark. It was the richly carpeted floors of his office that he usually stalked at this hour of the morning, not the crunch of twigs and leaves.
The noise felt overly loud, as if the attempt to be stealthy had made him clumsy. But if there was one thing Roman Black was not, it was clumsy. Every thought, every move, every action had always held one purpose for Roman, and one purpose only. And finally, after years, the end goal was now within his grasp.
Ahead of him Dorcas, the dog he had acquired for the express purpose of his visit here to the Occitaine region of France, loped with huge, graceful strides, occasionally stopping to cast a curious glance at its new owner, or to ferret out some invisible treasure at the base of a large tree.
Twelve hours ago, Roman had received the vital information that revealed his quarry had left a party on the outskirts of Moscow and returned to France to visit an ailing relative. Nine hours ago, he had arrived in France himself and took up residence in a small villa barely three miles from here. Seven hours ago he’d been interviewing for a canine companion at the local dog shelter—for what was more predatory than a single man alone in the woods? Let alone a man of Roman’s imposing stature.
No. He had planned for this. He had worked out every possible variable. He needed to look, at the very least, non-threatening. Admittedly, he had thought to find something small and fluffy, perfect to lull his prey into a false sense of security. But Dorcas had been sitting there in the grey concrete cubicle, watching, as if she had known from the very beginning that he would come to get her. And whilst an Irish wolfhound was neither small nor fluffy, one look at her and Roman had not been able to stand the thought of such a glorious creature trapped in a cage. If he had been a more self-aware man, if, perhaps, he had had anything on his mind other than vengeance, he might have understood his decision better.
But as Roman stalked through the trees on his first
