Cristiano didn’t want the medal, never had. Why him? Stephano had died. Others from his station had helped with the rescue. There had been so many who died. They had not been able to rescue everyone. Why would anyone want to award him a medal of valor? Especially if they knew of the flashbacks and attacks of sheer terror that gripped him. What kind of man deserved a medal when he couldn’t handle all life threw his way?
“What’s a mistake?” she asked.
“Never mind. Are you staying?”
“Gee, after such a kind invitation to visit and give you my impressions of Monta Correnti how can I refuse?”
She grinned that cheeky grin and Cristiano almost groaned at the sight. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her until he forgot all the pain of the past. He wanted to feel that slim body against his, driving out the memories and offering an optimistic hope of the future. He wanted to lose himself in her and find that shining optimism she displayed.
He flat out wanted her.
Yet he had deliberately come to Lake Clarissa to avoid people until he could be sure the flashbacks had gone. Wasn’t it risky to spend so much time with her? Yet she made him feel normal again, complete. And the baby was adorable. Cristiano wished he could remember when he was so young and innocent the future looked nothing but bright.
Dante began fussing and Mariella shrugged out of her sweater, tossing it on the counter, knocking off the letter. She picked it up and smoothed it out, her eyes drawn to the fancy letterhead. Skimming quickly, she widened them in shock.
“You’re getting a medal! How cool is this!”
“I told you, it’s a mistake. I don’t deserve a medal. I certainly am not a hero!”
Mariella wasn’t listening to him. Or attending to Dante, who looked as if he were working up to a fully-fledged screaming bout. She was reading every word in the letter.
“You saved seven people.”
“Others saved lives as well.”
“And at great personal risk you continued on with the last two even though you were severely injured,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him.
He didn’t need the reminder. He saw it over and over every time he had a flashback. The shock, the anguish, the horror.
She looked at him, her eyes shining. “I knew you were a hero. Now it’s been confirmed, and not just because of me and Dante. Wow, you must be so proud.”
“I’m not going to accept it. It would be a farce.”
“But—”
He snatched the paper from her hand, balled it up and tossed it into the trash before storming out of the kitchen.
MARIELLA was stunned at his reaction. But she had to see to the fussy baby before going after Cristiano. She lifted the baby from the stroller and tried to soothe him. Preparing a bottle one-handed, she soon shifted him to lie in her arm while offering the bottle. He fussed and pushed it away, wailing as if his world had ended. She jiggled him a little, singing softly as she tried the bottle again. Finally he took it, chewing on the nipple as much as sucking.
“Are you teething, sweetie?” She knew from the baby books that children began teething any time around five or six months, but this was the first time he’d pushed the bottle away. Maybe his gums hurt.
Finally Dante settled down to drink the bottle. Mariella walked into the living room, humming softly as he drank. The curtains were wide open today and sunshine flooded the room. It welcomed her and the baby. She sat in the chair that gave the best view of the lake and continued to hum as she fed Dante.
Her firefighter was an intriguing man. He was a hero, even the ministry confirmed that. Yet he seemed angry about it. Not at all satisfied with the heroic actions he’d performed.
So did that add to the fascination she felt around him? He was drop-dead gorgeous with his thick dark hair and haunted eyes. He looked fit enough to put out a blaze single-handed. She remembered those arms so strong when he lifted her and yet gentle enough for a small baby.
Her heart skipped a beat as she pictured the few times he’d smiled. She could watch him forever, she thought.
Except, he didn’t seem to feel the same fascination with her.
Sighing softly, she tried to picture him as a child running around the piazza in Monta Correnti or the restaurant his father owned. She couldn’t imagine it. She could see him here at Lake Clarissa, hiking in the woods, swimming in the lake in summer, racing Jet Skis. Chopping wood for a winter’s fire. Chasing around a brother who looked like him.
Glancing around the room, she noted how family friendly it was. But she didn’t see anything that looked as if it belonged to Cristiano alone. What were his interests? What did he do to combat the stress of rescuing people and battling blazes that threatened life at every turn?
Dante drifted to sleep. She rose and went to the door. As suspected, Cristiano was sitting on the patio, staring at the lake. She would always be able to picture him that way.
“Could you help me?” she asked softly.
He looked around.
“If you would release the back of the stroller, it lies down and I could put the baby there. He’ll sleep fine in the stroller and be ready to go when I am.”
The man nodded and rose. She watched him, no limp she could see, so why was he still on leave? Was he upset at taking so long to heal after being injured? Champing at the bit, so to speak, to get back to work?
She wondered why he was so adamant against the medal. Sure, others had died, but maybe they were also receiving a medal posthumously.
The stroller was still in the kitchen. He figured out how to recline the back and pulled the half canopy over it. He pushed the stroller, looking just a bit like a giant next to the tiny conveyance, over to Mariella.
She was swaying gently as she held the sleeping baby.
“Thanks, he’s getting heavy.”
He locked the wheels while she placed the sleeping baby down and covered him with a soft blanket.
“You take to being a mother,” he commented, watching her. “Some women don’t.”
“It’s still a struggle.” She straightened and looked at the sleeping child with such an expression of love Cristiano caught his breath.
A strand of hair fell across her cheek. Before he could have second thoughts, Cristiano brushed it back, feeling the soft warmth of her skin. He tucked it behind her ear as she looked up and into his eyes. Her smile was warm. Her lips enticing. As if in a dream, he leaned across the slight distance and touched his mouth to hers. She was warm and sweet and so tempting. Kissing her lit a fire in his blood and he wanted the moment to go on forever.
Reality struck when she pulled back and blinked as she looked at him.
“I’ve wanted to do that for days,” he said softly, his hands cupping her cheeks.
“I thought it was only me—I mean that the attraction was just one way.”
“Oh, no,” he said before he kissed her again, drawing her into his arms, holding her closely while the world seemed to spin around. Mariella was the only thing grounding him.
Rational thought vied with roiling emotions. The desire that rose whenever she was near had to be controlled. He refused to fall for Mariella. She was sweet and young and had bright expectations. He would never falsely lead her on when he had no clue if he could make it in the world again or not.
Holding her, touching her, kissing her, he could forget