Besides—his jaw stiffened—there wasn’t a female born who could make him tuck tail and run. Not some little bit of a thing less than three feet tall and not her leggy mother, either.
Tori probably hadn’t meant it as such, but she’d issued him a challenge. She’d all but accused him of being too chickenshit to get to know his daughter. And, fine, he’d admit it—that was exactly how he’d behaved. Didn’t mean he couldn’t do better, though.
It might take a little time for him to gird his loins. But John Miglionni didn’t run from any challenge.
CHAPTER FIVE
“HERE, SWEETHEART.” VICTORIA stooped to untuck a narrow ruffle that had bunched beneath the strap of Esme’s backpack. Glancing into her daughter’s dark eyes, she smiled at the excitement shining there. She smoothed the hem of the little retro flower-power tank top over Esme’s cotton shorts, then brushed back a stray tendril of baby-fine hair that had escaped the little girl’s fat braids. “Do you have everything you need?”
“Uh-huh.” Esme fidgeted away from her mother’s fussing fingers. “I’m tidy, Mummy,” she said impatiently. “When’s Rebecca gonna be here? I been waiting forever.”
“Or at least five minutes, anyhow.” Victoria struggled to keep her amusement to herself. She heard footsteps coming up the steps of the portico and patted Esme’s arm. “There. That’s probably Rebecca and her mum now.”
Instead of the expected knock, however, the big mahogany door simply opened, bringing a wash of sunlight into the house. Then the door clicked closed and there stood John. A fierce scowl marred his brow, but the instant he saw Tori and Esme in the foyer, it disappeared. His eyes were slow to lose their storminess and remained watchful, but the glower was immediately replaced by a courteous curve of his lips.
The insincerity of that smile irritated Victoria no end. Good Lord, he seemed more like a soldier to her now than he had six years ago when he’d still actually been one. Back then, at least, he’d never hesitated to exhibit emotion, and his expression had always been open. These days she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“Hullo, Mr. Miglondoanni!”
Victoria’s heart clutched at the bright expectancy in her daughter’s face as she stared up all unknowing at the man who’d fathered her. But she managed to say calmly, “It’s Miglionni, sweetie.”
“It’s a mouthful either way, especially when the mouth trying to pronounce it belongs to such a dainty little thing.” He smiled down at Esme, and this time genuine humor warmed his eyes. “Instead of trying to wrap your lips around all those syllables, why don’t you just call me—” with a quick glance at Victoria, he cleared his throat “—John. That would probably be simplest.”
“’Kay.”
He dropped to a crouch in front of her and reached out long, tanned fingers to the braided and bespeckled doll that peeked over Esme’s shoulder from her backpack. “Who is this? Your sister?”
“No, silly. That’s my American Girl doll. Her name is Molly Mack-’n-tire.”
“She’s very cute.” He hesitated, clearing his throat again as patent uncertainty dimmed the usual lady-killer wattage of his charm. “Nearly as cute as you,” he added and gave her a small, crooked grin so diffidently sweet it made Victoria blink.
“Oh, you.” Esme giggled in delight and gave him a flirtatious poke with one soft little finger. It didn’t cause so much as a dimple in the soft cloth stretched across his hard chest. “Do you like her Route 66 frock?”
“Yeah, sure. It’s very, uh…blue.”
“Yes, lovely, isn’t it? It’s new. Mummy sent away for it on the inner net.”
“Internet, Esme.”
“Uh-huh.” The little girl didn’t spare her so much as a glance. Her bright-eyed gaze was locked firmly on Rocket. “I have a playdate with Rebecca Chilworth. She and her mummy are s’posed to pick me up, but they’re late. Rebecca’s my best friend, you know. Fiona Smyth was my best friend, but now that I live in the States, Rebecca is. Her and my mummies usta know each other a long time ago. Do you have a best friend?”
“Yes, I have two.” He looked a little dazed, but added gamely, “Their names are Cooper and Zach. We were in the Marines together.”
Her brow puckered in confusion. “What’s that?”
“They’re soldiers, Es,” Victoria interjected. “Like the Queen’s Guards at home.”
“Only better,” John added. “A Marine wouldn’t be caught dead in one of those tall-ass furry hats.”
None of which appeared to enlighten Esme, so Victoria added, “You know, sweetie. Like what Mr. McIntire is in.”
Her daughter’s whole face lit up and the look she flashed John couldn’t have been more awed if a super-hero had suddenly sprung to life. “You been over the seas, then?” she demanded.
“Yes. I’ve spent quite a bit of time in other countries.”
“Molly’s papa is over the seas, and she has to make sack fries.”
John’s expression not only lacked comprehension, he looked downright stupefied. Esme’s gregarious chatter could do that to a person, so Victoria decided to take pity on him. But she didn’t bother to swallow the little smile that quirked her lips. It was refreshing to see him at sea in his dealings with a female.
“Glad to see you’re having a good time,” he growled and her smile grew.
“Oh, I am.” But she saw Esme’s baffled expression and straightened her face. “Each of the American Girl dolls are set in a different era,” she informed him. “And part of their appeal lies in the books that come with them, with settings in the doll’s specific period in history. Molly’s stories describe life on the home front during World War II, from the challenge of having a father who’s overseas, to the sacrifices her family makes to help their country win the war.”
Esme beamed at the dark-haired man in front of her. “Sack fries,” she agreed. “Mummy says that’s part of what makes Molly a hair win.”
“Heroine, sweetie.”
“Ah.” Then John, too, grinned, a slash of white so reminiscent of the carefree, I-can-charm-your-pants-off, you-gotta-love-me smile that had first sucked Victoria into his orbit all those years ago she felt her knees grow weak and her thighs clamp tight.
She unlocked the latter and took a hasty step away to give herself some distance before she did something foolish like reach out and run her fingers over the same hard surface her daughter had poked. Hot awareness surged so fast and furiously through her system that blisters were no doubt popping up in its wake, and she gave silent thanks when the doorbell rang. She crossed the entryway and opened the door, greeting Rebecca and her mother with even more warmth than usual.
With the arrival of her friend, Esme lost interest in John so fast and completely it made his head swim. He’d been doing okay there for a while, but apparently she had bigger fish to fry now, and there was a lesson to be learned from thinking he’d been making some kind of headway. He watched as she threw her arms around Tori’s neck, pursed her little rosebud lips for an enthusiastic smooch, then tore away and clattered out the door, exchanging machine-gun-rapid patter with a little curly-haired dishwater blonde he could only assume was the aforementioned best friend Rebecca. Being able to charm a little girl for five minutes didn’t mean he knew squat about kids in the long term, he reminded himself.
“I’m sorry we’re late,”