Italian Escape: Summer with the Millionaire / In the Italian's Sights / Flirting with Italian

He didn’t say anything, just wandered round the counter and came to stand next to her, a disturbingly comfortable presence. Calmly, without any fuss or fanfare, he began to make a couple of coffees, loading up a tray with a few small savouries and a helping of the delicious-looking salad they used as garnish. ‘You must be starving,’ he said finally. ‘Come, sit down. If anyone comes in I’ll take over.’

Minty considered arguing, asserting her independence, pointing out that Natalia wouldn’t be long and she could easily wait. But, without quite knowing how, she found herself following him over to a quiet corner with a view of the counter.

‘It’s not that I was lazy,’ she said suddenly, standing beside the table as he pulled out a chair. He glanced at her, eyes mildly enquiring, no judgement on his face. Minty sank into the chair and pulled the plate over, picking up one of the tiny, perfect pastries and turning it round in her fingers, her appetite gone.

‘Joe thought they gave out the wrong message—elitist establishments in expensive areas charging exorbitant prices. Not at all compatible with his values. He preferred that I spent my time volunteering or helping him. So, I did.’

She didn’t know why it was so important that Luca understood, that he didn’t think badly of her—at least, any more badly than he already did. But it did matter.

‘Okay, that’s what Joe wanted. What did you want?’ It was said so gently it almost hurt her. There had been too many times in the past when the only person who had shown a glimmer of understanding was Luca.

She had usually punished him for it.

She continued to twist the mini focaccia between her fingers. The bread was dissolving into a mass of crumbs, the aubergine and mozzarella filling sliding out onto the plate below, releasing an aroma of onions, garlic and oregano. She stared at the mess she was creating, searching for answers. What did she want?

It was the million-dollar question. And she had no idea.

She quite liked it here. Quite liked today, keeping busy, being useful, good at what she did even if it was just serving ice cream. And the other night, the meal, the company—she’d enjoyed that just a little too much.

Until he had shut her out and walked away. Again.

Minty raised her head and smiled across at Luca. He was still looking at her intently, concern etched on his handsome features. The sudden urge to sink onto him, into him, to allow him to shoulder her burdens was immense, almost irresistible.

‘I think I want to live life on the wild side,’ she said. ‘Have my gelato before my savoury. But I can’t decide whether to go with the fruit, the chocolate or the really decadent creamy flavours. What do you recommend?’

* * *

Luca was doing his best to forget about Minty. He stayed late at the office, eating dinner there or calling in at a local restaurant on the way home. Most days this week he had only seen his unwanted house guest in the mornings. She was usually just wandering into the kitchen as he left for work.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of her.

At home he was haunted by the scent of lemons that seemed to have permeated every inch of his house, somehow even his own pillows and sheets. He woke up inhaling the fresh, spicy scent and found himself unable to get back to sleep, knowing that she was just a few metres away.

Her stuff was everywhere. It wasn’t that she was untidy; she wasn’t, particularly, but she did have an innate gift of taking over a space and making it her own. Her fruit and yogurt concoctions were in his fridge, her magazines on his table, her cardigan hung over the back of his chair, her shoes by his door. The only places that were safe from the slow but steady encroachment were his bedroom and bathroom.

Apart from the scent of lemons.

And it was worse at work.

Everybody loved her. In less than two weeks she had learnt the names of not just every member of staff, but the names of their husbands, wives, children, grandchildren, dogs, rabbits and goldfish. Wherever she went, people greeted her, stopped her. If she wasn’t discussing haircuts with Bella on reception, she was asking Mario about how his dog’s operation had gone or was admiring pictures of Maria’s newest grandchild.

Luca thought of himself as a hands-on, informal, friendly boss; he had known some of these people all his life. Yet Minty had discovered more about their lives, their worries, their joys, in days than he had in all that time.

Her ex was wrong, he thought. She would have made an excellent politician’s wife.

Even in the privacy of his office her name was brought up constantly. Everyone was delighted with her hard work, her enthusiasm, her attempts to speak Italian and her ideas. The staff of Di Tore Dolce were rapidly becoming fully paid-up members of the Minty Davenport fan club.

‘Luca!’ And here she was: in his thoughts, his dreams, his conversations, his home. And now in his office.

‘Buongiorno.’ He didn’t mean to sound so formal, so aloof, every time he spoke to her.

It just seemed safer. Twice she had got to him. Twice he had broken his resolve to keep clear, remember that she was unsafe, toxic.

Not that she seemed to notice. She was practically shaking with excitement as she danced up to his desk, a small paper cup in her hand.

‘Look what I did!’ She put the cup down on his desk and took a step backwards, beaming like a proud mother hen. ‘All by myself. Well, actually, with huge amounts of help and input and advice and supervision, but practically all by myself.’

Luca gave up. It was impossible to maintain a formal distance in the face of such all-consuming enthusiasm. ‘What is it?’ He peered into the cup. ‘It looks like gelato.’

‘Of course it’s gelato! You own a gelato factory, you noodle. What was I going to make, some sort of new dog food?’

With a smile, he conceded the point.

‘But this is my very own recipe, mixed by my very own hands. It’s for the autumn special-editions. Tomas said to let you try it. That’s good, right? It means it’s passed the first test?’ She bit down on her lower lip with suppressed excitement, drawing his attention to its fullness. ‘Do you want me to tell you what it is?’

Luca dragged his eyes away from her sparkling eyes and the sensual curve of her mouth. They were too distracting.

‘No, no, I’ll try it first.’

She was jigging from foot to foot in her excitement. ‘Go on, then!’

Some men were wine snobs, closing their eyes and inhaling before tasting. Luca enjoyed a fine wine but didn’t take it too seriously. After all, any local vineyard sold a decent table wine for just a few euros. Gelato, however; well, gelato he took very seriously, especially if it had his name on it.

He pulled the paper cup close, took the small tasting spoon and scooped a mouthful out of the cup, examining it closely. It was a pale, creamy colour, flecked with small biscuit-coloured chunks and a streak of clear fruit puree. Cautiously, he held it close to his nose and took a deep breath. Ah... Apple and cinnamon were the most pervasive flavours, instantly filling his nostrils with the scent of home baking, country kitchens. Autumn smells. He nodded slowly. So far, so good.

He brought the spoon to his mouth and carefully licked just a small portion of the ice cream, rolling the cold, creamy morsel round his mouth until he had savoured every flavour. The gelato base was creamier than usual; he would guess it had been made with a vanilla crème anglaise then swirled through with the apple puree and cinnamon. And the chunks...

He slid the rest of the portion off the spoon and into his mouth: a soft, crumbly, sweet texture. Sponge; apple, cinnamon, custard and sponge. It was delicious.

‘Well? What do you think?’

‘Very good indeed.’

‘Isn’t it? It came to me at the weekend, when I was working in the café. At first I was thinking of cupcakes but then I thought about the expansion and a way to corner the UK market. What better than English classic puds with an Italian gelato twist? Eve’s pudding—which is this one—crumbles, pies, even arctic roll? Of course,’ she added, ‘I might steal my own idea for cupcakes too. There’s no direct competition. Arctic roll cupcakes might be rather fun.’

Minty had perched on his desk, one long leg slung across the other, and her words were almost drowned out by the roaring in his ears. Mio Dio, did she have any idea of the effect she was having on him, sitting so close?

Today her formal office wear had been discarded and she was wearing a pretty summer dress in a deep sky-blue reminiscent of her eyes. Her legs were bare and far too close. Within touching distance. Her feet were clad in flimsy velvet flip-flops, her toenails painted to match her dress.

He really should say something about inappropriate footwear but all the breath had been sucked out of his chest.

Oblivious, she rattled on. ‘For all our sophistication, we are traditionalists at heart, especially with pudding. If you are going for a soft opening in the autumn, then this kind of stodgy comfort food might be the way forward.’

He could just put his hand out and touch her thigh, run his hand along those long, toned legs. Or put both hands on her waist and swivel her around. Pull her close to the end of the desk, down onto his lap, facing him.

Dear God, his mouth was dry. He stood up abruptly and skirted past her to the other end of the office, to the safety of his water cooler, to the safety of distance.

Luca took a sip of the ice-cold water, and then another, eyes focussed on the painting on the opposite wall, a vibrant abstract of the local countryside. But he wasn’t noticing the colours, the skilful brushstrokes, the stunning overall effect. He was trying to dampen down this sudden, fierce wave of desire that had swamped him.

What was wrong with him? So she had nice legs. So did hundreds of other women and he didn’t find himself wanting to stroke their thighs, thank goodness. That kind of behaviour could get a man into serious trouble. Blonde hair didn’t usually do it for him, either. That one night with Minty aside, his previous relationships had all been with brunettes.

Grimly he began to recite in his head all the reasons walking over to her and pulling her close were such a bad idea: she was working for him, she was practically family and she was a city girl with a life she was going to return to very, very soon.

The last time he’d given in to an urge to kiss her it had not ended well.

And, he told himself firmly, they had nothing in common. Oh, she was filled with excitement and passion for his business right now. That was because it was new and fun, different.

They both knew she wasn’t going to stick around.

But, a little insistent voice in his head pointed out, what did all that matter? Sure, Luca wanted a wife, a family, but it wasn’t as if he was dating anybody right now. Was he planning to live like a monk until he found the perfect candidate? Minty wasn’t actually working for him, she was playing at working. He wasn’t her boss; she could walk away any time.

She was no longer a girl. There was nothing wrong in wanting her now.

And she wanted him too. He’d seen it in those deep blue eyes as mysterious as the sea. He’d seen it in the flush of her cheeks, the curve of her lips. If he walked over there now and kissed her, she would respond. He knew that at some primeval level with utter certainty.

He just had to push that knowledge away. Far, far away.

* * *

‘So, next I’m spending some time in packaging and design and Tomas suggested that if you like the ice cream I could concentrate on the packaging for it. Not just for this, but for the concept. That’s if I’m staying. The two weeks are nearly up, after all.’

Of course she had won; she knew it. There was no reason to fail her. A new start, a challenge, a wager: she thrived on all these things.

And it had been fun. Unexpectedly fun.

Working with people all day, all part of a team, all trying to attain the same goal, was a buzz. Why did people say the nine-to-five was dull? It was absolutely stimulating. Of course, she conceded, she wasn’t having the full experience, moving from department to department as she was, but she had never felt so full of ideas, of creativity. Even at night she lay there with ideas buzzing round her brain, unable to sleep with it all.

Okay, it wasn’t just the work stopping her sleeping. Sharing a house with Luca was a serious mistake. Just knowing she could slip out of her bed, pad along the corridor to his room and slip in beside him was torture.

But what if he said no? He had refused her before. He wanted a woman to have his babies, all four of them. He didn’t want a ditzy debutante who fluttered from project to project, fiancé to fiancé, like a pollen-drunk butterfly. He wanted a sensible woman in sensible shoes with a sensible attitude.

And thank goodness he did, she told herself sternly. It was too risky. This one would hurt—had hurt. She might not bounce back this time.

If she was staying, she should seriously consider finding her own place well away from temptation. Maybe the local convent had a room. ‘So?’

‘So?’ he echoed.

‘Have I passed? Do I get to stay?’

‘If you want to.’ He sounded indifferent, as if her arrangements, her presence here, meant nothing to him. Perhaps it didn’t. Why should it? Occasionally she thought he felt it too, that he might be attracted to her. But attraction meant nothing without respect. Good genes had given her a healthy metabolism, body and bone structure. Money and an abundance of leisure time had allowed her to enhance those genetic gifts. Minty was under no illusions: a toned body, good skin and thick hair were nice to have. But she hoped she was worth more than their sum.

She hoped she’d have the chance to find out how much more one day. Being here, working with people who didn’t seem to care that her father was an earl, her mother an actress, or didn’t care that she had been tabloid fodder since her wild-child teens, people who only expected hard work, was liberating. It gave her hope.

‘Of course I want to stay.’

‘Of course,’ he murmured. ‘Of course, why would you want the financial freedom selling your shares to me would give you? Of course you would prefer to get up early every day and work for nine hours, five days a week.’

‘That’s how most people live.’

‘Yes, but you are not most people.’ Minty flinched at the sardonic gleam in his eyes, another reason not to get too close. He’d always had a disconcerting habit of seeing more than she revealed, seeing past her armour. ‘However, if you wish to stay I will, of course, honour our agreement. Unless...’ He paused reflectively. The amber eyes blazed; he looked at his most devilish. ‘Can you handle a new deal?’

He sounded so calm, so superior. Minty was tempted to say no, to flounce out, head held high. They’d made a deal and she had won. He couldn’t take that away from her.

But she was intrigued. Damn those gaming ancestors of hers.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll consider what you have to say.’

‘You can stay. I can see you would be useful in the marketing department working on the English-language campaigns. You have worked hard the past two weeks. Everyone is full of praise—and it’s what Rose would have wanted—so, we’ll sort out a job description, salary; everything will be done properly. And, of course, I expect you to take up your seat on the board. But when you get bored...’ He looked her straight in the eyes. ‘And you will get bored, Minty, we both know that— probably sooner rather than later. Then you sell your shares and you don’t come near my company again. Capisce?’

Oh, he was good, too good; too damn perceptive.

She slid off the desk, pulling her dress down as she did so. ‘What if I have a genuine reason?’ she asked sweetly. ‘A new job, a baby, a fiancé who sticks around, a broken leg, an emergency back home? What if I work for you for ten years and get a new opportunity? Does that still count?’

He laughed, a genuine burst of humour that surprised her, made her smile with the infectiousness of it. ‘If you are here in ten years I’ll...’ He cast about for an appropriate expression.

‘In English, we say “eat my hat”,’ Minty informed him helpfully and smiled back over at him. The smile wavered on her lips. Luca was looking at her intently, the humour disappearing as suddenly as it had arrived, an unreadable expression in his amber eyes. The contrast with his olive skin and those long, dark lashes was startling; it made him seem wild, almost wolflike. They were eyes a girl could get lost in, eyes that could make you forget where you were, what you were doing.

She swayed, taking a tiny step closer, and then another, hypnotised by those eyes, by the heat she could see burning in them, when the shrill sound of her phone’s ringtone blared out. She looked about for her phone, desperate to shut the intrusive noise off, to get back to the intimacy that had suddenly flared up. The noise was coming from her bag which was slumped on the desk behind her, next to the rapidly melting ice cream.

The ice cream wasn’t the only thing melting in the suddenly stuffy room.

Her legs like jelly, Minty wobbled to the desk, reaching out to grasp it for support. This wasn’t right. Luca hadn’t even touched her! How could a look, one look, affect her this way? She fumbled for her phone, but by the time she had pulled it out it was too late; the call had diverted to voicemail.

She took a deep breath. She was going to say something. She just wasn’t sure what. ‘Don’t look at me that way.’ Or maybe, ‘Kiss me.’

Possibly both.

She turned round, the words trembling on her lips. But Luca was gone.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘GOOD MORNING.’

Cheerful, well-modulated tones rang clearly across the room. The tones of someone who embraced each morning, someone raised on kippers, kidneys and anaemic toast. Someone raised on hearty pre-breakfast tramps across fields and woodland trails, a well-trained spaniel at their heel.

‘I hope you slept well?’ the cheerful inquisition continued.

‘Buongiorno.’ Forcing a polite smile on his face, Luca turned to face her. He might prefer silence, a brisk walk, black coffee and a newspaper to help him wake up properly but Minty was a member of that despised breed: breakfast chatterer.

And, annoyingly, using his newspaper as a barrier wasn’t working. She just chatted on regardless. He lowered it reluctantly. He should have gone in earlier, had his coffee and read his paper in the peaceful privacy of his office.

She was dressed and ready to go, a file by her side and the ubiquitous iPad in her hand. Sure, the effect looked industrious but Luca would bet good money that she was checking her social media accounts, not actually working. His mouth twisted wryly as he observed her. At least Minty was taking her new job seriously, sartorially at least, he noted. She definitely looked the part of a young marketing executive in a pretty grey dress that fell to just above the knee, teamed with a lemon cardigan and yet another flimsy pair of flip-flops, these the same colour as her cardigan. She had twisted her hair up into a knot with just a few tendrils hanging down. She looked as fresh as a lemon sorbet.

And just as desirable.

No, he reminded himself. Don’t go there. But he felt that increasingly familiar pull towards her, the heating of his blood as it flowed through his veins. Minty by comparison looked as cool as the sorbet she resembled, sitting on the tiled counter as she swiped the tablet’s screen, swinging those long, bare legs; slim, muscular, formed on the hockey fields of England’s best schools.

He forced himself to look away, to concentrate on the coffee and paper before him, but his gaze was inexorably drawn to the lithe figure. Did she know how much it annoyed him when she did that? Counters were for chopping things on, for cooking, preparing, not for sitting. Not for swinging ridiculously long legs. Why didn’t she sit in a chair like every other human being?

‘I need to leave; do you want a lift?’

Okay, that was a little abrupt, but she didn’t look surprised. She bit her bottom lip thoughtfully and drew his unwilling attention to the curve of her mouth and the full bottom lip that he knew was put to good use, charming its owner’s way through life.

‘A lift? Careful, Luca, a girl might think you enjoyed having her around.’

‘It seems silly to be using two cars, that’s all. Wasteful.’

Truth was, it was nice to have someone else around. The farmhouse was too big for one. It was crying out for conversation; music; laughter; love; noisy family suppers around the table.

And so was he.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘A lift would be nice.’ She sighed. ‘I do appreciate you putting up with me. I’m sure you can’t wait for me to be gone. I’ll look for a room soon, but I’m not sure I can afford a house round here; I’ll have to share.’ She pulled a face. ‘I’m sure Daddy will say it’s good for me, but I don’t see how rows about who ate the last yoghurt and whose turn it is to do the washing up are character-forming.’

‘Don’t rush. Take your time, save up a bit.’ He saw the surprise in her eyes and elaborated, ‘This was your home too, once. Rose would be glad that you are here.’

‘Actually, it was always your home,’ she corrected him gently. ‘It couldn’t have been easy, having your aunt and uncle move into your parents’ house. And then for me to turn up as well; talk about salt in wounds.’

For one moment it was as if all the breath had been sucked out of his body and all Luca could do was stare at Minty. In all the years he had known her, she had never once acknowledged that he had a right to resent her presence. Maybe she was growing up after all, developing empathy. Becoming the woman he had always thought she could be.

He hoped not. That could complicate everything.

‘I was grateful that Gio and Rose gave up their lives to move here so that I could have some continuity,’ he said after the silence had stretched thin between them. ‘The thought of moving to London after everything—leaving Italy, the countryside, my home, the factory, all my memories... I don’t know if I would have coped. But I didn’t have to. They moved here, took over the house and the business, raised me and allowed me to carry on. Your presence for a couple of months a year was a small price to pay.’

Minty laughed. ‘You and I both know that isn’t true; I was a royal pain in the butt. I resented you, you know. Rose was my aunt, the only person I really trusted, and suddenly she was miles away in a different country looking after you full time. I was so jealous.’

‘It was a long time ago.’ Luca suddenly knew two things with utter certainty: that he would have no peace whilst Minty was still in the house; and that he didn’t want her to go. Not yet. ‘Honestly, Minty. Stay. I’d like you to.’

Her eyes were filled with uncertainty as she stared at him, visibly considering her options, her face unusually open, a mixture of hope and fear. Finally her troubled expression cleared and she nodded, relaxed. ‘Thank you, Luca. I’d like that.’

‘Good.’ A weight slipped off his shoulders at her agreement, a weight he hadn’t even known he was carrying. He had been alone too long. And, although Minty might not be the most restful of housemates, she was at least familiar. She had watched him grow from a sad, taciturn boy through to conscientious adolescence.

In a way, she was family.

He shrugged off that troubling thought. ‘I just need to change, so I’ll be leaving in about fifteen minutes; is that okay with you?’

‘No problem, I’m ready to go when you are. I’ll grab another coffee and a brioche and read my emails. Just yell when you’re ready.’

Luca nodded and turned to go upstairs. He needed to change into his suit from his usual morning attire of comfy jeans and an old T-shirt. Whenever he had time he liked to get up early and go for a walk over some of the estate before coffee and the paper. One day he would have a dog to take with him—when he had a wife and a family—something big enough to take on long, country walks but not too overwhelming for small children. A spaniel, maybe, or an Italian greyhound.