Her First-Date Honeymoon

Before lunch they had spent two hours running through the visit’s itinerary. Two hours during which he had questioned his judgement in agreeing to her taking over the event co-ordinator role.

With her every exclamation of delight over the events planned, with every accidental touch as they worked through the files, with every movement that caused her jumper to pull on her breasts he had become more and more fixated with watching her.

And throughout the morning she had progressively impressed and surprised him with her attention to detail. Impressed him because she had picked up on some timing problems he hadn’t spotted. Surprised him because, tidiness-wise, the woman was a disaster.

Obviously timekeeping wasn’t a strength either.

The Chinese delegation were arriving in Venice this evening. He had to be at Hotel Cipriani at eight to greet them on their arrival. Emma had travelled over there, at her suggestion, after lunch to meet with the hotel co-ordinator and the interpreter employed for the duration of the visit.

He hit the call button again.

After yet more infuriating rings, she eventually answered.

He didn’t wait for her to speak, ‘Dove sei? Where are you?’

‘I’m not sure.’ There was a hint of panic to her voice. ‘After my meetings in Hotel Cipriani I decided I would visit the restaurant booked for the clients later this week on Giudecca. I found the restaurant and spoke to the owner and the chef. But when I left I must have gone in the wrong direction, because I’m totally lost. I can’t find my way back to the vaporetto stop.’

Now he really was regretting his decision to employ her. ‘Can’t you ask someone to help you?’

‘I have! But each time I follow their directions I end up even more lost down another narrow alleyway.’

Dio! ‘Can you see a street name anywhere?’

‘Hold on...yes, I see one! Calle Ca Rizzo.’

‘Stay there. I’ll come and get you.’

‘There’s no need. I’ll—’

He hung up before she had time to start arguing with him. It was already past four.

* * *

Emma placed her phone back into her padded jacket’s pocket, her already racing heart now acting as if it was taking part in the international finals of the one hundred metre sprint. The day had been going so well until she had gone and got lost in this warren of laneways or, as they were called locally, calli that made up Giudecca, an island suburb of Venice.

Her meetings in the opulent surroundings of Hotel Cipriani had gone smoothly, all the little extras she’d requested had been accommodated, and she had then made her way to Ristorante Beccherie, excited at the stunning views across the water to St Mark’s Square, the Basilica di San Marco and the Campanile clearly visible under the clear blue sky.

After her meeting at the restaurant she hadn’t minded getting lost at first. She had been enchanted by the three-and four-storey medieval red-brick houses on deserted narrow alleyways, by the washing hanging between the houses like bunting, the endless footbridges crossing over the maze of canals. The lack of the sounds of the twenty-first century because of the absence of cars.

But as she’d grown increasingly disorientated, her uneasiness had increased. She’d ended up in dead-end alleyways, silent and beautiful courtyards with no obvious signage.

Matteo was annoyed with her. No—scratch that. He’d sounded ballistic. Would he fire her on her first day?

She walked over to the canal that ran diagonally to the start of Calle Ca Rizzo and moved down onto the canal steps. The temperature was dropping and the cold stone bit against her skin.

Matteo was like Venice. Utterly beautiful but completely frustrating. All morning she had tried to remain professional, but she had been constantly distracted.

Distracted by his deep, potent musky scent when he moved closer to her to point something out in the file sitting between them.

Distracted by the perfect fit of his grey trousers on his narrow hips when he stood.

Distracted by the sight of his large hand lying on the table beside her: golden skin, wide palm, smooth knuckles, long, strong fingers tapering off into pale pink nails, all perfectly clipped into smooth ovals. Several times she had lost her concentration to those hands, dreaming about them on her skin, removing her clothes...

She had been glad of an excuse to get away from the palazzo, needing some space to pull herself together.

She dropped her head into her hands. What was she doing? Why was she having these thoughts? She wasn’t interested in men. In any form of relationship. She had a job to do. And falling for the boss was not only out of the question it was beyond stupid. Well, she hoped she still had a job to do. Maybe not when he arrived...

Fifteen minutes later she saw him stop on a footbridge further down the canal and stare towards her. His hip-length black wool pea coat was topped with a dark grey woollen hat. The pull of attraction tugged on every cell in her body. His mouth was turned downwards in a you’re in big trouble scowl.

She jumped up and tried to match his stride in her direction, but her legs were too wobbly so she careened her way along the canal bank, probably looking as if she had recently consumed a considerable amount of Chianti.

When they met her words of apology became lost. His hat hugged his skull, emphasising the intensity of his golden-brown eyes framed by thick black eyelashes, the beauty of his honey-coloured skin, the proud straight nose, the no-nonsense mouth softened by the cleft in his chin.

That gorgeous mouth hardened. ‘We are late for our appointments.’

Did that mean he wasn’t going to fire her?

Without another word he walked away and she followed alongside him, over countless bridges and through a maze of calli. They passed few people, and in the tight confines of the laneways he seemed taller and more powerful than she remembered.

She gave a quick summary of her meetings, updating him on any changes. Hoping his mood might improve. He made no comment but gave an occasional nod. At least he was listening.

Eventually they arrived at the broad reach of Canale della Giudecca and he led her to a sleek, highly polished wooden motor boat moored at a landing stage.

After untying the two mooring ropes he held the stern tight against the wooden stage. He held out his hand to her. ‘You need to climb aboard.’

She hesitated for a moment, suddenly wary of touching him. But, with the boat swaying in the choppy waters, she decided she’d risk holding his hand over the chagrin of being crushed against the landing stage.

His hand encased hers, and his powerful strength guided her on board. For a crazy few seconds she was engulfed by the sensation that she would always be safe with him in her life.

With practised ease Matteo pulled the boat away from the stage and was soon heading across the canal towards St Mark’s Square.

‘I’m sorry I got lost. I didn’t mean to inconvenience you.’

He gave that ubiquitous continental shrug that might mean he accepted her apology with some reservations or was so irritated by her that he couldn’t speak.

At first she thought he was going back up the Grand Canal to Ca’ Divina, but just west of St Mark’s Square he turned right and slowly motored up a smaller canal. The canal was busy with gondolas, the majority of their passengers embracing and kissing couples.

She plucked her phone out of her pocket and pressed some buttons mindlessly. She had thought she wouldn’t mind seeing couples together, enjoying this city of romance. Boy, had she been wrong.

A heavy pain constricted her chest.

She was supposed to be here with her husband. Not with a man who was clearly irritated with her. Not with a man who in truth she was more attracted to than she had ever been to her fiancé.

That truth was shaming.

That truth was bewildering.

* * *

‘As I explained this morning, five of my companies have a presence here on Calle Larga.’

Matteo came to a stop outside the type of store Emma would window shop at when walking along Bond Street in London but would never dare to enter, knowing her monthly salary wouldn’t even buy her a set of barely there but, oh, so gorgeous underwear.

He pointed along the bustling street. ‘Verde for handbags, Marco for shoes, Osare is the label for our younger urban clients... Gioiello stocks daywear, and...’ Gesturing to the store behind them, he added, ‘And VMV for the discerning.’

Was he aware of the constant looks of appreciation he received from passers-by? How within the VMV store a bevy of model-like assistants were flapping their arms in excitement at his imminent entrance?

‘I had hoped to take you into each store so that you could familiarise yourself with our product range.’ He threw her a reproachful frown. ‘But that will not be possible now. We only have time for your fittings.’

With that he turned, and the door of the store was magically opened by a stealthy doorman Emma hadn’t seen lurking behind the glass pane.

Matteo gestured for her to enter first.

She took a step closer to him and in a low voice asked, ‘What do you mean, “fittings”?’

‘You will need dresses and gowns for the various events you will be accompanying me to during the week.’

‘I have my own clothes.’

With a raised critical eyebrow he ran his gaze down over her body. Okay, so her black padded jacket and red skirt mightn’t be the most glamorous, but she did own some nice clothes.

‘I mean I have suitable dresses back at the palazzo.’

He stepped closer, his huge body dwarfing hers. His head dipped down and he glared into her eyes. ‘I don’t have time for this. Let me be clear. You are representing my companies this week. You have to wear clothing from the lines. It’s not negotiable. If you don’t like it then I’m happy for you to leave.’

Emma gave a quick nod and, with dread exploding in her stomach like fast-rising dough, stepped inside the store and sank into plush carpet. She opened up her padded jacket and yanked at the collar of her jumper. She was burning up. Not only from the heat of the store but from the unfriendly gazes being thrown in her direction by the models.

Matteo walked through the store, pointing out garments which were immediately whisked away to the rear of the store.

‘Bene. I’ve selected the gowns which I think will suit you.’ He exchanged some rapid words with the woman who had accompanied him in his selection of dresses. ‘Andreina will help you try them on.’

Emma smiled warily at the six foot ash blonde diva standing before her. In return she received a cool blue stare. Boy, was she glad she had been waxed to within an inch of her life in preparation for her wedding.

The fitting room was like nothing she had ever seen. A bottle of Prosecco on ice sat on an antique side table, with velvet grey chairs at either side. The floor was tiled in marble, and giant gilt-edged mirrors filled three walls.

She looked at the row of dresses awaiting her. And then at Andreina, who was staring down at her ankle boots, her forehead pinched in obvious disbelief at the water stains on the suede. Yeah, well, maybe Andreina should try walking from Camden Police Station to Highgate in icy slush.

Her stomach lurched. She felt like a gauche fourteen-year-old again, facing her mother’s critical stare. Forced to wear only what her mother approved of.

Time for Operation Toughen Up again.

She propelled Andreina by the elbow towards the door. ‘I’ll call you if I need any help.’ She closed the door on a stream of Italian protest, adrenaline pumping.

She approached the dresses warily. She would get this over and done with as quickly as possible. She stripped off her clothes and grabbed the first dress to hand. Her stomach lurched again. She pulled the silk bodice over her head, felt layer upon layer of fine tulle falling from her waist down to the floor. She twisted her arms around to her back in an attempt to tie the bodice but it was hopeless. She needed help.

She fought against the tears stinging her eyes. She couldn’t bear the feel of the material on her skin.

A knock sounded on the door. She ignored it.

‘Emma, what are you doing?’

Matteo.

She called out, ‘None of them suit. I’ll just have to wear my own clothes.’

The door swung open.

‘For crying out loud, Matteo, I could have been undressed!’

He crossed the room towards her, his eyes darkening. ‘I see near-naked models backstage at fashion shows all the time.’

‘Well, I’m not a model, am I?’

His mouth pursed, and then he asked with irritation, ‘Why are you upset?’

‘I’m not.’

He threw her an exasperated look. ‘That dress is perfect for you—what do you mean, it doesn’t suit? Look in the mirror and see for yourself.’

She turned her back on the mirrors, refusing to look, unable to speak.

He came closer, and she gave a yelp when she felt his fingers on the back of the bodice, tying the tiny fastenings.

‘Please don’t.’

He ignored her protest and continued to work his way down the bodice. Her spine arched beneath his touch as startling desire mixed with the upset dragging at her throat.

At first his movements were fast, but then he slowed, as though he too was weakened by the tension in the room—the tension of bodies hot and bothered, wanting more, wanting satisfaction.

Finished, he settled one hand on her waist while the other touched the exposed skin of her back above the strapless bodice.

‘Cosa c’e’? What’s the matter?’

She couldn’t answer. She longed to pull on her skirt and jumper again. To cover every inch of herself. To not feel so exposed. So vulnerable. So aware of him.

‘Look into the mirror, Emma. See how beautiful you are. I wasn’t comparing you to models.’

She could not help but laugh. ‘God, it’s not that...it’s just.’

His hands twisted her around until she was staring at herself in the mirror.

Sumptuous silk on brittle bones.

She spun back to him, her eyes briefly meeting his before looking away. ‘I’m sorry...it’s just these dresses remind me of my wedding dress.’

CHAPTER THREE

HOW COULD HE have been so stupid? Stupid to have agreed to let her work for him. Stupid not to have foreseen how these dresses might remind her of her wedding. Stupid to feel a responsibility towards this stranger. It was all so illogical. He barely knew her. He had too many other problems, responsibilities, in his life. But something about this woman had him wanting to protect her.

His hand moved to touch her, to lift her chin so that he could gaze into her eyes. To offer her some comfort. But he stopped himself in time. She was an employee. She was a runaway bride just burnt in love. He had to keep away from her.

‘I will ask Andreina to help you undress. You do not need to try on any more.’

‘No. It’s okay. I’m sorry...this wasn’t supposed to happen.’

He needed to get away. Away from the close confines of this dressing room. Away from how stunningly beautiful she looked in the gown, pale skin against ivory and purple silk. Away from the pain in her eyes he didn’t know how to cope with, didn’t know how to ease.

‘I’ll get Andreina.’

Her hand shot out and her fingers encased his wrist. She gave it a tug to halt him. ‘Not Andreina. Please will you help me untie the bodice?’

Why was she so adamant about Andreina?

He untied the clasps of the bodice, saw her shoulder blades contract into a shrug above the bodice.

‘All the dresses are stunning. I would be very proud to wear them. I just need to get used to the idea.’

Her voice shook just like her body.

More than ever he needed to get away.

‘Let’s talk about it outside.’

He walked out of the fitting room, wanting to get away.

Wanting to go back and take her into his arms.

Five minutes later she joined him outside the store.

Instead of guiding her back to his boat, he led her towards Campo di San Moisè. At the footbridge that led to the square and the baroque façade of Chiesa di San Moisè he found what he was looking for—a street vendor selling frittelle, the Venetian-style doughnuts only available during Carnival. He ordered a mixed cone.

They stopped at the centre of the footbridge and he offered Emma a frittella before biting into a frittella veneziana. The raisins and pine nuts mixed into the dough were the sugar hit he badly needed.

* * *

Emma bit into her frittella crema pasticcera, filled with thick custard cream, and gave a little squeal. The custard escaped from the doughnut and dripped down her chin.

Desire, thick and desperate, powered through his body.

They stood in silence, eating the frittelle, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss away the grains of sugar glittering on her lips.

The deep upset in her eyes was easing.

He needed to get this over and done with.

‘This isn’t going to work. I should never have agreed to it.’

She touched her fingers to her mouth and brushed the granules away, heat turning her pale cheeks a hot pink. ‘I’m really embarrassed...about getting lost and about what happened in the store. It was unprofessional of me. I promise it won’t happen again.’

‘You need time to recover from what you have gone through; you shouldn’t be working.’

She drank in his words with consternation in her eyes. ‘But I need to work—I want to work.’

Why couldn’t she see that he was doing her a favour? That this attraction between them was perilous.

‘Why?’

She crumpled the empty frittella cone in her hands. ‘Because I need the money. Because I want to focus on my career and forget the past year.’

Her jaw arced sideways, as if she were easing a painful tension in her jawline.

‘He really hurt you, didn’t he?’

Her thick dark eyelashes blinked rapidly, her mouth tensing. She angled away from him to face the canal.

She turned back before she spoke. ‘Because of his lies and deception, yes. Because of how he hurt other people.’

How had she not known what he was like? Why had she allowed herself to get hurt like this?

Anger swept through him. Together with the recognition that everything she was going through represented every reason why he would never marry, never give his heart and trust to another person. People always let you down, ultimately.

He had trusted, loved, hero-worshipped Francesco, Marco, Simone, Arnaud, Stefano... All his mother’s boyfriends. And they had all walked away from him. Showing just how little significance he’d held in their lives. Blood, family—that was all you could trust in. Nobody else.

‘Why were you marrying him?’

She jammed her left heel against the bottom of the bridge rail and rotated her foot. ‘You mean why didn’t I realise what he was really like? I met him last summer. It was a whirlwind romance. We got engaged after four months. He was charming and outgoing. He seemed to care for me a lot. He worked crazy hours and sometimes he didn’t turn up for dates... He always had a plausible excuse and I’d eventually forgive him. When we were together he was kind, if a little distracted...but I never saw the other side to him—the lying, the fraud.’

‘Four months isn’t a long time to get to know one another.’

Behind them a group of tourists walked by, their guide speaking loudly. Suddenly they all laughed in unison. The guide looked pleased with his joke.

Emma looked at them, taken aback. The tips of her ears were pink from the cold. For a moment he considered giving her his hat. Why did he keep forgetting she was his employee? Was it because they had already lain together in a bed? Even if it had been only for a few crazy minutes of misunderstanding?

She went to speak, but stopped. Her mouth quivered and she looked at him uncertainly. Her chest rose on a deep inhalation. ‘I wanted a family of my own...to belong.’

She spoke with such loneliness.

He stamped his feet on the ground. The cold was already stiffening his back. ‘Did you love him?’

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