The Italians: Luca, Marco and Alessandro: Between the Italian's Sheets / The Moretti Heir / Alessandro and the Cheery Nanny

She flushed—she hadn’t meant… He caught her eye and winked. Her colour still burning, she turned away and adjusted her clothing. When she’d summoned the courage and calm to turn back, he’d done the same.

He concentrated on serving—quick and efficient. She just focused on breathing and standing upright. He looked across at her. ‘Are you OK?’

She nodded. ‘I think so.’

He shook his head. ‘Let’s eat, OK?’

The dinner was divine, the meat melt-in-the-mouth tender, the vegetables tangy with some sort of marinade, but her mind was spinning too fast for her to truly enjoy it.

He held his fork with his left hand, using his right to cover hers—curling his fingers around hers. It wasn’t a possessive grip, nor demanding in a sexual way. It was simple contact. Almost comfort. And she appreciated it, needing the connection. While there was to be nothing long-lasting between them, she needed to know there was some sort of caring.

‘Have you got a mobile?’

‘I picked up a prepay last week.’ To field calls from employment agencies she’d yet to sign up with. To stay in contact with her sister who was too busy to bother.

‘I’ll give you my number.’ He stood, pushed the plates away and pulled her into his arms. ‘I’m not settling for a morsel this time. I’m having the whole banquet.’

Drugging kisses led to all-consuming passion, he carried her up the stairs to a room that was light and fresh and utterly impersonal.

She glanced, vision blurry. ‘This isn’t your room?’

‘My room’s a mess. I couldn’t let you see it with all my stuff all over the floor.’ And then he kissed her more, all over, confusing her thoughts, until she no longer cared about anything but having him inside her.

But after, as she lay loose-limbed and replete, she started to wonder what was going to happen next. She decided to test the waters. ‘I should get back to the hostel.’

He lay beside her, said nothing.

‘All my things are there,’ she couldn’t stop adding.

‘I’ll take you.’

She shouldn’t feel the thump of disappointment when she’d been prepared. But it walloped her in the stomach all the same. He didn’t want her to stay—not even the rest of the night. It really was just the fulfilment of an urge—scratching the itch and all that.

He left to change and she quickly pulled on her clothes, refusing to let emptiness eat away her satisfaction. Finding her way back down to the living area, she hardened her heart. This was her treat, remember? This was her chance to have and take what she wanted—and she had wanted. And she still wanted.

He was already waiting for her. In jeans and tee—she’d never seen him in jeans and, oh, yes, he was still her treat.

They drove back to the hostel in silence. Pulling up outside, he unclicked his seat belt.

‘Don’t come in,’ she said hurriedly, not wanting awkwardness to swallow the last remnants of pleasure.

He didn’t kiss her this time, just looked at her with shadowed, burning eyes that seemed to touch her skin just as if they were his lips anyway. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

CHAPTER SIX

THE more Luca thought about it, the more he didn’t like it. And he spent all day thinking about it. Emily couldn’t stay there, but the solution was no more tolerable—either way he was confronted with a situation he wasn’t comfortable with. But inevitably, as it had once already, desire won. He strode into the hostel common room wearing jeans and a shirt and a scowl. ‘Get your bag.’

‘Pardon?’ She was sitting cross-legged on a sofa, eating toast and reading the paper—at nine-thirty at night.

‘You shouldn’t be staying here. It’s not safe.’

‘Not safe?’

‘No,’ he asserted, feeling all the more grumpy. ‘Not safe. Full of transients and people you don’t know. I wouldn’t let my sister stay in a place like this on her own.’

‘Do you have a sister?’

‘No, but if I did, I wouldn’t let her stay here.’

‘You wouldn’t let her?’

He ignored the emphasis. ‘Come on, get your bag. You’re coming home with me.’

‘Do you have a brother?’

‘No. But again, if I did, I wouldn’t want him staying here. Not if I could convince him otherwise. It’s not right for a lone woman to stay here.’ He paced in a circle. ‘When you were with your sister it was different—just. But not now.’

She stepped in front of him, blocking his path. ‘And you don’t think moving in with some stranger is more risky?’

A flash of surprise checked him. ‘I’m not a stranger. And you know you have nothing to fear from me.’

He watched her think about it. Watched her sleepy, luminescent eyes widen.

‘Save your money and stay with me.’ He knew he almost had it won. He added some frills. ‘I’m your holiday fling, right? Why not let me provide the whole package—room, food and entertainment? Take your time to decide on a job and a flat. I don’t mind.’

‘Why, how generous you are, Luca,’ she drawled. ‘And what do you get out of it?’

‘What we’re both counting on.’ His house was his sanctuary. Quiet, relaxing—his and his alone. But for a few days he’d have to adjust. His body’s need was too strong—breaking through the boundaries he’d established years ago. And he couldn’t rest knowing she was alone in this hostel. Privacy and isolation could be restored—after.

‘You know I can’t say no.’

‘I was counting on that too.’

Did she really have nothing to fear? A little doubt niggled in the back of Emily’s brain. No strings, no commitment—wouldn’t living together make it harder to keep that distance? But she couldn’t resist his offer—and it was generous. Even though she was a with-it woman living in the twenty-first century and totally capable of safely staying in the hostel all by herself, she couldn’t help her instinctive, pleased response to his display of macho protectiveness. And while it might not be that risky, it was certainly reckless. Reckless was something Emily hadn’t ever been until that day in Verona. That hedonism, the holiday mood enveloped her now—bringing back the warmth of the Italian sun, the taste of bliss in his arms… Why couldn’t she extend that holiday, just for a little while longer? Didn’t, as he’d once said, she deserve it?

‘Your room, ma’am.’

He put her pack inside the door of the bedroom they’d lain in last night. The guest bedroom. So boundaries would be maintained—she wouldn’t actually be sleeping in his bed. She crossed the room and looked out of the window—last night she hadn’t been lucid enough to notice the view over the private gated gardens.

‘I’ll show you where the key is. You can go and read the morning paper in the sun. It’s very nice.’ He took her hand. ‘Let me show you the rest of the facilities. You’ve seen the kitchen and you have your own bathroom off your bedroom, so let’s move on to entertainment.’

‘I thought you were my entertainment.’

‘I’ll entertain you again and again. But this is for while I’m at work.’

And, if last night was anything to go by, it would be her recovery time. She followed him into the big, light room. A large sofa stretched in front of her and opposite was a wall of bookcases.

‘Take your pick, but if you don’t fancy reading…’ He pushed a couple of buttons on a remote and with a click and a whir half the bookcases seemed to disappear and a giant flat-screen TV was revealed.

‘Oh, that’s clever.’

‘Very Batman, don’t you think?’ he joked. ‘The DVDs are in this cabinet. I have a reasonable collection, but if you want to watch something else just let me know and I can get it delivered.’

A reasonable collection? There were masses of DVDs—enough to rival the entire stock of the DVD store where she’d worked. Although they were a little on the action/thriller side. Not too many romcom chick flicks—maybe his ex took them when they split up? She felt burningly curious about that part of his life—what had gone wrong? She’d ask some time, but was cautious about prying too much too soon. There had been real pain in his eyes when he’d admitted to being hurt and she didn’t want to spoil the lightness of the mood now. Not when she sensed this was a little out of the ordinary for him. It was way out of the ordinary for her too.

‘I take them out of the cases. It makes it easier to store more.’

‘And are they filed alphabetically, by genre, or director or something?’

‘No.’ He grinned. ‘In order of purchase. By all means sort them if you want, though. Watch any, watch all.’

‘You expect me to figure out all these remote controls? The stereo, the TV, the DVD player, the curtains…’

He laughed and gestured towards the bi-folding doors along the back wall. ‘Through there is a formal lounge I don’t tend to use unless I have some sort of gathering. Now follow. I’ve saved the best ’til last.’

His room? She was very curious about that. But while he led her to the stairs it wasn’t up but down that he went. At the very bottom they were confronted with a closed door. He pushed buttons on the keypad on the wall beside them. ‘I’ll give you the number.’

‘I’m going to need a two-hundred-page manual to remember how to work this place.’

‘It won’t take you that long.’

‘Why the security?’

‘My housekeeper has a young son. I don’t want him in here without supervision.’

‘Supervision?’ What on earth was in there? ‘And you said I had nothing to fear? Let me guess, it’s a soundproof room and filled with electric guitars and drum kit ’cos you’re really a metal head.’

He shook his head.

‘Wine cellar?’

He grinned. ‘I have a couple of cabinets upstairs but the bulk of my collection is stored offsite.’

He was serious about that?

‘Believe it or not this is much more fun.’ He opened the door.

She blinked as he switched on the lights. Oh, wow. She would never have expected this.

The expanse of blue was lit underneath—the light was subtle and it was warm and cast pretty patterns on the gleaming white walls.

‘Oh.’ The water was about two lanes wide and went the length of the room.

‘There’s a small gym down there and a bathroom through there.’ He walked down the last step onto the small paved area at the head of the pool. ‘Nice, huh?’ He whipped off his tee shirt, and kicked away his shoes. His hands went to his belt.

‘Very nice.’ Her smile broadened as he pulled his jeans down and stepped out of them. His boxers followed. ‘Really, very nice.’

He winked back, then turned, dived straight in, his arms moving in a perfect arc. He surfaced several feet out in the pool, droplets of water flew as he shook his head. ‘Aren’t you coming in?’

She stood at the edge and thought of the lamest excuse she could. ‘I don’t have my swimsuit with me.’

‘Emily, this is hardly the public pools. You don’t need a swimsuit.’

Time for honesty, then. ‘Actually, I’m not the most confident swimmer.’

‘You come from an island nation. I thought you were all born swimming.’

‘I can swim. I’m just not that confident. I don’t like it when my feet can’t touch the bottom. It looks really deep there.’

‘It is really deep. But I can make it shallower for you.’

‘How?’

‘It has an adjustable floor. I can’t do it right now, but will do later if you want.’

Adjustable floor? ‘Why do you have it so deep?’

‘I like diving.’

‘As in somersaults and flips and stuff?’

‘No, as in scuba-and free diving. I practise down here. Have you ever gone scuba diving? Underwater gardens are as beautiful as the trees and flowers sort.’

‘I don’t think that’s for me.’ She shook her head. ‘I’d be afraid of being swallowed whole and never finding my way to the surface.’

‘It’s easy. Come on, come in. It’s really shallow this end. Think of it as a giant bath.’

It was too beautiful to resist. Just like him.

‘I’m not going in that deep end.’ She tried not to feel self-conscious as she stripped, felt better as he swam closer, looking more wicked the more naked she became.

She stepped down the ladder. It was a giant bath—but tepid, neither too cold nor too warm.

‘You’re not a risk-taker?’ He reached out for her.

‘I haven’t been in a position to be able to take risks.’ She let him pull her through the water.

‘But you’re in a position to now.’

Yes. And she already was taking a huge risk.

The floor of the pool suddenly dropped away.

‘Hold onto me.’ He put her arms around his neck. Their bodies bumped, warm and wet, and she wound her legs round his waist. His legs worked, keeping them both afloat, moving them through the water.

‘Does nothing scare you?’ she asked. He seemed so strong, so sure of himself.

‘The things that scare me are the things that happen outside of my control but that impact on my life.’

‘What—like hurricanes?’ She felt his puff of laughter.

‘Hurricanes of the human kind.’

‘Like losing your mum?’

‘Yeah, I guess.’ No laughter this time.

‘What was boarding school like?’ She still couldn’t get over that one—how isolated he must have been.

‘Actually it wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t an archetypal horror. I had good teachers, stability—year in, year out, same place, same people. My father provided the money for a first-class education and all the extras I could want. Swimming, skiing, scuba. I studied hard but I had a good time too. More of a good time than you probably did. Was there no one else for you and Kate?’

‘Mum had a brother but he lived hours away and wasn’t able to help. We were OK. I had Kate.’ She looked down into the blue; it really was very deep beneath them. ‘You like going down there?’

‘I like the quiet. The weightlessness. Free of encumbrances.’

‘You’ve got an encumbrance now.’

‘You weigh nothing in the water, Emily.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll help you go below and then find the surface again. You’ll be swimming like a mermaid in no time.’

They were heading back towards the end of the pool and she swam away from him to the edge.

‘I might be a mermaid who plays in the shallows.’ She climbed up the ladder, chanced a look at him over her shoulder and burst out laughing.

He stood, the water lapping at his hips, his erection thrusting from the water like some sort of missile, and his face bore the expression of a satyr.

‘I’m thinking you’re more of a siren than a mermaid.’ He didn’t bother with the ladder, simply vaulted over the side and lunged for her. ‘You’re going to like the shower down here.’

Emily slept for longer than she’d ever slept in her life. When conscious at last, she lay quietly listening for sounds of movement, but he must have gone to work hours ago. She showered in the spacious en suite, standing for a long time under the hot, heavy jet of water, washing away the faint aches from Luca’s all-physical passion. Slowly she dressed, unsure of what she wanted to do today. She hadn’t had a holiday since she was a kid. And now she had the time to consider her options—to work out what her options even were. Stomach rumbling, she headed straight to the kitchen.

As she entered the room she could suddenly hear a noise nearby. The door to the walk-in pantry was shut, but the door beside it was open. Emily went through and looked at the stranger in the middle of the small room she’d hadn’t even known was there. She was a petite woman who looked as if she’d swallowed a beach ball—pregnant as anything.

‘You must be Emily.’ She spoke, a pretty Italian accent colouring her words. ‘I’m Micaela.’

The tiny brunette was drowning in sheets. Some complex ironing contraption in front of her and a wall of high thread count all round.

Emily nodded. Amazed at the scene, she took in the sound of the washing machine and the dryer beside it.

‘I can make my bed,’ Emily said hurriedly as she looked at the sheet mountain. ‘Please.’

Micaela smiled. ‘You are staying in—’

‘The room with that incredible view over the gardens.’ She wondered if the view from the floor above would be even more spectacular… Luca’s own personal space… what was it like?

Emily looked at the housekeeper again, worried. She was tiny and pregnant and shouldn’t be scrubbing the floors, or wrestling with the ironing or anything much, surely.

‘Can I help you with those?’ She automatically stepped in, taking one end of the sheet and helping to fold the smooth linen.

‘Don’t worry,’ Micaela assured her as they stacked the folded sheet on top of the others. ‘My husband usually helps and he does any heavy work. You’ve met him already. Ricardo. He drove you from the airport.’

Oh. That was her husband? So they both worked for Luca. And Micaela knew about the airport ride. Emily wondered what she made of it—wondered if it was normal for Luca to pick up strange women when overseas.

‘Luca thinks I should stop working altogether, but I like to keep busy. So—’ Micaela stepped out from behind the mass of white and led the way back to the kitchen ‘—what can I get you for lunch?’

‘Oh. Nothing.’ Emily was embarrassed on several levels—she wasn’t used to someone preparing food for her, and was it really lunchtime already? ‘I’ll make myself a sandwich later. And I promise I’ll clean up after.’

Micaela’s smile was almost friendly. ‘Well, if you need anything, please just let me know.’

‘Thank you,’ Emily murmured awkwardly. She drifted through a door and found herself in the formal lounge that Luca had gestured to last night. A gleaming black baby grand piano stood showcased in the corner. She was instantly drawn to it. Happiness flooded her—she hadn’t played properly in weeks. She ran a finger along the edge—not a speck of dust. She doubted that Luca played—it didn’t seem to fit his image somehow. But owning one that was so magnificent didn’t surprise her. Luca had nothing but the best.

Gingerly she sat at the piano seat, a little in awe, and experimented with a key here and there, then a chord. It was perfectly tuned. But she sensed this instrument hadn’t been played properly in a long time. She stretched her fingers out, feeling the pressure of the piano resisting her. She pushed harder on the keys and then softer to get the right tone. Her foot tentatively touched the pedals.

The sound she wanted started to come. And then she forgot her surroundings—simply sat and played as she hadn’t in years. Not the accompaniment to one of Kate’s songs—beautiful as they were—but a solo piece, just for her own pleasure.

A step sounded right behind her. Emily spun on the seat. Nearly fell off it as she saw the small boy only a nose away watching her. So much for thinking she had any sort of sixth sense. How long had he been standing there?

‘Hi,’ she said. He must be the housekeeper’s son and rather gorgeous he was too.

He said nothing in reply. His eyes darted to the piano behind her.

‘Want to hear some more?’

He didn’t answer, but he looked like a yes. Emily smiled. He was cute.

‘Come on, then.’ She turned back to the keyboard, not wanting to make him more self-conscious and run away. She launched straight into another piece—one that he might recognise. A few minutes later she felt his restlessness at her side. She glanced at him—was he over it already? Had enough? Itching to get away? But no, he was watching her fingers on the keys and she realised the restlessness was his own little fingers moving.

‘You want to have a go?’

There was a smile then.

At first she had palpitations over some kid’s sticky fingers bashing the keys. But it was built to be played—to be used, to be loved. And she could tell by the roundness of his eyes that this was something he’d wanted for a while.

Her smile grew as wide as his as she guided his fingers and they tapped out ‘Twinkle Twinkle’. He giggled. She understood exactly how he felt.

‘Marco.’

He jumped. So did Emily.

‘It’s OK.’ Emily turned quickly to speak to Micaela. She didn’t want him to get in trouble. But then she saw the indulgence in his mother’s eyes and knew there was no way this boy could ever do anything bad as far as she was concerned. She said something softly to him in Italian that had him running out of the room.

‘Thank you,’ Micaela said.

‘It’s nice to have someone who likes to listen,’ Emily said simply. ‘How old is he?’

‘Almost five. He’ll be starting school in a couple of weeks.’

Emily nodded. ‘He’s lovely.’ She felt braver now, able to talk. ‘When are you due?’

‘December.’ Micaela’s smile was different this time, full and unreserved. ‘Our own little Christmas miracle.’

By the time Luca got home—late—Emily’s need, like a fever, had her hot and jumpy. Passion was the only cure for the madness bubbling her blood—unfortunately, it was also the cause. She met him at the door and the look in his eye mirrored hers—ravenous. Melting against him, she savagely ran her fingers through his hair. They dropped to the floor, keeping the contact of the kiss as much as they could. Unashamedly she stretched out, spreading her legs, arching up as he pressed down on her, his hands forcing fabric aside. He thrust deep as she was still undoing the top button on his shirt, only just getting him naked enough for her to curl her nails into his skin as the spasms hit and she came.

‘Not enough,’ he growled, rocking harder into her. ‘I want it to last…’ But instead he groaned as she clamped tight around him, flexing her feminine muscles to trap and release him hard and fast and revelling as he finally collapsed.

Lying beneath him, she forced herself to ignore the burgeoning feelings that now followed so fast after the physical relief. She had to remember what they’d agreed. She had to keep it carefree.

‘So, honey—’ she put on a cooing tone ‘—did you have a good day?’

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘PLAY the elephant one again.’

‘OK,’ Emily laughed. ‘But you have to do the singing.’

She and Marco were having a fine time at the piano. Giggling over Emily’s deliberately wrong notes and the game of starting over again.

‘What’s going on?’ Luca didn’t sound anywhere near as amused as they were.

Marco leapt off the seat but Emily refused to jump to attention. She slowly turned. What was he doing home in the middle of the day?

‘We’re playing the piano.’ Coolly she answered with the obvious.

‘Marco.’ Micaela was at the doorway in a blink and her son scarpered from the room. Emily saw the anxious glance the housekeeper sent Luca. She didn’t blame her. There was something in his silent appraisal that had her feeling uncomfortable too. But she wasn’t going to let it show. Luca might be the boss of Micaela, but he wasn’t the boss of her. She was his guest—wasn’t she? Not an employee to be told off for insubordination or overstepping the mark.

Micaela said something in Italian. He gave only a brief reply, a flash of teeth and then the woman stepped back. She sent a small smile in Emily’s direction, but Emily barely saw it, too busy trying to read the unreadable mask that was Luca’s face and growing all the more irritated with her failure.

Luca heard the door click and knew Micaela had headed to the kitchen. He stepped further into the lounge, unable to take his eyes off Emily, unable to stop the churning feeling inside.

For the forty-six thousandth time he asked himself what he was doing. Jerked his shoulders because he had no idea and it irritated him. He couldn’t have left her at that hostel, he’d been right to bring her here—a week or so, she’d get sorted and they’d burn themselves out. But he hadn’t had enough of her. If anything his desire was growing. Only two days into it and here he was at home in the middle of the day because he wanted to see her, wanted to talk to her, wanted to spend time with her.

With wary movements she turned a little to the side and gestured. ‘It’s a beautiful piano. I hope you don’t mind.’