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

Rage turned everything red. She opened her mouth to hurl the venom at him but he, as visibly irate as she, got in first.

‘She died.’ His lips barely moved as he ground out the answer.

It was a full minute before she moved. Even longer for him—rigid with the effort of containing high-running emotion.

Finally, Emily released a painful breath. Remorse, pity, despair exploded inside. Her eyes, her nose, stung as if she’d sucked in some poisonous gas.

‘Luca…’ Her voice caught. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Not just for his loss, but for her thoughts of just a few seconds ago—thoughts that she knew had been written all over her face. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Why would I?’

She flinched. That one hurt. Hard and unforgiving and a bitter reminder of her nothing status. Her vision fogged as she turned away. She heard him swear under his breath.

‘Emily—’

‘No, you’re right,’ she gabbled, walking to the door. ‘It’s none of my business.’

‘I’m sorry I snapped.’ He grabbed her arm. ‘I didn’t mean that.’ He held on hard and she had to stop walking. ‘It’s just that it was a really long time ago and I don’t like to think about it much. Or talk about it. Or anything. Much.’

She blinked. ‘I’m sorry too.’ She couldn’t look at him. ‘I shouldn’t have been so rude.’

‘Stay here. I’ll just have a word to Micaela.’

He stood just outside the door and called to Micaela. They yabbered for a few minutes; Emily understood nothing of what they said. But she understood so much more of him now: why he held her, and the rest of the world, at a distance. Not only had he buried his wife. He’d buried his heart with her.

He reappeared in the doorway. ‘Dinner will be at eight.’

‘I’m not going to be here, Luca.’

‘Yes, you are.’ He crossed the room and infiltrated her space enough to send her pulse crazy. Damn, rational thought was impossible when all the oxygen seemed to be sucked away in his presence. ‘We’re not done yet and you know it. You just admitted it. Besides—’ he inhaled deeply and seemed to force more lightness in his tone ‘—you’d be doing me a favour. In fact I’d really appreciate your company.’

‘Why?’ What was with this complete, and obviously concerted, change of heart?

‘There are a couple of people coming tonight. Pascal, who you spoke to, I’ve known for ages. He was my mentor—has a formidable knowledge of the markets and taught me everything. He’s also been happily married for the last fifty years. He wants the same for me and has taken it upon himself to find me a replacement wife. He always brings a possible candidate to dinner. This current one is a consultant with the London branch of his company. He’s brought her the last couple of times we’ve met up. Having you there will be a good shield.’

‘You want me to—’

‘Protect me from the unwanted advances of another woman—yes.’ His mouth made the movements of a smile but there was too much of an edge.

‘That’s ridiculous.’ It was ridiculous. As if he’d ever need that. He certainly didn’t want a replacement wife. He couldn’t have made that clearer to Emily, but that was the point, wasn’t it? She was his shield from another woman trying to get close and she was good protection because she already knew her place.

Suddenly she had no desire whatsoever to protect him now. She was hurt and she wanted him to open right up. And while he’d changed his mind about tonight, she didn’t have the lack of interest or the dignity to refuse—she wanted to know more before she left. She wanted to know everything. What had happened to his wife? How long was a long time ago? And what was this woman coming tonight like? Why did his old mentor think she’d be a good match for him? Emily’s emotions were all at sea and jealousy was the next to fly its flag.

‘Have you slept with her?’ She made no apology for the rudeness of her question. She just had to know.

‘No.’ His lips went firm.

‘Do you want to?’

‘No.’

Uh-huh. Consultants were bound to be beautiful and slim and well maintained as well as brilliant and she refused to believe the woman wouldn’t be interested in Luca. There wasn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t be interested in Luca.

His temper flashed again. ‘If I’d wanted to, I would have by now.’

By now she’d thought enough to be able to believe him. He was so determined to compartmentalise his life and he’d be too disciplined to blur the lines. Too hurt by the past?

He bent, glaring right in her eyes, and still felt the need to raise his voice and fire the words in her face. ‘This is the thing, Emily—I don’t screw around and I don’t cheat.’ His jaw was tight. ‘Eight p.m. Here. Wear something half-decent.’

Emily recoiled at the blunt instruction. It was as if he’d slapped her across the cheek and all her sympathy sank under the force of it. So he did think she’d embarrass him. Did she have no manners? No class? No decent clothes, obviously. And he didn’t take her out because she wasn’t good enough to be seen with.

For a second he stared at her, a beat of amazement in his eyes, before his frustration blew. A short, sharp, crude oath and he was gone. Three seconds later the house shook as the front door slammed.

CHAPTER NINE

EMILY counted to twenty and then went in search of grissini. She needed something she could snap her teeth on—to crunch away her anger and grind away her guilt, because right now she felt bucket-loads of both.

In the kitchen, Micaela was at the bench, restraint tightening her usually friendly face. As Emily went into the pantry she wondered just how much of that argument she’d heard. Heat scorched her cheeks. So yesterday she and Luca had been at it like rabbits mid-morning, and today they were yelling at each other. It couldn’t make for a pleasant working environment. But Micaela was busy making meal preparations and not looking her in the eye.

‘Where’s Marco?’ Another awful thought occurred to her—was the poor kid hiding in his cupboard under the stairs?

‘He’s at a neighbour’s playing today.’

Emily released another difficult breath, glad that he hadn’t been around to overhear them fighting. ‘I’m sorry if…I…er…’

Micaela put down the knife she was scoring tomatoes with and turned briskly to face her. ‘I want to tell you something. It is personal and I hope you don’t mind but I want to tell you.’ It was as if she’d been putting the words together in her head for the last five minutes and finally decided to launch forth.

Her grissini suspended mid-air, Emily wondered what the hell it was all about.

‘It’s difficult for us to get pregnant. We tried and tried for so long. But nothing. Then we found out that we needed help.’

Emily blinked. She didn’t know what she’d expected but it wasn’t that.

‘My family is all in Italy. We didn’t have much money and we had no one to turn to.’

Turn to for what? Emily couldn’t keep up with the speed of the subject.

Micaela’s eyes were dark and shiny and emotion wobbled her voice. ‘Luca gave us Marco and he gave us this baby.’

And for one moment, one awful, jealousy-ridden, rottenly hideous moment, Emily thought Micaela meant that Luca had fathered her children.

‘He gave us the money.’

Emily put the grissini down and sagged back against the bench. What was it with her and wrong conclusions today?

‘For treatment. For doctors.’

Thank heavens Micaela didn’t seem to have noticed her almost collapse, too busy getting all the details out.

‘We’ve been going to a private clinic for years. Thousands and thousands of pounds for treatment so we could try and try again—for as long as we wanted to. He said there was no limit. That it was up to us.’ She picked up the knife again, head bent as she sliced into the tomato. ‘He told us it was part of our health-insurance package as our employer. But it is directly from him.’

She directed a piercing gaze at Emily then, and all her caring and gratitude was evident in the way her eyes were watering and the fierce way she spoke. ‘He works too hard. He is too hard on himself. He is a good man. And he deserves…’

‘What?’ Emily prompted. No wonder they were so loyal to their employer, so happy to drop everything and come running when summoned. No wonder she ironed his damn sheets.

‘He deserves to be happy.’

Emily closed her eyes. Yes, he did. But didn’t everyone? Didn’t she too?

‘He should have the kind of happiness he’s given Ricardo and me.’

Love. Children. A family.

Now Emily felt worse, because it seemed that Luca had almost had that, only to lose it, and now he didn’t want it at all. And she, not realising, had taunted him.

She wished he’d told her before. She’d told him about her parents. But he’d had no intention of ever getting to know Emily well enough to have to bother. Only she’d made him. She rolled the breadstick back and forth on the bench. Thought about what Micaela had told her and why she had told her—because she wanted her to see the best of Luca? ‘How long have you worked for him?’

‘Almost eight years. He said I should stop when I got pregnant, but I like working. It keeps my mind off worrying.’

Emily understood. Wasn’t that what she’d done back home—kept herself busy as a way of burying her fears? And now her lips burned with questions about Luca’s past. But she couldn’t ask them. It would be prying and Micaela probably wouldn’t tell her anything anyway. She’d share her own personal story, but not that of her employer. Her loyalty was too strong and rightly so. Emily didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Besides, she’d rather hear about it from Luca himself.

He was such a challenge to her—and now, with the mention of this woman tonight, she felt a streak of competitiveness too. She’d show him, and all of them, just how damn stylish she could be…

But something ‘half decent’? Her pack was filled with lightweight trousers and skirts and old tee shirts. Her wardrobe hadn’t been the priority for some time—like, ever. It was Kate who’d had her hair done, who had the fashionable clothes—as the singer centre stage she’d needed to. Emily, the accompanist, had only needed a black top and trousers so she wouldn’t stick out.

She looked at Micaela, at the way the Italian was still chic and gorgeous despite having a belly the size of an award-winning watermelon. Emily needed her kind of help. ‘Can you recommend a shop that sells nice clothes that aren’t too expensive? One that might have something suitable to wear to a dinner party?’

Micaela, her self-possession fully restored, sent her a broad smile. She didn’t just give her the name of the place, she drew her a map.

Luca pushed back from his desk and took a turn around the room. Guilt licked his feet like the burning flames of a small fire that he’d accidentally stumbled on barefoot. Impatiently he moved, trying to stamp out the unpleasant sensation. Adding to that discomfort, irritation whipped at his back. He didn’t want to do dinner parties. He didn’t want to go out and be social. He just wanted to stay home and be with Emily. The only thing salving the annoyance was the fact that she’d admitted she couldn’t leave him yet. Good, because he couldn’t let her go.

He wasn’t angry because she’d made him think about Nikki, but because she’d so obviously thought the worst of him. But then, why shouldn’t she? He’d underlined the temporary, nothing-more-to-it-than-the-physical nature of their affair—of course she probably thought he did it all the time like some cheating stud out for cheap thrills… But her judgment hurt. What she thought of him mattered—and that was the real problem.

He paused at the corner of his office where the sheets of glass met, giving a spectacular view over the city. Pascal was the problem too. If it had been anyone else who had called, that argument wouldn’t have happened. But for Pascal and Emily to meet? Luca felt so uncomfortable about that.

But he had to host him—Pascal rarely came to London now. Part of him wanted to—but that part was small compared to the part that wanted another night with Emily all to himself. Guilt took another bite. The old man had done so much for him. He owed him. And even though Pascal had insisted that he wanted to see him settled, it wasn’t that black and white. He had been there when Nikki died. He was the one person who knew it all. They almost never spoke of it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

He walked home—cutting it fine time wise—stopped in the kitchen first off to check if Micaela was holding up OK. He’d had no idea she ironed his sheets—teased her about it and told her to stop. She smiled and waved him away. He breathed deep and savoured the aromas. Of course she’d have it in hand. Emily had that one so far wrong. He paid the couple more than three times the going rate, but only because they were worth it. They were loyal and hardworking and, yes, went the extra mile when he needed them to. Which wasn’t anywhere near as often as Emily might think—certainly not since Micaela had got pregnant.

He didn’t go in search of Emily, not concerned that she might have moved out after the row that morning. He’d instructed Micaela days ago to let him know if she made any sign of leaving for good. And some more breathing time after this morning wouldn’t go astray. He showered and dressed, tucking in his shirt as he walked back down to her room.

He knocked and went straight in. He took one look at her and was glad he’d taken those extra moments to breathe because there was no air getting to his lungs now. They’d shut down. So had everything else in his body, save one organ south of his belt. And then his heart started pounding.

It was just a black dress. Not even that revealing. But those arms and legs were on show, a slight hint of the deep cleavage, and a lot of back. That meant…he fought to focus…

‘You’re not wearing a bra.’

‘Hello to you too.’ She turned and gave him a cool look. ‘No, I’m not. Is that not decent enough for you?’

When he’d told her to wear something half decent, he hadn’t meant dressy. He’d meant something to cover her up. She was all bare arms and legs all the time and he didn’t want to be a total picture of distraction when Pascal was here. Like a dog salivating over a particularly juicy piece of meat.

It hadn’t come out right, but he’d been too rattled to rephrase. He’d seen the spark in her eye, known he’d scored a hit—not one he’d meant, but at the time he’d felt a gleam of misplaced satisfaction because it had felt as if she was knocking at him left, right and centre. And then he’d just felt wildly angry with her, with himself and with the whole damn uncontrolled mess. But clearly she’d taken it to heart because the woman before him now was the epitome of sultry sophistication.

She turned back to the mirror, lifted her strawberry-blonde hair and twisted it up. He was sorry; he loved the length of it, the depth of colour, wanted to run his fingers into it. Only now, as she secured it with a few clips, her cheekbones were displayed. And the odd strand feathered down, wisping around her ear, her neck, and he wanted to kiss the parts of her they pointed to.

He cleared his throat, looked away. Not tonight—at least, not now. He braced every muscle, determined to calm his raging hormones. He only had to get through a few hours. That was all. He could manage that, couldn’t he?

CHAPTER TEN

EMILY concentrated on applying her mascara, trying to apply a brake to the mad acceleration of her heart. Luca crossed the room and picked up the box she’d placed on the table—she hadn’t been sure what she’d wanted to do with it.

The diamonds caught the light as he lifted the bracelet out. He walked towards her, holding the chain out straight. ‘Wear it for me.’

She met his eyes; the fire burned in them, melting that hard chocolate.

‘OK.’ It wasn’t about the bracelet, it was about him. And she couldn’t say no.

He wound it round her wrist and did the clasp. The metal was cold at first but soon warmed against her skin. Glancing back in the mirror, she pushed another pin into her loose topknot and as she did the bracelet slid down her arm a little, catching the light again and sparkling brilliantly. It was beautiful. No other adornment would ever be necessary. It lifted her simple black dress into something stunning and it lifted her status into something nearer his—she couldn’t be confused with the waiting staff now. Part of her loved it—how could she not? And yet part of her hated it—and the soulless contract she felt it represented. Was he worried about tonight and how she was going to come across? Was he sprucing her up with an expensive piece of jewellery?

‘Am I decent now?’ she asked softly.

As she waited she saw his tension increasing, but it wasn’t a flush of desire growing; if anything he’d gone paler beneath his brown tan and his body was tense. ‘When I asked you to wear—’

‘Asked? It was more of an order, Luca.’

‘Whatever. I didn’t mean dressy. Your arms, your legs poke out from those tee shirts and they tempt me. And now…’ His jaw clamped, as if he was holding back more.

‘Now what?’

‘There’s your back. And there’s no bra. And you’re too beautiful.’

She squared her shoulders. ‘Do you want me to change?’

‘No.’

She tilted her chin and decided to play with that one advantage she did have.

‘Don’t look at me like that, Emily.’

‘Like what?’ OK, so in her mind she was removing his clothes, piece by piece.

‘Emily…’ He sounded half-strangled.

She ran her hands from his shoulders to his waist. ‘You look good too.’

Good enough to eat. She stood on tiptoe so she could press her mouth to his. Only she didn’t, instead she took only his lower lip, sucking it into her mouth and then catching it between her teeth to give it a nip, then sucking again. Oh, yes, he was definitely good enough to eat.

He stood frozen, so she did it again, stepping in closer to invade all his space.

His hands smoothed over the curve of her bottom, and as her teeth nipped the second time his fingers curled into her softness and he pulled her right into his hips.

She smiled as she felt his body harden. This was the tension she liked to see in him. She held his jaw in her hands, fingers fluttering over the freshly shaved skin, and kissed him some more, teased him some more, tortured him some more. And he, rock-hard, let her. Until he groaned and his hands pushed while his pelvis thrust. One hand went to her dress, lifting the hem.

It was the sound of the door opening downstairs that stopped her. She listened to Micaela greeting the guests, then whispered, ‘We can’t. They’ve arrived.’

‘We can,’ he growled, breathing harsh, grinding his hips against hers. ‘They’ll wait.’

‘You are so arrogant. We can’t be rude. They’re here already.’

‘We can. We only need ten, twenty seconds, tops.’

She laughed against his lips. ‘Not enough.’

Groaning, he pushed her away. ‘Damn it, it’ll take me longer to calm down than it would have to follow through on that.’

Giggling, she did a final fuss in the mirror for damage control.

‘It’s not funny.’ He turned his back on her and stalked to the door. She followed him down to the foyer, watching from a distance as he pressed a kiss on the woman’s cheek, shook the hand of the older man.

‘What’s that perfume you’re wearing, Luca? So lovely and floral.’ She was as stylish as to be expected. Slim, sophisticated and coyly sharp. ‘It really suits you.’

Pascal’s sharp eyes flew from Luca’s slightly forced smile to Emily’s own on-fire face. Emily saw him swap a smile of amusement with the woman and was confused. Surely if Pascal wanted Luca and her to get together he wouldn’t be looking so pleasantly surprised about Emily’s presence? And as for the unsubtle question mark hanging over her involvement with him…

But Luca was downplaying it. ‘Francine, Pascal, meet Emily. She’s a friend who’s just arrived from New Zealand.’

Unfortunately, the way he was avoiding her eyes pretty much denied the ‘friend’ status, but Pascal and Francine both smiled and said hello. Emily managed to murmur a similar response.

‘How’s Madeline?’ Luca asked.

‘Beautiful as ever,’ Pascal replied. ‘She sends her love.’

Luca nodded. ‘Come through. Micaela has been slaving all afternoon just for you.’

He sent Emily a look then. She refused to bite at it, after all, if she were Micaela, she’d slave too. They went straight to the intimate table in the dining room and caught up on news as their appetiser was served. It seemed Francine was soon heading off to a business school just outside Paris.

‘You were at Oxford, weren’t you, Luca?’ Francine asked.

‘For my undergraduate degree, yes, but post-graduate was Harvard.’

Of course. He was elite all over whereas Emily was…

Francine turned to her. ‘Where did you study, Emily?’

‘I didn’t,’ she answered, battling the inferior feeling and failing. ‘I left school and went straight into work. Retail.’

‘Retail?’ Francine-the-sophisticated delicately speared a piece of tomato with her fork.

Oh, God, this was a nightmare.

‘Yes, you know, a shop assistant. Standing on your feet for hours, dusting, displaying stock, that sort of thing.’

She sensed Luca’s posture tighten. What, shouldn’t she admit to her working-class history?

‘Oh.’ Francine brightened. ‘I like shopping. What was your speciality? Fashion? Perfume?’

‘Sadly no.’ Emily smiled sweetly. ‘At first it was the hardware department of a bargain outlet store. Cheap power tools, drill bits and gardening implements. Then I moved around departments—footwear, toys, furniture… and I worked in a CD and DVD store at night.’

There, she’d let them know it. She was nothing on their education, their sophistication, their elitism. But she was all about hard work, and prioritising and getting things done. She’d had to. Three loads of washing on before she left the house, making Kate’s lunch, leaving something for her father. Racing home to get the washing in off the line in her lunch break and get the next load out there, all the while having dinner slowly cooking in a crockpot. She’d had it all mastered. For years she’d done it all. And now, when she was finally free of it, she felt so empty and so vacant and so out of place.

Pascal was chuckling, but with a kindly twinkle. ‘A DVD store? You must know your movies.’

‘And music, yes.’

‘I love movies.’ Francine smiled. ‘What’s your favourite ever?’

Emily blinked. She hadn’t expected them to accept her bald recitation of her utter averageness—or actually be interested.

‘If you could have studied, what subject would it have been?’ Pascal asked, seeming to understand that it was because she hadn’t been able to, not because she had chosen not to.

Emily let a genuine smile out then and decided to sharpen up her act. She’d been verging on rude and that wasn’t her. Her defence mechanism was set unnecessarily on high. ‘Music and movies, I guess.’

They laughed and fractionally the atmosphere lightened. They discussed the current films on release—half of which Emily had seen on the plane over. She would have relaxed, settled into the swing of it, but for the ominously quiet presence on the other side of her. Each time she glanced in his direction she encountered the frown in his eyes, it made her too adrenalin-charged and aware to truly enjoy the conversation.

She forced attention onto the beautiful Francine—asking her about her upcoming MBA course and then about city life in London. Which shops were the best, which were the tourist spots she shouldn’t fail to see…

Francine’s coy look resurfaced at that. ‘Surely Luca is showing you the best on offer?’

She couldn’t have known the significance those words would have. The best. Emily turned to look at Luca then, staring him out as he lifted his glass and took more than a decent sip of wine.