Italian Attraction: The Italian Tycoon's Bride / An Italian Engagement / One Summer in Italy...

‘This is good.’ He nodded gravely. ‘You are restoring my faith in the nation’s culinary expertise after my experience at Roberto’s.’

‘Ah, but Roberto is Italian,’ Maisie pointed out triumphantly. ‘So, if you’re basing your judgement of our barbecues on him, that’s flawed reasoning. It should be me that’s saying I have my doubts about Italian barbecues, surely? Not that I think Jackie’s father is a bad cook, far from it,’ she added hastily. ‘He’s great, as it happens.’

‘But not at the English barbecue.’ His face was unsmiling but the greeny-blue eyes were wicked.

‘Not at any barbecue,’ she corrected severely, trying to ignore how sexy he looked and how the fluttering action in the pit of her stomach was gathering steam.

‘Right. Point taken.’

‘Anyway, how is your father, exactly?’ said Maisie. ‘You mentioned it was a bigger operation than expected.’

Blaine nodded. ‘He was lucky they brought the operation forward,’ he said quietly. ‘Too many years of rich eating and no exercise had clogged up his veins, arteries, valves.’ He shook his head. ‘I’d been telling him for years to get checked out. Hell, he has enough money to get the best medical care for the rest of his life and not worry about it. To cut a long story short, the blood circulation to and from the heart had clogged up to the point where it had almost stopped. He could have had a major heart attack at any moment. But perhaps this was meant to reunite my father and Roberto? Who knows? Certainly, hearing them talk before the operation, I realised for the first time my father was as much to blame for the quarrel as Roberto. More so, probably.’

Maisie nodded, relieved he had come to that conclusion.

‘And you? Can you manage the animals without assistance?’

‘There’s not really anything to manage. To be honest, I feel an absolute fraud that I’m being paid for this. I would much prefer we forget about that. Your mother has paid for my tickets and everything’s settled in England; this is like a holiday to me.’

He frowned. ‘We had an arrangement, did we not?’

‘But that was before I came here, before I met your mother and everything. I don’t want any more money.’

The beautiful eyes had narrowed on her face and Maisie was finding it extremely uncomfortable. If she had known he was going to be here she would have made a little effort—put on some mascara at least. It didn’t help that he was as immaculately turned out as usual and looked good enough to eat. He was wearing a thin pale coffee-coloured shirt today and she could see a dark shadow over his chest denoting black body hair. It did something peculiar to her own body she could well have done without with that piercing gaze fixed on her.

‘You are a very unusual young woman. I thought this when we first met, but on further acquaintance I find you more so.’

His voice had been soft but Maisie stared at him warily. Unusual as in nice, or unusual as in weird? she wanted to ask. She didn’t, though—he might give the wrong answer.

‘And you do not realise this, do you? You do not understand your own worth. This, of course, is part of your charm but also your undoing, I feel.’

Maisie’s train of thought had become so tangled she didn’t know what to say. She stared at him dumbly as he stood up and came to kneel in front of her, his eyes on a level with her wide brown ones.

‘It is this quality in you that draws weak characters like this Jeff person to your strength. Do you know what I mean?’

Maisie shook her head. At this moment she wasn’t even sure who Jeff was, not with Blaine so close she could smell that delicious aftershave again, and, very faintly, hospitals.

Blaine smiled, a sexy quirk of his slightly uneven mouth. It was a fabulous mouth, Maisie thought feverishly. Magnificent. It was coming closer …

She gave herself up to the utterly mindless thrill of his kiss. His mouth was firm and warm and he kissed her slowly and deeply, taking his time. It was the sort of kiss she had dreamed about when she was a spotty schoolgirl, before she had grown up and realised you couldn’t believe everything you read in lurid novels under the bedclothes by the light of a torch.

It didn’t last long enough. When he drew away and rose to his feet Maisie almost cried out in protest, before, that was, she realised he must have heard Liliana’s heels clicking on the wooden floor of the hall. The next second the housekeeper’s head popped round the sitting room door. ‘Dinner is ready,’ she said brightly, her face portraying the fact that whatever reassurance Blaine had given her about his father had worked. ‘And it is your favourite,’ she added to Blaine. ‘You must have known I was making carpaccio tonight, sì?’

‘Liliana, I always live in the hope you are making carpaccio,’ Blaine said lazily.

Maisie stared at him. He was quite unaffected by a kiss that had rocked her down to her toes. How could he just stand there like that, all relaxed and smiling?

When he offered her his hand in the next moment she ignored it, standing up and preceding him out of the room as she said to Liliana, ‘I hope you’ve saved enough for yourself?’

Liliana made a very Italian sound, midway between a clicking of the tongue and a grunt in the back of her throat. ‘Sì, sì,’ she said, clearly impatient. ‘Now come and eat.’

Blaine had brought the bottle of wine through with him but, although he poured her another glass, Maisie noticed he only helped himself to the jug of water on the table. She felt acutely ill at ease as she sat at the vast dining table, which Liliana had laid with two places, one at the head facing the door and the other to its left. She would have much preferred the less formal breakfast room but she knew Liliana would have been horrified if she had even suggested such a thing. The Italian housekeeper was traditional to her last breath. But the heavy silver cutlery, fine linen napkins and beautifully set table complete with a small bowl of fresh flowers all added to her embarrassment. This felt too much like a date.

The carpaccio—a dish of paper-thin slices of fillet steak garnished with fresh egg mayonnaise and finely slivered parmesan—was delicious, as were the accompanying vegetables, but Maisie was finding it difficult to eat. She was acutely aware of Liliana standing at Blaine’s elbow, watching him with a benign smile on her face as he took his first couple of mouthfuls.

‘Excellent.’ He smacked his lips as he turned to the little housekeeper. ‘No one makes carpaccio like you, Liliana. You truly have the touch of an angel.’

Liliana smiled a satisfied smile, practically purring like a cat as she left the room.

‘A little over the top, don’t you think? The touch of an angel?’ Maisie didn’t know why she was being bitchy, but his complete refusal to be stirred by that mind-boggling kiss had something to do with it.

Blaine paused in his eating, taking a sip of the iced water before he said quietly, ‘When Liliana first came to work for my parents in the months before I was born she was recovering from a mental breakdown. It was the result of watching her husband and six children die in a fire caused by the atrocious electrical wiring in the slums where they lived in Naples. It took a long while for her to become the woman you see now, and beneath the black mourning clothes she wears my mother informs me she is heavily scarred from her attempts to rescue her family from the flames. She was returning from her night cleaning job when the accident happened. She has always been completely devoted to my parents and to me. Angel is not too high a praise, I think.’

Maisie swallowed the lump in her throat; she had never felt such a worm in the whole of her life. ‘I’m sorry.’ She blinked hard. ‘I always did have a big mouth.’

Blaine gave the flicker of a smile. ‘It is a beautiful mouth and just the right size,’ he said softly, his eyes touching her in such a way that she felt weak.

She stared at him. She didn’t understand what was happening to her and if it was anyone else explaining to her how they felt, she would tell them to take a long cold shower and act their age. Perhaps that was the trouble? she thought in the next moment. She was twenty-eight years of age and she had never been bedded. Maybe that was what this was all about?

She tore her gaze away from his and gulped at her wine. ‘Liliana’s a love, I can see that,’ she said when she came up for air. ‘And this does have the touch of heaven about it.’ She ate a mouthful of food and closed her eyes in appreciation. When she opened them again his face was an inch from hers and he wasn’t smiling any more.

‘Poor mixed up little girl,’ he said, very softly. ‘Forget him. He isn’t worth it.’

She didn’t like to tell him he was on the wrong lines if he was talking about Jeff. She exhaled slowly. She wanted him to kiss her again, so badly it actually hurt. Which meant she had to be the most flighty female in the world, didn’t it? She had only been an ex-fiancée for a few weeks; it wasn’t even decent to start fancying another male so fast. And as she would have sworn on oath a week or two ago that it would take months, if not years, to get over Jeff, it was also a bit scary too. She swallowed hard. ‘Your carpaccio is getting cold.’

This time his warm mouth just skimmed her lips before he settled back in his seat. ‘We will talk of other things,’ he declared firmly. ‘Your childhood. Tell me about that. Were you a happy child?’

Actually, for most of the time she had been horrendously miserable. Her face must have told him something because his expression changed. ‘Not a good subject? Then that can wait. For now I will tell you about my childhood, sì? Which was happy. And later we will have coffee on the veranda where it is dark and easier to talk and you can tell me about your childhood.’

She didn’t argue. She couldn’t. The dark and easier to talk bit had seen to that.

By the time they walked out on to the veranda Maisie knew a lot more about Blaine Morosini, but nothing which told her about the man, only the child he had been. She knew he had swum every day with his friends as a child on Marina Piccola’s beach, which had involved a descent of two hundred steps; that he’d often gone out in a fishing boat with a pal whose father was a fisherman and that the fish they had caught had been baked over an open fire in a small bay only the locals knew about. He’d had his own chestnut mare, which had since died of old age, had learnt the piano and classical guitar and was a black belt in judo. Holidaying abroad with his parents meant he’d seen more countries than she’d had hot dinners, and he spoke several languages. He had been free and happy and had had everything a child could want. But he hadn’t mentioned Francesca who, according to Liliana, had been his childhood sweetheart and therefore part of his life at that time. Neither had he spoken of his years since leaving university, when he had taken over the family business.

Maisie sat down in one of the big wicker chairs on the veranda, and once Liliana had bustled away after bringing the coffee she tried to relax. The shadows helped. Blaine had told Liliana not to switch the veranda and garden lights on so the warm darkness all around them was sympathetic to her nerves, which felt as tight as piano wire. She didn’t feel she could refuse to talk about her childhood after he had been so eloquent about his, but she intended to keep it short.

With that in mind, she said, ‘You were very fortunate to be born here. I lived in London from the age of two when my parents moved there from Sheffield. They moved because of my father’s job but my mother never really liked London. It … it wasn’t a happy marriage. My father left when I was eight and went to America. I missed him very much.’

‘Do you still see him?’ Blaine asked softly.

‘He died when I was nine years old. An accident.’

‘And your mother?’

‘We don’t get on; we never have. I’m too much like my father, I think.’

‘Then your father must have been a warm and generous man.’

She wished he wouldn’t say things like that. It probably meant nothing to him but it made her feel … odd. She shrugged. ‘He left us. That was hard to take. And when he went my mother got rid of our dog and two cats because my father had loved them. I loved them too but that didn’t seem to matter. I think from that time on I never felt the same about her again.’

She hadn’t meant to say all that. Maisie reached for her coffee but, as she did so, Blaine’s hand closed over hers. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘You have had a tough deal.’

Maisie’s throat tightened. He had said that as though he meant it. She knew she shouldn’t have agreed to come and sit in this warm perfumed velvety darkness and talk about things that were best left buried. She probably shouldn’t have agreed to come to Italy, if it came to that. Perhaps she was losing her mind? And he still hadn’t mentioned Francesca; all he’d done was to rave about his childhood. Not exactly fair, however you looked at it. Still, she couldn’t force him to come clean.

She slid her hand from under his and this time managed to reach her cup and saucer. Taking a long gulp at the fragrant liquid, she found it was scalding hot and winced as she swallowed. Great, now she was minus the roof of her mouth as well as her mind.

The dogs had been lying snoozing on the veranda when they had walked out of the house; now she felt Humphrey edge forward and position himself on her foot. Glad of the diversion, she bent forward and stroked the large silky ears. ‘Missing your mum?’ she said softly. ‘She’ll be back soon.’

‘I had better be going.’ Blaine finished his coffee and rose to his feet and Maisie stood up too. She wondered if he would try and kiss her again or suggest they go out somewhere over the next few days.

He didn’t. ‘Goodnight, Maisie,’ he said quietly. ‘Any problems of any kind, phone me. Liliana has my home and work numbers.’

She nodded briskly. ‘OK, but I’m sure everything will be just fine.’

Did he expect her to walk through the house with him and wave him off? Or would that seem presumptuous?

Liliana settled this in the next moment as she reappeared, saying, ‘You are not leaving already, Blaine? I came to see if you would like a liqueur with your coffee?’

‘I have an early start tomorrow morning.’ He took Liliana’s arm as he spoke and the two of them disappeared into the house, leaving Maisie standing on the veranda. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to follow them, but she didn’t. She sat down instead, pouring herself another coffee and drinking it slowly with Humphrey back on her foot as she heard them talking in Italian in the hall. After a while she heard a car start at the front of the house and a few moments later Liliana joined her.

‘Blaine has suggested he take me to see Guiseppe in a day or two if you feel confident to look after everything here for a few hours?’ Liliana said happily.

‘Of course, that’ll be fine.’

‘He is a good boy.’ Liliana didn’t seem to expect a comment from her as she bustled about clearing the tray and Maisie was glad of this because she couldn’t think of one.

Later, up in her room, Maisie sat for a long time by the open window, her brow wrinkled and her thoughts going back and forth until she gave herself a headache. Why had he kissed her? And, more to the point, after he had why hadn’t he come back for more? Even more to the point than that though, why had she longed for a repeat performance with every cell of her body?

Dangerous, dangerous man. She gave a mental nod to the declaration. And danger was the last thing she needed in her life after all the anguish of the last weeks. She was glad he hadn’t tried to kiss her again or suggest a date or anything like that. She ignored the cold little lump in the pit of her stomach as she stood up and began undressing. And she would make sure she stayed out of his way as much as possible while she was in Italy. No more cosy chats over dinner, no more silly fancies and muddled thoughts.

She didn’t bother to wash, just brushing her teeth and pulling on her nightie before she climbed into bed. Once under the cool cotton sheet she shut her eyes determinedly. She was not going to lie awake half the night doing endless post-mortems about the evening in her mind. She had to be up at the crack of dawn to see to the horses and the rest of the animals. Blaine Morosini was not part of her life. He never could or would be. And she didn’t want him to be.

She turned over, burying her face in the soft plump pillow, but, much to her irritation, it was still a long time before she eventually fell asleep.

CHAPTER SIX

THE next week or so was fairly uneventful. Blaine had fallen into the habit of dropping by each night to give Liliana a report on Guiseppe, but apart from that first evening he wouldn’t be pressed to stay for dinner. He stayed for a coffee with the two women but the conversation was always light and encouraging on his part; he often made Liliana smile by relating some funny incident that had occurred either at the hospital or during his day at work.

There were no more long looks and certainly no more kisses; in fact, Maisie thought that if she hadn’t been absolutely certain of the events that night when they had shared dinner together, she would have begun to think that she had imagined the whole thing. But she hadn’t. And for that reason she let Blaine and Liliana do most of the talking while she sat quietly listening to them. Actually, it was surprising what she learnt about Blaine this way, she told herself as she sat on the veranda one night when she had been in Italy nine days, the dogs spread out about her feet.

She now knew he was a man who only needed three or four hours’ sleep a night. She realised this when it had transpired he left his house every morning at five o’clock to fit in a full day’s work before, more often than not, calling in at the hospital to see his father before he came back to Sorrento. She also knew he hadn’t got a girlfriend and hadn’t dated for some time. This had been revealed during one conversation when Liliana had scolded him for being a workaholic.

‘I tell him he should have a little fun,’ the housekeeper had said in an aside to Maisie. ‘But it is all work, work, work. This is not good for a man, I think.’

Blaine had changed the conversation very firmly at this point and Maisie had wondered if it was because he had been worried Liliana might bring up the past and the reason he made work his life these days. Was it to do with Francesca? She rather thought it might be. But of course it was none of her business—not that that didn’t stop her thinking about it most of the time.

It didn’t help that Liliana had buttoned up about Blaine’s past love life either. Maisie was almost certain he’d warned the housekeeper to say nothing to her. She could be being paranoid here, but she didn’t think so. And she hadn’t imagined the reserve that was in his manner towards her now either. Obviously that kiss had been a complete nonentity as far as he was concerned. Which was fine, just fine, because she wasn’t on for a repeat either. It just rankled that she was clearly such a bad kisser that she’d put him off so completely, that was all. She didn’t have bad breath or buck teeth or weepy sores, so what was the problem?

Blaine had taken Liliana to see Guiseppe on two occasions now and each time Maisie had made sure she was in bed when he’d returned the housekeeper to the villa late at night. She knew he always came in and had a nightcap with Liliana but she wasn’t about to hang around like little orphan Annie. Tonight was the third time and as Maisie finished her coffee she rose to her feet, the dogs all jumping up too. They knew the routine now. After-dinner snooze on the veranda and then this new human always walked down to the paddock before she went to bed.

Maisie put the stable lights on when she reached the paddock. She had brought both horses into the stables from the paddock earlier because Iola hadn’t seemed quite right all day and she wondered if the mare was close to her time. She had telephoned Jenny’s vet for advice but he’d been unconcerned, merely telling her to keep an eye on the mare and call him if there was a problem. But Iola was young and healthy, he’d said, and he would expect the foaling to take place without him having to attend. Which was all very well in the normal run of things, Maisie thought, but when she was in sole charge of the beautiful and very expensive animal …

The stables were relatively new and luxurious by any standards; apparently the old ones had been knocked down and replaced a couple of years ago. Maisie had put the mare in one of the well-lit loose boxes with an empty one between her and Iorwerth, and she was glad of this when she saw the graceful animal straining and paddling her limbs. She had attended several foalings in her days as a veterinary nurse and she sensed immediately that something was wrong.

She ran back to the house and called the vet’s number again. The mare’s efforts were producing nothing; there were no little hooves protruding from the vulva, which could mean a malpresentation, possibly a breech. This wasn’t such a problem in a cow, but the vets she had worked with had always bemoaned the tremendous length of the foal’s legs in such cases.

This time when she spoke to Jenny’s vet he listened and was at the house within fifteen minutes. By the time Blaine brought Liliana home and came down to the stables, Maisie was doing what she could to assist the vet in what was indeed a breech delivery. She knew as well as he did that foals sometimes didn’t survive in such cases and she was praying like mad this wouldn’t happen here.

After ascertaining the situation, Blaine stood quietly by and watched proceedings and, for once, tied up in the fight for the foal’s life, Maisie was practically oblivious to his presence. It was half an hour before the vet managed to bring the tiny animal’s legs round and move it into the correct position for birth and immediately Iola sensed the obstruction was gone. She gave a great heave and the foal shot out on to the thick bed of straw Maisie had prepared, jerking convulsively and very much alive. In the next few moments it was shaking its head and snorting out the placental fluid it had inhaled, Iola seemingly forgetting all her pain and displaying a fond interest in her baby.

‘Whew.’ Maisie knelt back on the straw and beamed up at the vet. ‘Thank you so much, Mr Rossellini.’

‘No, thank you, signorina. Time was of the essence and you did not delay.’ He turned to Blaine as he wiped his hands with the towel Maisie had passed him as he added, ‘Your mother has much to thank this young lady for. She is a capable young woman.’

‘I’m aware of that.’ Blaine smiled at her, his eyes warm.

‘If ever you want a job, signorina, you come and see me, sì?’ Mr Rossellini bobbed his head at her. ‘I mean this.’

‘Thank you.’ Maisie had been in all kinds of awkward positions as she had helped the vet with the birth and now she found it hard to stand. Iola was nuzzling the foal, clearly delighted with what she’d accomplished, and Maisie stroked the soft muzzle as she murmured, ‘You’re a clever girl and you have a beautiful baby. Iorwerth is going to be delighted with his son.’

Blaine accompanied Mr Rossellini back to the house and Maisie let the two men go, content to stay with the new mother and her foal for a while. Iorwerth had been stamping about his box, clearly disturbed, but like the intuitive beast he was he now seemed to know all was well and was blowing gently down his nose. Maisie went over and talked to him for a while, reassuring him, before she returned to Iola and her baby. She stood leaning against the box, captivated by the sight of the mother and foal, the fragrance of the straw and the soft sounds from the horses magical after all the panic and worry of the last hour or so.

How long she stood there she didn’t know, but when she felt a pair of strong hands on her shoulders and Blaine’s voice in her ear murmuring, ‘There’s not a more beautiful sight, is there?’ she knew she’d been expecting he would return. ‘Mr Rossellini is full of admiration for your ability,’ he continued, ‘as am I. You were so calm and capable.’