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The Valtieri Marriage Deal
He saw her through the glass. He didn’t know her—he’d never seen her before in his life—but as their eyes connected, Luca’s heart began to pound.
She was beautiful. Utterly gorgeous. Her wide lavender eyes had caught his attention first, and below them a generous mouth, slightly parted, was just begging to be kissed. Her sweater clung lovingly to soft, rounded breasts with just a hint of cleavage to taunt him, but it was something else, something he couldn’t define, something fierce and elemental and soul-deep that drew him to her, and he wanted her so much he could taste it.
If he had any sense, he’d keep on walking. He liked control—and there was something very uncontrolled about his reaction to her.
But he was in desperate need of a shot of caffeine, this was the best caffé in the area and the only free seat was at her table. So he went in and walked over to her. He’d just get a coffee and go. How hard could it be?
‘Signorina?’
She looked up, and her breath jammed in her lungs. It was the man, standing beside her, a crooked smile on those sexy, unbelievable lips, the dark, intense eyes that had locked with hers through the window glittering with something that if she’d had a shred of sense left would have sent her running, but she couldn’t move. Even her lungs had stopped working.
‘Are you expecting anyone to join you, or may I take this seat?’ His voice was soft, gravelly, warmed by a rich Italian accent, and it trailed over her like the hand of a lover, bringing everything screaming back to life.
Mills & Boon® Medical™ Romance introduces you to BILLIONAIRE DOCTORS
Hot, jet-set docs at the top of their game—professionally…and personally!
These desirable doctors are international playboys—Gorgeous Greeks, sexy sheikhs, irresistible Italians and Australian tycoons.
Their playground might be the world of the rich and famous but their professional reputations are world renowned.
These billionaires dedicate themselves to saving lives by day—and red-hot seduction by night…
Look out for more Billionaire Doctors in Mills & Boon® Medical™ Romance, coming in the next two months:
HOT-SHOT SURGEON, CINDERELLA BRIDE
by Alison Roberts—next month
SECRET SHEIKH, SECRET BABY
by Carol Marinelli
CAROLINE ANDERSON has the mind of a butterfly. She’s been a nurse, a secretary, a teacher, run her own soft-furnishing business, and now she’s settled on writing. She says, ‘I was looking for that elusive something. I finally realised it was variety, and now I have it in abundance. Every book brings new horizons and new friends, and in between books I have learned to be a juggler. My teacher husband John and I have two beautiful and talented daughters, Sarah and Hannah, umpteen pets, and several acres of Suffolk that nature tries to reclaim every time we turn our backs!’ Caroline also writes for the Mills & Boon® Romance series.
Recent titles by the same author:
Medical™ Romance
A MUMMY FOR CHRISTMAS
THEIR MIRACLE BABY*
CHRISTMAS EVE BABY*
HIS VERY OWN WIFE AND CHILD†
Mills & Boon® Romance
TWO LITTLE MIRACLES
THE SINGLE MUM AND THE TYCOON
HIS PREGNANT HOUSEKEEPER
CARING FOR HIS BABY
THE VALTIERI MARRIAGE DEAL
BY
CAROLINE ANDERSON
For Sarah, amazing font of knowledge
and maker of the best chocolate cake in times of need, and for
Alastair, Rhea and Eleanor who introduced us to Italy. Grazie!
CHAPTER ONE
HE SAW HER through the glass.
He didn’t know her—he’d never seen her before in his life—but as their eyes connected, Luca’s heart began to pound.
She was beautiful. Utterly gorgeous. Her wide lavender eyes had caught his attention first, and below them a generous mouth, slightly parted, was just begging to be kissed. Her sweater clung lovingly to soft, rounded breasts with just a hint of cleavage to taunt him, but it was something else, something he couldn’t define, something fierce and elemental and soul-deep that drew him to her, and he wanted her so much he could taste it.
If he had any sense, he’d keep on walking, because a woman like that just wasn’t his style. He liked control—and there was something very uncontrolled about his reaction to her.
But he was in desperate need of a shot of caffeine, this was the best café in the area and the only free seat was at her table. So he went in and walked over to her. He’d just get a coffee and go. How hard could it be?
‘Signorina?’
She looked up, and her breath jammed in her lungs. It was the man, standing beside her, a crooked smile on those sexy, unbelievable lips, the dark, intense eyes that had locked with hers through the window glittering with something that if she’d had a shred of sense left would have sent her running, but she couldn’t move. Even her lungs had stopped working.
‘Are you expecting anyone to join you, or may I take this seat?’ His voice was soft, gravelly, warmed by a rich Italian accent, and it trailed over her like the hand of a lover, bringing everything screaming back to life.
She sucked in a breath. ‘No—no, I—Please, do.’
She gathered up the books she’d scattered all over the table—a guide to Florence, a phrase book that didn’t seem to have any of the questions that she wanted to ask, a couple of tourist information leaflets she’d picked up—and made room for him, and as he sat down, his knee brushed against hers and a hint of spicy citrus cologne drifted over her and made her shiver.
He moved his knee, shocked by the bolt of lightning that had shot through him at the fleeting contact. Hell, this was going to be harder than he’d imagined. He dredged about for something sane and innocuous to say, then his eyes lit on the books. ‘Sightseeing?’ he asked, disgusted at his corny line, and she gave a little chuckle, but an endearing sweep of colour touched her cheeks.
‘Wow. Sherlock Holmes,’ she said drily, but there was a teasing little smile playing at the edges of her mouth and he wanted to taste it.
He dragged his gaze back to her eyes. Although her voice was cool and controlled, something in those gorgeous lavender depths told him that the accidental brush of his leg against hers had affected her as much as him, and he felt a kick of something raw and elemental in his gut. His eyes returned to her mouth, and he felt his mouth curve in response to her smile.
‘Well, the English-Italian dictionary and the guide book were a bit of a giveaway,’ he said, and decided it was time to introduce himself. He extended his hand. ‘I’m Luca, by the way.’
‘I’m Isabelle.’ After a second’s pause, she took his hand—only fleetingly, but it was enough. Their gazes locked, heat flared in her eyes and she sucked in a breath and pulled back her hand, to his regret.
Isabella, he thought, saying it in his head in Italian, tasting the word, feeling it surge straight to his groin.
‘Signore?’ the waitress said. ‘What can I get you?’
A room…
He hauled himself back in line. ‘Isabelle? May I buy you another coffee?’
‘Oh—well, I wasn’t—but actually, that would be lovely, thank you. Could I have a latte?’
‘Sure.’ He added a double espresso and a selection of pastries to the order, and turned back to her. ‘So—what brings you to Florence, Isabelle? It’s not the best time of year for sightseeing, in January.’
She gave a little shrug. ‘I just wanted a break. It’s so dreary in London in the winter, and I worked all over Christmas and New Year, so I thought I deserved a treat.’
‘I should think so. Weren’t you with your family?’
‘No—my mother lives in Canada with her husband.’
‘And your father? Brothers? Sisters?’
She looked slightly uncomfortable. ‘I’m an only child, and I don’t have a father.’
He frowned. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why should you be?’
Luca shrugged. ‘Because my father is a very important person in my life, as are my mother and my brothers and sisters, and I can’t imagine Christmas without them. So—why Firenze?’
It was her turn to shrug. ‘I’ve always wanted to come here, so I thought, Why not? A couple of days—just time to take in a bit of culture, a bit of shopping, some lovely food…’ She shrugged again and smiled. ‘So here I am.’
‘Alone?’
Was it so obvious? ‘My friends wouldn’t come,’ she told him ruefully. ‘They didn’t mind the shopping, but they weren’t interested in traipsing round in the cold looking at mouldy old paintings and statues covered in pigeon poo!’
Luca chuckled, sending shivers down her spine. ‘And have you seen much yet?’
She shook her head, trying to drag her eyes off his mouth long enough to concentrate on what he was saying. He really had the most gorgeous mouth.
‘Not enough. I only got here early yesterday, and I’ve done the Ponte Vecchio and the Pitti Palace and a couple of markets, but there’s so much more to do today I don’t know where to start.’ And she was sick of sightseeing alone.
‘Would you like a guide?’
She frowned, and for a moment he thought he’d pushed it too far, but then she smiled. ‘Why would you want to do that?’
Because I want to spend time with you and I don’t care if I have to trudge round every last damned artefact to do it?
He shrugged. ‘I know the city inside out, and I can tell you what to see and what not to bother with. And my interview finished early, so I’m free for the rest of the day,’ he added.
‘Oh—didn’t it go well?’ she asked, thinking that it explained the rather beautiful suit and wondering what the interview had been for.
‘No, it went very well—they offered me the job.’
‘But not as a tour guide, I take it?’ she suggested, fishing for more information about him, and he gave a deep, sexy chuckle.
‘Me? No,’ he said with a grin. ‘I’m a doctor.’
‘Oh!’ she said, oddly relieved because doctors she understood. ‘So—are you working in the hospital already?’
‘No. I had the first interview there yesterday, and I had to go back today for another look round.’
‘Interesting job?’
He shrugged. ‘I suppose so. Wherever women are having babies the job’s essentially the same, though, and I’ve worked there before, so it’s perhaps a bit familiar—not enough of a challenge.’
She tipped her head on one side, fascinated by the coincidence. ‘So—you’re an obstetrician?’
‘Yes—why? Don’t tell me—you’re pregnant.’
She chuckled. ‘No, no chance of that, but I’m a midwife.’
‘Really? Hospital or community?’
‘Hospital—in the consultant unit, by choice, so I can make things better for women with high-risk pregnancies and try and give them a decent birth experience.’
A brow rose slightly. ‘Are you saying that doctors don’t?’
She smiled wryly. ‘No—but their focus is on something different, and it’s easy to get terrified by all the technology. My job’s to take away some of the fear and uncertainty and give my mums the labour they want, and it’s really rewarding—but that’s probably all about to change, because the unit’s being refurbished and I’m going to be sent off to some other hospital for months, so who knows what I’ll be doing? Anyway, about you—is this a step up? Will you take it?’
‘Maybe. But it’s not just a career move, it’s also a social move.’
‘Back to the city of your misspent youth?’ she asked teasingly, and he chuckled.
‘Perhaps. Actually, since you obviously have an interest, there’s something I’d love to show you that I wouldn’t show just anybody. It’s a bit gruesome but it’s interesting. We’ll start there, and we can do the mouldy paintings and the pigeon poo afterwards,’ he said. ‘That is, if you want to?’
She hesitated a second, then gave in. ‘Well—since you’re offering,’ she said, wondering why a man so gorgeous would have nothing better to do all day but spend it with her.
But Luca didn’t seem to have any trouble with that idea. He leant back so the waitress could set the tray down and smiled. ‘Good. That’s sorted. We’ll have our coffee, and I’ll show you the edited highlights of my city.’
So after they’d finished their coffee and demolished the pastries, he took her to the Museo di Storia della Scienza—the Science Museum—next to the Uffizi, and showed her a room where the walls were lined with fascinating but gruesome old wax models of obstetric complications.
‘Oh, horrors!’ she said, the professional side of her glad to be working in a modern, well-equipped hospital and her other side, the part that was a woman, just a little bit afraid.
‘Now you see why the Italians invented the Caesarean section,’ he said with a dry smile, and took her back out into the glorious but chilly winter sunshine. ‘Right, the pretty stuff,’ he said, heading for the Piazza della Signori by the Uffizi entrance.
Isabelle was awestruck by it all. The city was scattered with amazing and jaw-dropping sculptures in every piazza and public area, so that everywhere she turned she all but fell over another one, and they were all famous. ‘It’s like a Renaissance theme-park,’ she said, making him laugh. ‘It’s incredible.’
‘They’re not all originals,’ he pointed out. ‘You need to see the original David—it’s in the Galleria dell’ Accademia.’
‘Will we have time? We can’t possibly see everything!’
‘Of course not. I’m cherry-picking—showing you the best bits. Otherwise you’ll just get overwhelmed.’
How true, she thought, but it wasn’t only the art that was overwhelming, it was Luca, warm and funny and tactile, casually looping his arm around her shoulders to steer her in a different direction, resting his hand on her waist to usher her through doorways, his boyish grin at odds with those very grown-up eyes that were sending an altogether different message.
‘Right. The Duomo,’ he said after a lightning tour of the Uffizi, and led her through the narrow mediaeval streets to the magnificent cathedral with Brunelleschi’s huge terracotta dome that dominated the skyline, then up all four hundred and sixty-three steps between the outer and inner skin of the dome and out onto a little walkway at the very top.
It took her breath away—especially when she glanced down over the curving dome towards the ground so far below.
‘Don’t look down, look out,’ he said quickly, and moved closer to her—so close she could smell the spicy citrus of his aftershave and something else freed by the warmth of his body that made her ache to bury her face in his throat and breathe him in—and turning her with the pressure of his body, his other hand light on her arm, he pointed out the landmarks amongst the higgledy-piggledy terracotta roofs of all the buildings laid out below them.
A waste of time, because all she could feel and smell was him, all she could see was his hand, strong and steady, the long, square-tipped fingers and the light scatter of hair on the olive skin of his wrist tantalising her. What would it feel like to be touched by that hand, to feel it on her skin?
Stifling a whimper, she swayed, and his other arm circled her instantly and hooked her up tighter against him. ‘Steady,’ he murmured, but her heart just beat faster, because his body was rock-solid and very male, and she just wanted to turn in his arms and kiss him.
‘OK?’ he asked, and released her carefully, as if he wasn’t sure if she’d fall over.
‘I’m fine—it’s just the height,’ she lied, shocked at her reaction, and he slid his fingers through hers and held her hand firmly until they were back inside.
‘Have we got time to see the real David?’ she asked once they were safely back down, trying to concentrate and not squander the whole day like a lovestruck teenager, and he grinned.
‘Feet not tired yet?’
She laughed. ‘Don’t be silly—I’m a midwife. I put a pedometer on one day and did over nineteen thousand steps. I can walk forever. How about you?’
‘Ditto. I’m fine, let’s do it,’ he said. ‘I’d love to show you and we’ve probably got time. You’ll be blown away.’
She was. ‘The anatomical detail’s amazing,’ she said, staring in awe at the statue—the real one, the one Michelangelo’s hands had carved lovingly and incredibly skilfully five hundred years ago. ‘It’s so accurate!’
‘Did you know he used to buy corpses and dissect them so he could learn what happened under the skin? That’s why his work is so lifelike—because it’s based on real anatomical knowledge. Except the genitalia, of course,’ he added softly in her ear, his grin mischievous. ‘Pre-pubescent, so as not to shock the matrons and terrify the virgins.’
She suppressed a laugh, and they moved on, but the gallery was closing and they were turned out into the cold and dark of the January evening—and her wonderful day with him was over. She turned to him, hugely reluctant to let it end, needing to show her gratitude somehow.
‘Luca, I’ve had the best day and I’ve taken so much of your time—would you let me buy you dinner?’ she said softly. ‘Just as a thank you?’
His mouth twitched. ‘You’re welcome to my time, cara—but I’ll buy the dinner. I was going to suggest it anyway. Do you want to go back to your hotel and change?’
He’d agreed? Her heart soared and she beamed at him. ‘Actually, I’m starving, so if I’m OK as I am…?’
He laughed softly, sending a delicious shiver down her spine. ‘No, you’re fine. Better than fine. Most of the women in my life would need at least two hours to get ready, and they’d never confess to hunger.’
‘You obviously mix with the wrong sort of women,’ she teased, and was surprised by the thoughtful look on his face.
‘Maybe I do,’ he murmured, and offered her his arm. ‘Shall we go?’
She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and they turned into the wind, but the cold air struck her face and slid down her neck and she shivered and huddled down into her coat. ‘Oh, that’s icy. I didn’t realise it would be so cold. I should have brought a scarf.’
‘Here—have mine,’ he said, and draped it round her neck.
‘Oh—you’ll get cold now!’ she said, and then caught the scent of his body on the fine, soft wool and nearly moaned out loud.
‘I’m sure I’ll survive. It’s not far to the place I want to take you, just round the corner.’ And it was worth giving up his scarf just to watch her snuggle down inside it with that sensual sigh. ‘Here, this is it.’
He opened the door and ushered her in, and the tempting aromas made her mouth water. They’d paused for a light lunch, but it and their coffee this morning were just a distant memory now, and she was more than ready, but it was heaving.
‘It’s too busy,’ she said, disappointed, but Luca just shook his head and looked up, catching the eye of a man with a white apron wrapped around his ample middle, and he beamed and came over to them, arms extended.
‘Luca! Buona sera!’
‘Buona sera, Alfredo. Come sta?’
Isabelle listened to the warmly affectionate exchange but only caught the odd recognisable word, such as bambini, and then Luca switched to English. ‘Alfredo, do you have a table?’
‘Si, si! Of course, for you, my friend. Always.’
And with a bit of shuffling and rearranging, he fitted them in, dragging a table out of the corner and finding another chair.
They sat down, but because they were squeezed in, her leg was jammed against Luca’s hard, muscular thigh. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t move out of your way,’ she said, but he just smiled.
‘Don’t apologise!’ he said softly, and she felt heat flood through her. Good grief, what on earth was happening to her? It was only a leg, and yet since the first touch of his knee against hers in the café this morning, every fleeting contact had been enough to send her heart into hyperdrive.
All day she’d been trying to forget it, but he’d made it impossible, constantly brushing into her, touching her—nothing in the least bit questionable, but it had kept her senses simmering all day, and then he’d offered her his arm and wrapped his scarf around her neck, still warm and heavy with the very male scent of his body, enclosing her in his essence, and the small amount of common sense she’d talked into herself had been wiped out in an instant. And now the heat of that solid, well-muscled leg against hers was setting it on fire and burning away the last fragments of reason.
‘Relax, bella,’ he murmured, his teasing eyes dancing. ‘I won’t eat you.’
Shame, she thought, and shut her eyes briefly at the images that leapt into her mind. Good heavens, this wasn’t like her! She’d never felt like this, never reacted so violently, so completely to a man’s touch.
But it wasn’t just his touch, it was his presence, too. She’d felt him at the café before she’d seen him, felt his eyes through the window stroking over her like little fingers of fire. And now, every time he looked at her, there was something there, something hot and dangerous and unbelievably tempting. And she was totally out of her depth. It had been so long since she’d dated anyone she’d forgotten how to do it, and a bit of her wanted to stop the clock and breathe for a few minutes, just to settle everything down again and remind herself why she didn’t do this.
But the clock didn’t stop, and Alfredo was coming back, weaving between the tables, a bottle of Prosecco in one hand, two menus in the other, and he filled their glasses with a flourish. Luca lifted his and smiled at her. ‘Welcome to Firenze, Isabelle.’
‘Thank you.’ She clinked her glass against his and sipped, the bubbles tickling the back of her throat as she met those hot, dark eyes. ‘And thank you for bringing it to life for me. It was fabulous. Much more fun than trailing round alone.’
‘My pleasure,’ he murmured, his eyes locked on hers.
Oh, help. ‘So—what should we eat?’ she asked lightly, trying to break the tension, but it lingered for another second.
‘The special’s always good,’ he said after a slight pause, and she dragged her mind back into order.
‘Let’s go for that, then,’ she agreed, and tried to concentrate on the food, but she could hardly taste it. She was too conscious of the pressure of his leg against hers, the warmth in his eyes, the soft sound of his laughter wrapping round her and making her ache because it was so nearly over.
And then at last it came to an end; they’d finished their food, dragged their coffee out indefinitely, and their conversation had finally run dry. The day was officially done.
He set his napkin on the table and smiled wryly. ‘Shall we make a move?’ he suggested, and she felt a surge of regret.
He held out his hand to her, and after the tiniest hesitation, Isabelle put hers in it and stood up, desperately trying to ignore the sensation that raced up her arm. Her leg was still burning from the heat of his body, and when he’d stood up and moved away, she’d felt the loss of his warmth like an arctic blast. Crazy. He was just a man, just an ordinary man.
No. That was a lie, and she’d never been dishonest with herself. He was gorgeous—witty, intelligent, disarmingly frank, and his body, tall and powerfully built, with those midnight-dark eyes, made her go weak at the knees. His hair was slightly rumpled from the wind; she wanted to touch it, to thread her fingers through it and test the texture, and then draw her hand slowly over his jaw, letting the rasp of stubble graze her palm.
