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

‘I’ll only be ten minutes. No one will mind.’

Emily sighed and stepped to the side, watching as Kate shook out her hair from under her straw hat. Her sister was impetuous, impulsive and impossible to say no to and, as she’d predicted, she had a crowd around her within minutes. Emily wasn’t surprised. With her long red locks and slender figure, Kate turned heads even before she opened her mouth. And when she started singing? The angelic, pure tones made anything with ears stop and listen. As the crowd of people thickened Kate flung her a triumphant glance and truly got into her stride. Emily stood to the side and looked around, anxiously keeping an eye for sight of a carabiniere, not wanting to get into trouble.

‘Your sister is talented.’

She jumped. He was right behind her. She turned a fraction, and yes, really, he was there—looming large. Her body went hypersensitive. Her brain threatened to shut down altogether. ‘Yes.’

‘And so are you.’

Umm, how did he figure that? She shook her head. ‘Not quite in the same way.’

‘No,’ he agreed before his voice dropped, the alien lilt becoming more audible. ‘Your sister is still a child. Whereas you, I think, have the talents of a woman.’

Emily drew a sharp breath and turned to face him full on. ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’

‘No.’ His dark eyes held hers, amused and challenging. ‘You send me a look like that over your shoulder? What choice did I have but to follow?’

The gauntlet had been thrown. Silver fire raced through her veins. She had the talents of a woman? If only she did—why, then she’d have him on his knees before her, with all his arrogance and experience rendered useless. Wanting her beyond reason and willing to grant her anything—the crazy idea sent a thrill through her. Since when was she any kind of sex goddess? When was it that she’d last had sex?

She forgot about Kate warbling in the background, forgot about the woman she’d seen near him, only heard the humour in his voice, only saw the sexy smile… To be talking suggestively like this was so foreign, but so much fun. She wanted it to continue.

She tried an almost saucy reply. ‘If that’s the case, then perhaps you should be careful.’

His smile went wicked. ‘Definitely.’ He held out his hand. ‘Luca Bianchi.’

She glanced to his hand and then back to his face, letting her own smile go sinful. ‘You’re not afraid I might bite?’

‘I’m half hoping you will.’

She lifted her hand. ‘Emily Dodds.’ The frisson raced up her arm as contact was made.

‘Emily.’ The way he said it made her toes and everything inside her curl up tight. His hand gripped hers firmly. ‘Did you enjoy the opera?’

‘I loved it.’

He nodded. ‘It was a good performance.’

‘And a lovely atmosphere.’

‘My company could have been a little better. How about yours?’

‘It wasn’t bad.’

‘But it could have been better.’

‘Perhaps.’ Faux demurely, she looked down. ‘Are you going to give me my hand back?’

‘I was thinking I might keep it and take it home with me.’

‘Not tonight.’ She refused, but she couldn’t hold back her smile. Pleasure thrilled through her—to be so overtly admired, courted, frankly chased…by a man as attractive as this was heady stuff.

‘No? What a shame.’ His mouth curved too. ‘But there’s always tomorrow.’

For a long moment she stared into his melting chocolate eyes, a million ‘if onlys’ circulating in her head. His fingers tightened.

‘See, I told you!’ Kate bubbled up, shaking her upturned hat in front of her. ‘Enough for a five-course feast in a fancy restaurant.’

Emily tugged her hand and after a gentle squeeze he let it slip from his.

‘Singing for your supper?’ he asked dryly.

‘Lunch tomorrow!’ Kate answered. ‘Hi, I’m Kate.’

‘Hello, Kate. I’m Luca. I’m a friend of your sister’s.’

Emily glanced at him. Friend? There was a tease in his eyes directed totally at her. ‘Let me get you two a drink. You must be thirsty after performing in the heat like this.’

‘Oh, we—’ The sensible side of Emily thought she should refuse. But there was a whisker of a wink again. It was enough to tip her over. She was in Italy—her dream holiday destination—and she was flirting with the dreamiest guy imaginable. Little Miss Sassy elbowed Little Miss Sensible out of the way for good. ‘Thanks.’

Luca tried and failed to remember when he’d ever done anything as crazy as this. It had been so long, yet all of a sudden he was chasing hard for something that could only be momentary. But, hell, it would be fun. And wasn’t he due for a little fun? While the waiter fetched the wine, Luca tried to remind himself that in reality one-night stands were never as good as you thought they were going to be, but gave up after half a thought. Fact was, he hadn’t wanted a woman quite like this, quite in this way, ever. An instant, visceral demand—his whole body was tight with anticipation.

It was going to happen; he’d make certain of it. Therefore he didn’t need to be staring at her like some starving dog. However, controlling that urge was something of a problem when she looked at him like that—green eyes glittering with both challenge and caution.

‘What brings you to Verona?’ He made small but necessary talk.

‘We’re on our way to London,’ the sister answered. ‘I want to sing there.’

He spared a quick glance for the pretty young redhead and her pale blue eyes. She could do it if she wanted. ‘You have the talent to sing anywhere. But do you have the determination?’

‘Absolutely.’

His gaze was drawn back to the other direction—Emily. Scattered across her nose were a few freckles that he’d like to kiss and beneath that a mouth that he wanted to kiss even more. She didn’t have the girlish skinny physique of her sister. She’d still be considered trim but with more curves and length. Hips to cushion his, legs to wrap around his waist, hair to wind round his wrist and tug on so he could access her neck and kiss his way down to her full breasts.

As Kate babbled on about her career plans he sipped his wine and watched the faint dusky pink blush spread over Emily’s face. The more he watched, the more it spread and the deeper the colour grew. His own temperature began to lift.

‘You want a wonderful lunch, Kate?’ He finally interrupted the incessant flow. ‘I know just the place. You and Emily meet me outside here tomorrow at one and I’ll take you.’

‘Really?’ Kate’s desire was too easy to please. He had the suspicion her sister might be more of a challenge—but a very welcome one.

‘Absolutely. It would be my pleasure.’ He directed that last word right to Emily, allowing in the faint provocation. All the pleasure would be in seeing her.

She lifted her gaze from her seemingly minute contemplation of her empty glass. Her eyes were such a deep green—thoughtful, assessing, seeking. He met them squarely. If they were alone it would be so easy. But they weren’t alone—not yet—and he had to hold back from moving the way he wanted. So for the first time in his life he found himself almost begging. ‘It’ll be the best you’ve ever had.’

‘Tomorrow?’ It was the kid sister all excited.

‘Yes.’ He refused to break the bond with Emily, only vaguely satisfied when he saw the faint upward tweak of her lips. ‘Tomorrow.’

When Emily walked to the piazza with Kate, they found Luca waiting, as promised, in front of the Arena. But he was not alone. On either side of him stood a beautiful woman. A cold, hard ball grew in Emily, freezing her throat, her chest, her tummy. What was he doing—building a harem? And yet as she walked towards him his eyes seemed to be eating her up. When his long, intense stare finally made it up to her face she was all hot again. Desire, curiosity, a wanting for a kind of wickedness—and above all vexation about those two other women. What made it worse was that she knew he’d read her expression, and right now he looked totally smug.

When they got within earshot it was to Kate that he turned. ‘Kate, meet Maria and Anne—both singers with the opera of the Arena di Verona. How would you like to spend the afternoon touring backstage and join in a rehearsal?’

Kate’s eyes were shining. ‘Really?’

Luca laughed, indulgence audible. ‘Yes, really. But wait, there’s more.’ His tone was full of irony. He handed her an envelope. ‘I have a contact that you might find useful in London. Here are the details. Be sure to get in touch because he’s expecting to hear from you.’

‘Really?’ Kate’s shriek was right up there at the top of her vocal range.

‘Maria and Anne will ensure you get some lunch. Perhaps not five courses in a fancy restaurant, but something.’

‘Oh, it doesn’t matter. I’m not that hungry anyway.’

‘Fine, so run along, then. These two will take care of you.’

And she was just like a child, thrilled to have had her most prized wish granted. Not even sparing Emily a second glance.

‘Kate, will you be—?’ Emily didn’t get the ‘OK’ out.

‘Em, don’t be a nag. I’m nearly nineteen, remember? Back home I can drink, drive and vote.’

‘Yeah, but not all in the same afternoon.’ Officially she might be all grown up but Emily couldn’t seem to shake the responsibility just yet. Kate was all she had.

But her sister was practically skipping, already asking question after question of the two professional singers.

‘Don’t worry, Kate,’ Luca drawled after her. ‘I’ll take care of Emily.’

Kate didn’t turn, simply sang back, ‘I know.’

Emily watched them depart, not trusting herself to meet his gaze too soon. He’d take care of her? At twenty-four she didn’t need taking care of, but she had the feeling he didn’t mean in the protective parental sense.

After a long silent moment he spoke—quietly but, oh, so clearly. ‘So, Emily, it’s just you and me.’

She inclined her head, silently applauding him. This was a man who would get what he wanted—every time. And in that moment she knew that if she was what he wanted, she was what he would get.

She was free. Her sister—her responsibility—was gone for the afternoon, she was on holiday in the most beautiful city and she wanted to explore everything.

‘I said I’d show you the best of Verona. Are you willing?’

She looked at him then. Raised a single eyebrow so they both knew she was. His broad smile made one of its appearances—boyish and fun and infectious. ‘Then let’s walk.’

She couldn’t hold back the answering smile, nor could she quell the shiver as he took her hand. His grip tightened and he flashed a whisker of a wink, before leading them towards a side street.

‘Where are you taking me?’

‘On a brief tour of some of the city’s highlights and then to lunch. Sound OK?’

‘Sounds fine.’

He stopped. ‘Don’t swamp me with your enthusiasm, Emily.’

‘No, that sounds great.’

‘Have you seen Casa de Giulietta?’

‘Yes.’ Supposedly Juliet’s balcony from Romeo and Juliet—aside from the fact that that story was fiction.

‘Of course you have. Did you leave a message?’

‘No.’ People left love notes and prayers on the wall.

‘No lover to leave a message for?’

How many times was he going to ask her that one? ‘Actually I’m not a fan of graffiti.’ She sidestepped with a grin and then narrowed her gaze at him. ‘Have you ever left a message there?’

‘I’m not romantic. What about Castelvecchio and San Zeno—been to those?’

‘Yes.’

‘Duomo?’

‘Yes.’

He frowned and stopped walking. ‘How long have you been in Verona?’

‘This is our fifth day. For the first two I took Kate on a route march around the city. I think I’ve seen most of the essentials.’

‘So that wasn’t your first opera at the Arena? They perform every other night.’

‘I know, but it was. We couldn’t afford to go twice. I just wanted to spend some time in Italy.’

‘Did you manage a day trip to Venice?’

‘Yes.’ She beamed. ‘It was wonderful.’

‘Right.’ He pulled on her hand and started walking quickly in the opposite direction from which they’d started.

‘Where are we going now?’

‘Straight to lunch.’

Excellent. Emily’s feeling of freedom grew as he led her across a bridge to the other side of the river and along a little farther until they reached some gates. Turning to her, his eyes sparkling with irresistibly sinful promise, he invited, ‘Come into the Giardino with me, Emily.’

CHAPTER THREE

GIARDINO GIUSTI. The beautiful Renaissance gardens had been designed centuries ago and were magnificent. The green upon green of the trees was a pleasant contrast to the grey and stone of the buildings in the centre of town. They wound their way through the formal topiary section. And although it was quieter and should have been cooler, all Emily felt was hotter and more attuned to the tiniest of sounds—the trickle of water, the hum of a bee, the shortness of her own breath…and the nearness of him.

He led her along a path, to where it seemed to be a little wilder, more shade, taller trees and a moist grotto not far in the distance. She looked at a shaded grassy bank.

‘Oh, look, someone’s having a picnic.’

‘Yes.’ He smiled that boyish smile. ‘We are.’

He walked up to the dark-suited man standing beside the spread. They spoke briefly and then the man walked away, down the path to the exit.

Luca gestured for her to come closer. ‘You’re hungry?’

As she stared she felt her insides light up. ‘And you say you’re not romantic, Luca?’ she gently mocked to cover the thrill.

‘It’s a simple picnic.’

There was nothing simple about it. A large, ruby-red blanket was spread, and scattered on top of it were round cushions in heavy, gilt fabric—deeper reds, threaded with gold. Another rug was folded on one corner—what, should they need more room or was it for them to hide beneath? Oh, Emily was tickled…and so tempted.

Beside the space upon which they were so clearly meant to recline stood a large basket. Luca had knelt beside it already and pulled out wine. As he poured into the crystal glasses Emily decided she’d entered paradise.

Unhesitatingly she sat on the rug, accepted the glass he gave her and looked across the view of the impeccably maintained garden, needing a moment to recapture her sanity before she tossed all caution aside.

‘This is incredible.’

‘The best of Italy.’ He smiled, as if he knew she’d already lost it. ‘Here for you.’

‘The basket doesn’t look big enough.’

‘I wasn’t referring to the basket.’

‘Very sure of your own worth, aren’t you?’

‘Down to the last euro, yes. But we’re not talking money now.’

‘No?’

‘We’re talking pleasure. And you can’t put a price on absolute pleasure.’

* * *

Luca couldn’t look away from her. Her expression of delight was so genuine, so pleased, it made him feel guilty. ‘I didn’t pick all this, or lay it out.’

She laughed. ‘I know. But it was your idea.’

It was. And now he felt even more guilty—he wanted to wine, dine and woo her. For one night only. And for all her fiery eyes and flirting she was more sweet than sophisticated. Really, he had no right to mess with her, not unless she wanted it too. Not unless she understood the rules. A one-off, holiday fling. ‘The hotel prepared the food.’

‘So I get the five-course feast.’

‘You do.’

‘How come you have connections at the opera?’

‘My company is a corporate sponsor.’

‘Your company?’

‘Mine.’ It was all his and it was all his life. He had spent almost the entire decade dedicated to it. Getting his education, the experience and growing the private finance firm into the extreme success it was. He had taken no help from his father. He didn’t need his uninterested parent throwing him nothing but pretty patterned paper. He could make his own money, prove his own worth. ‘I often take valued clients and their wives.’

‘Their wives?’

‘Sì.’ He suppressed a smile. So she’d wondered about the woman with them last night. Yes, she was the wife of a client and, no, he wasn’t interested. He sent her a meaningful look, but saw she was checking out his left hand. He tensed. He’d worn a ring on that finger once. He’d kept it on for some time after—using it like a talisman to ward off women. But every time he’d looked at it he’d been reminded. Nikki hadn’t had the strength to push it on and he’d had to do it himself. And despite its tiny circumference, the ring he’d given her had hung loose, threatening to slide over her bony knuckle. There hadn’t been an engagement ring. There hadn’t been time.

Eventually he’d taken his ring off and allowed the sun to brown the pale mark. But even so he couldn’t forget. Even now, when he was plotting a moment of madness, the memory clung to him, reminding him of what not to do: don’t ever get attached.

‘What does your company do?’

‘Hedge funds.’ Good, when painful thoughts impinged he turned back to work—that was the way Luca liked it.

‘Hedges?’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘So it’s like gardens?’

He hesitated, unwilling to launch into a detailed explanation of the complex transactions he managed, so he fudged it instead. ‘I like making things grow.’

‘Money trees.’ Her eyes were sparkling with amusement.

He laughed—her naiveté had been a ploy and she was teasing him. ‘Right.’

‘And you like the opera?’

Why did she think that was a surprise? ‘I’m Italian, of course I like the opera.’

‘You don’t sound all that Italian.’

‘The curse of my education—boarding school in England from the age of seven. Over a decade ’til I emerged from the system. But I guess I inherited my appreciation of the opera from my mother.’ But more painful memories lurked with the mention of her so he moved the conversation back to Emily. ‘Do you like Italy?’ He didn’t need to hear her answer, already had it as her face lit up and it was his turn to tease. ‘Your first visit, right? Is it everything you hoped it would be?’

‘Actually it’s better.’

There was that genuine, warm enthusiasm again. Her anger had risen from that last night—based on the desire to enjoy herself, to make the most of the moment she’d obviously been waiting a while for. The freshness was tantalising. ‘Are you enjoying the food?’

She nodded.

‘Have you tried some of the local specialities?’

She looked vague so perhaps not. Of course, budget was an issue. He could help out with that today. ‘Italian cuisine isn’t just buffalo mozzarella and sun-dried tomatoes, you know.’

‘No?’ She pouted. ‘But I love buffalo mozzarella and sun-dried tomatoes.’

He chuckled. ‘Come on, try some more with me now.’

He delved deeper into the basket. The hotel had done a fabulous job, filling it with many small containers, each holding samples of this and that. Some were simple, just a few olives, other were complex miniatures of great dishes.

He lifted them out and explained them to her, where each came from, made her say the Italian name for them and then watched as she tried each, waiting for her reaction before tasting them himself. And all the while, his appetite grew.

Emily licked the sweet oil from her lips. Yes, she loved sun-dried tomatoes but, my goodness, the nibbles in those containers were out of this world. By now, eating as much as she had, under the shade of the trees, in this warmth, she would ordinarily have been overcome with laziness. But his presence, so close, precluded that. He was stretched out, propped up on one elbow, his long, athletic length stretching from one end of the blankets to the other. Relaxed.

Emily ached to touch him now—one appetite filled, another starving. Instead she took a breadstick from the box, needing something to fiddle with.

‘Tell me about your life.’ He looked across the small gap between them now littered with lids and containers, to where she sat up, legs curled beneath her.

She wrinkled her nose. ‘There’s really not that much to tell.’ There really wasn’t, certainly nothing glamorous or exciting.

‘Where are your parents?’

As she broke the grissini in two the shadow on her heart must have crossed her face.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘Will you tell me what happened?’

‘Of course.’ She smiled the moment away. ‘It was a long time ago.’ She broke one half of the grissini into quarters and gave him the potted summary. ‘Mum died in a car crash when I was fifteen. After the accident Dad went into a decline. He drank a lot. Smoked. Stopped eating.’ She rubbed the crumbs between her fingers and looked down at the trees. ‘I think with her gone he lost the will to live.’

‘Even though he had two beautiful daughters to look after?’

She could understand the question, perceived the faint judgment. Hadn’t she thought the same in those moments of anger that had sometimes come in the wee small hours? But she also knew the whole story; things never were black and white—shades of grey all the way. And so she shared a part of it.

‘He was driving the car, Luca. He never got over the guilt.’ She flicked away the final crumb, sat back on her hands and stared down the gentle slope to the row of cypresses. ‘He died two years after her.’

Two years of trying to get him through it. But the depression had pulled him so far down and the drinking had gone from problem to illness and the damage to his mind and body had become irreparable. He couldn’t climb out of it and he didn’t want to. He simply shut down. Emily had taken over everything.

‘What happened then?’

‘I was eighteen. Kate was nearly thirteen. They let her stay with me. I left school and got a job.’

Emily had been thinking of studying piano at university but instead she’d worked and they’d put all they had into Kate’s singing. Her younger sister had the looks, the talent and the drive. Now, nearly nineteen, she was determined to come overseas and make her break before, as she put it, she got ‘over the hill’. Emily was her accompanist—both in terms of playing the piano for her to sing, and in terms of support.

‘So you looked after Kate.’

Emily shrugged. ‘We looked after each other.’ There was no one else.

The silence was long and finally she looked at him. The darkness in his eyes reflected the dark days. Somehow he knew. He understood the struggle and the loneliness. And for a second there she thought she saw pity. Well, she didn’t want that—not today, not from him. She’d lived through it, she’d survived and so had Kate. Now they were off, heading towards that new horizon. Life was moving forward. And she was totally trying to ignore the fear thumping in the pit of her stomach. For the last six years she’d worked two jobs plus done all the household chores. She’d created stability, routine…now nothing was stable, there was no routine and she couldn’t foresee the future. All she knew was that she wanted more than what her life had been back home. A more satisfying job, a more satisfying social life… And sitting with this gorgeous man in this beautiful garden, it felt as if the chance to open up a new part of her life was being offered right now.

‘What about you?’ she asked, lightening her tone. ‘Where’s your family?’

His face tightened and she knew the shadow was a match for her own. ‘Really?’

‘Cancer killed my mother when I was seven.’ He spoke bluntly but it was clear the pain was still sharp.

‘And your father?’

He shrugged. ‘I went to boarding school straight after. We’re not close.’ The bare recitation spoke volumes.

She sat back, shocked. He’d been sent away? To a whole other country where they didn’t even speak his first language?

The slight smile in his eyes was all cynical. ‘I take after my mother. I think I was too painful a reminder.’

So in a way they’d both been rejected by their surviving parent. Luca had been sent away, and Emily’s father had gone away himself—in mind and spirit anyway—leaving Emily to shoulder the burden of caring for his fading shell.