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

CHAPTER FIVE

THE LIGHTS of London seemed to stretch on and on. It felt as if they’d been flying over the city for hours—would they ever land? Nerves quickened Emily’s pulse—part excitement, part anxiety. For the first time in her life, she had no idea what she was going to do next.

Luca dominated her thoughts. Her stiff, sore body reminded her with every tiny movement how passionate they’d been together. But she had no regrets. There was no shame or embarrassment. How could there be when it had been so natural, so right? But there was that soft romantic part of her that wished it could have lasted—could have been more. That kiss by the hostel had only refuelled her desire. She couldn’t imagine having a response so absolute to anyone other than Luca.

Damn. Because Luca was in Italy and she was in England. And they would never meet again.

She forced her focus onto Kate. She was here to help her sister succeed, and succeed Kate would because she had that rare drive—there was nothing more important to her. And Emily was glad to be able to help—she’d play at her auditions, help her practise… All her adult life she’d been putting someone else first; it was easier that way. But she knew she had to sort her own problems soon, when she’d had the chance to settle Kate in. Because her life would change now; it was A.L.—After Luca. She smiled as the wheels of the plane touched down. For Emily, After Luca meant nothing would ever be the same.

As they exited the walkway from the plane Kate noticed the man holding the sign that had both their names scrawled on it. Emily approached him, heart drumming loud in her ears, wondering what on earth the message could be.

He greeted them with almost a bow and a broad smile. ‘I’m under instruction to take you wherever you wish to go.’

Wherever? He was Italian. Emily’s breath hitched. Could he take them back to Italy? Oh, yes, please! ‘Whose instruction?’ She dared not dream of the answer.

‘Luca Bianchi.’

The bubble of excitement blossomed. ‘Grazie,’ she replied shyly, smiling back at him. Luca had arranged this? How?

The driver’s smile just went wider. He lifted their bags and led the way. Kate was giggling. It was no ordinary taxi—not a taxi at all, in fact. It was a sleek, powerful, private machine that was even bigger than the one she’d ridden in with Luca in Verona.

Emily felt a fraud pulling up outside the budget hostel in such flash wheels.

As they unloaded she didn’t know whether they were supposed to tip the driver, reached for her wallet to be on the safe side.

He saw and shook his head. ‘Please, Luca is a good employer but he would fire me on the spot if I took money from you.’

He lifted their packs and put them in Reception for them. Anticipation, shameless hope curled high in Emily from her toes right up to her slightly spinning head. Where was Luca? What did he want?

But there was no message, no note, no comment, niente—nothing. And then he was gone. The silent, smiling chauffeur, her last link to Luca, disappeared out of the door and drove away.

By the time Emily slogged up the stairs, Kate had already nabbed the top bunk and was hauling out a piece of paper. One Emily had seen too many times for comfort.

‘Do you think it’s too late to give this guy a call?’

‘What do you think?’ Emily answered, unable to hide irritation as she gestured to the window and the darkness of the night sky.

But Kate didn’t even notice. ‘I think it’s all going to happen.’ She read the note aloud for the millionth time, then asked, ‘How fortunate were we to meet him?’

Emily was no longer sure. She looked at Luca’s strong, bold handwriting—listing details of a very senior executive at an international recording label. She smarted inside over the way he seemed happy to pull strings for Kate and yet had made no attempt to retain contact with Emily at all. Indeed the note he’d given to Kate had been written on hotel stationery—no address or email or anything that would allow her to contact him again. He’d told her it could only be a memory—and while in her head that was fine…it wasn’t fine in her heart. She couldn’t stop herself from wondering…why had he sent his driver? And why then hadn’t he left a message?

Being human, she found the little hurt wouldn’t ease, and nor would the hope die.

‘Get some sleep, Kate,’ she shushed and flopped onto the bottom bunk. Trying not to talk or even think about him any more, wishing she could just put him in a box and appreciate him as that ‘memory’—failing at two out of three.

Three weeks later Emily ambled along the footpath towards the hostel. She was no further ahead than when she’d first landed. By rights she should have walked into a job quickly. She’d been the one working for years—sure, it was ‘only’ in retail but she’d worked her way up to a managerial position and had fabulous references emphasizing her reliability. Instead it was Kate who had scored a job working in a specialist music store, found a room to rent in an apartment and she’d phoned Luca’s contact—wheels were starting to turn. He’d been expecting her call, had invited her in for an audition and she’d impressed them.

So much had happened for her sister, yet for Emily herself nothing much at all. But that had been her decision. After what had happened in Italy—that taste of pleasure, the discovery of an identity away from Kate, the revelation of what she’d been missing out on—she’d realised the last thing she wanted was to recreate the life she’d had back at home. She wanted to live her own life and as part of that she didn’t want to work in retail any more. All she had to do now was figure out what job she did want—not so easy. But she’d saved hard, could live frugally and so could take more time to think.

She wandered through the sights and streets, just chilling and absorbing the scene. She knew she didn’t want to return to New Zealand, but she wasn’t sure she’d stay in London either. So she explored the city while she could.

It was a strange feeling—the lack of responsibility. For the first time she had no one to have to cook for or care for or chase after. No hours to meet and obligations to fulfil. No real, necessary demands on her. Hadn’t she been dreaming of this for so long? Finally free to observe and do nothing.

Yet alone, a little lonely, it wasn’t quite as much fun as it should have been.

She heard the slam of the door nearby and turned her head. She recognised the grey car. Had to think to keep her feet walking in a straight line, then gave up, not walking at all, just watching as with deliberate steps he crossed to the footpath in front of her.

‘Emily.’

That magic foreign tinge was more audible than the first time he’d spoken to her. Emily bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself moving towards him, to stop herself saying how pleased she was to see him, because she wasn’t sure why he was here—was he really here?

He took another step forward and reached for her hand.

Luca. Real and vital and in a suit so sharp she had to close her eyes for a moment as his fingers curled firmly around hers.

‘What are you doing here?’ Were those soft words hers?

‘I wanted to see how you were getting on.’ His answer came unevenly and he took in a deep breath. ‘You’re still living in a youth hostel.’

‘Yes.’

‘And yet Kate’s in a flat. How did that happen?’

That was Luca, cutting straight to the chase. She could hear the condemnation in his question. He must know it all from his music business mate.

‘She’s young.’ Emily shook her head. ‘She’s enjoying the freedom of adult life. Don’t judge her.’

But he was. She could see the disapproval narrowing his eyes.

‘What about your freedom? What were you doing when you were eighteen?’

‘It was different for me. I’m pleased Kate doesn’t have to deal with what I had to.’ Kate had found some friends, fallen in with them so quickly, and was working hard and having fun. And why shouldn’t she?

‘Perhaps. But she shows not even the littlest amount of loyalty.’

‘I told her to go.’ Emily had never wanted to hold Kate back. Her whole aim had been to see her fly. She just hadn’t realised it would happen so soon.

‘She still shouldn’t have. Her family should mean more to her.’

That tiny hurt part of Emily agreed with him but she couldn’t voice it, couldn’t admit to Kate’s faults—her sense of loyalty wouldn’t let her. The realisation that her kid sister was all grown up and no longer needed her had cut Emily to the quick. Kate had landed on her feet in this town, scored a job, settled into a flat just like that. It was Emily who hadn’t seen it coming. Emily who was still figuring out where she wanted to go and what she wanted to do…and right now she didn’t need him highlighting the point. What was he doing here anyway?

‘I’ve been in Milan.’ Luca abruptly changed the subject as he saw the shadows in her eyes darken. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, just wanted to know what the hell was going on. ‘I returned to London late last night.’ He didn’t add that he’d brought forward his return by almost a week because he couldn’t wait any longer to see her again. And now that he had, he could hardly wait to hold her again. Every fibre in him wanted to pull her close. He wanted to see fire in her eyes—not the tinge of pain he could see there now.

But she’d frozen up. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned Kate yet but he’d been stunned to hear about her moving in with some other wannabe musos and leaving Emily high and dry. He’d sent his driver to the airport so she’d get to her hostel safely, right? But really it had been so he’d find out where she was staying. All along, deep inside, he’d known he had to see her again.

‘Returned to London? Right,’ she said with bite. ‘I thought you lived in Italy.’

He hadn’t even told her that. A prickle of remorse roughened his answer. ‘I mostly live in London but spend a lot of time in Milan—I go to Verona from there.’

She nodded, but he wasn’t sure she’d heard him all that well. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that before?’

‘There wasn’t really time.’ It was a pathetic excuse and he knew she knew it as well as he.

‘Why didn’t you try to contact me? You didn’t even ask for an email address or a phone number or anything.’ Mottled pink colour was slowly sweeping across her skin.

‘I wanted it to be over.’ His blood was pumping faster too and his senses were more acute—he couldn’t tear his gaze from her.

‘So why are you here now?’ She was trembling; he could feel the tremors through her fingers.

‘Because I missed you.’ Every muscle in him tensed at the admission—at the desire. He knew her body moulded perfectly to his and he had to fight to stop himself pulling her close.

‘And?’ Was it anger or passion stirring her eyes to that emerald-green?

He couldn’t resist her, couldn’t stop the words tearing from him, low and harsh. ‘Because I wanted to see you again.’

‘You’re seeing me now.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘What, you want to have your wicked way with me again?’ She tossed her head to glare at him, all spirit and spark.

‘Wicked?’ He challenged her right back.

She closed her eyes at that. ‘Wild.’

It had been one wild, wonderful afternoon. He denied any wickedness—they had both wanted it. They both still did—he just had to get her to admit that too. Another tumble with her was all he wanted. As much as he hated to admit it, once hadn’t been enough. ‘Say yes, Emily, and we could do that again.’

* * *

Emily battled the satisfaction thrilling through her. He still wanted her. He’d come after her for that very purpose.

Unrelenting need.

Hadn’t she been aching with it for days now? But she tried to let rational thought have a moment of supremacy over that most basic instinct governing her. This was different. This might lead to a mess. As it was she’d been feeling below par. It had to be different this time—there had to be more.

She breathed deep, spoke carefully. ‘That afternoon was so complete. So perfect. Should we run the risk of ruining the memory of it?’

‘Yes.’ Decisive. Emphatic. No hesitation in his reply.

‘Why?’

He stepped even closer. ‘Because it wasn’t complete. It wasn’t perfect.’ His head lowered towards hers. ‘We were left wanting.’

Her lips tingled, his were so very near and the rush of memories was mixing with the present. It felt so natural and right for her to tilt that little bit further forward.

Her mouth touched his, clung to the warmth. Would have parted further and let him in if he’d made the move. But he lifted away, just a fraction, and she barely controlled the moan of disappointment, failed to suppress the sigh. Frustration.

His smile was slight, and his eyes were dark with determination. ‘See?’

There were commuters rushing all around them. Staring straight ahead, pacing along the footpath, keen to get home, to after-work assignations, to the gym, to whatever it was that they were looking forward to after a long day at the office. But in their tiny patch of the universe, less than a metre square, there was stillness, save their slow breathing.

‘Let’s get dinner.’ His mouth hardly moved as he spoke.

‘I’m not really dressed for dinner.’ She didn’t want to be dressed at all. His gaze frisked her. She knew he’d caught her thought and she also knew his reply. He’d be happy to eat there and then and she was the dish of the day.

‘Dinner. Tonight. Now.’ He seemed to have lost the ability to form whole sentences.

‘OK.’ Just as she had lost the ability to think at all.

As she stared out of the window Emily’s whole body quivered, tightening with the thrill of remembered ecstasy. She could only hear the rush of her pulse, not the reason of her mind. A tiny part of her was tense with warning, but the rest tense with longing. He was staring ahead at the road, his face shadowed by a frown, concentrating harder than the slow-moving traffic warranted.

‘Have you been busy with work?’ Oh, it was inane, but she had to break the taut silence somehow.

‘Very,’ came the brief reply. Then he too seemed to make the effort. ‘It’s always pretty busy. But things have been really hectic the last couple of weeks.’ He glanced at her. ‘What about you? Have you found a job?’

‘I haven’t really been looking. I’m still deciding what I want to do so I’ve just been cruising.’

‘Are you enjoying not working?’

‘Well, I don’t miss being on my feet all day.’ She laughed. ‘It’s weird not having to be anywhere at a prescribed hour.’ Or having anyone to talk to. She’d easily spent more than one day not talking to anyone in this city of millions.

‘How have you been filling your days?’

‘Just walking. Sightseeing. There are lots of sights in London.’

‘So you are still on your feet all day,’ he teased.

‘It’s a little different.’ She grinned.

She watched him drive, his sure, calm control of the machine. It wasn’t long before they were back in the heart of the city. He pulled into a parking space, escorted her with his innate politeness to the door. Unlocking it, he swung the heavy wood wide, before pressing a security keypad on the inside wall. She stepped forward into the surprisingly light foyer and looked at the calm colours, the polished wooden floor. Spacious, with high ceilings, wide doorways, and a long staircase, his house was beautiful. He didn’t stop to give her the tour, led her straight to the airy kitchen at the back of the ground floor, where he fiddled with buttons on the oven. Then he reached into a cupboard, drawing out a bottle of red with one hand and tossing her a box of grissini with the other. And she watched—every sure movement of his strong body. His large, confident hands worked the cork out of the bottle, the glass fitted snugly into his palm as he poured generously. He had beautiful hands. He had beautiful everything.

She kept watching as he pulled out a tray from the oven—smothered in vegetables, roasted to perfection and a joint of meat resting in the middle. Her mouth was watering but it wasn’t because of the food.

‘Just a little something you prepared earlier?’ she asked, amazed.

A half-smile twinkled. ‘I have a housekeeper—Micaela. She works every weekday. On weekends when necessary.’

Of course he had hired help. That was OK. It had still been his idea—like the picnic in Verona. Memories haunted her muscles. Emily fiddled with the box of grissini—anything to keep her hands from fiddling with him. The ache inside was becoming a pain now. He was here, he was so close and she wanted.

‘You hungry?’ he asked, watching the tray as he lifted it to the bench.

‘Mmm-hmm.’ She couldn’t trust herself to speak. Her voice already felt rusty, desire corroding it.

He turned, lanced her with his all-seeing eyes and spoke dryly. ‘Don’t hold back, Emily.’

She broke free of his piercing gaze, ripped at the box and grabbed a breadstick as others spilled across the bench.

He took the two steps to get right into her space. She couldn’t not look at him then. He knew. She knew he understood the depth of her need. And as if to prove it his fingers lightly danced down her throat, sliding down her chest until his palm moved to cup her swollen breast, thumb tormenting her taut nipple as it had those few weeks ago.

The breadstick snapped between her fingers.

His face lit up with that smile. His other hand slid up her leg then, under her skirt all the way up to her knickers. They were no barrier and she gasped in pleasure as his fingers slipped under the elastic, testing and instantly moving to tease as he felt the full extent of her appetite.

‘Luca…’

‘If you’re hungry, Emily,’ he instructed solemnly, ‘you should never hold back.’

So she didn’t—couldn’t. Her insides were like lava. Her deeply hidden core that she’d always thought firm and cool, rational and sensible, was now molten, blistering hot and bending her towards him. Driving her. Rocking her pelvis into his hand, she met his mouth with hers open and needy, her hands moving, fighting to touch him—going straight for the kill.

He groaned as his fingers stroked deep. ‘I’ve been wanting this again since the moment I left you in Verona.’

‘So what took you so long?’

‘I’m stubborn.’

‘Why do you want to fight it?’ Panting, she unzipped his trousers with a rough jerk. Got her hands on him the way he had his on her—intimate and demanding.

Everything was unleashed. The kiss was hard and passionate and their hands provoked even more until they were both shaking. Teeth scraped and tongues thrust and yet for her they were nowhere near close enough or fast enough or anything enough. She growled as he tore his lips from hers.

‘This isn’t how…’ He looked into her eyes and the fire arced between them—incandescent and unstoppable.

With a smile she hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him to meet her open, hungry mouth. Moments, minutes, hours lost in another kiss so passionate it almost hurt.

He whipped his hands from her body and she rolled onto her toes, only just keeping her balance. His hands came back—hard on her arms. ‘No. We should talk first. And before we do that we should eat.’

‘I’m not in imminent danger of fading away—let’s talk now.’ Frustration made her snappy.

He stared hard at her. ‘This can only be a fling, Emily. That’s all I can offer.’

‘Why?’ Why put limits on this before it had really begun—why not just see where it went?

Silence.

She watched the darkness grow in his eyes. ‘Did someone hurt you, Luca?’

His hands tightened on her arms. ‘Badly.’

‘I won’t hurt you.’ She liked him. She’d like to get to know him more.

‘I know.’ A blunt response. ‘Because I won’t let you.’ His grip loosened, fingers skimmed down to her wrists. ‘But I don’t want to hurt you either.’

‘Who says you will?’ She placed the palms of her hands on his chest. His arrogant assumption that he might annoyed her. Defensive pride reared its head. ‘Maybe all I want from you is just this—no-holds-barred sex and nothing else.’

He glared back, the frown drowning in a glower of epic proportions. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Seeing we’re being honest, let me put it plain. I don’t do relationships. I don’t do commitment. I’ve been married once before and I will never do it again.’

She tightened her muscles, absorbing the shock, but his brutal honesty continued.

‘No commitment, Emily. No strings. Do you still want this, knowing that?’

She stared hard into the darkness of his eyes, let hers roam over his features, his olive skin, the angled jaw that right now was shadowed with stubble, the full mouth.

Just a few nights of mind-bending passion?

It was already too late.

‘Didn’t I just say that? No-holds-barred sex and nothing else? Let’s say I think of you as my holiday fling.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then that’s it.’ He vanquished all possibility of any further thought with a few words and a lot of action. His hands intimately invaded her body, his mouth pressed bruisingly hard on hers blocking everything but sensation.

Passion, born of pent-up need and sudden anger, had her go straight for the zenith too—hands back hard on the thing she wanted right inside her. Pulling him closer, firmer, faster.

A breathless second apart as he pulled a condom from his pocket, tearing the foil open and forcing the rubber on. And almost fully clothed, their dinner waiting, they surged together. Frantic, fast—both desperately fighting for that fix of pleasure.

It was mere seconds in coming—their bodies clenched together like vices, racked with violent shudders.

After the echo of her screams passed, it was their breathing—short, sharp, harsh—that filled her ears.

She opened her eyes, looked straight into his—where a flicker of rue nestled. ‘Wow,’ he muttered. ‘I’m thinking that was the appetiser.’

She took a deep breath, stepped back, rested her weight on her hands on the bench behind her and tried to act completely cool—as if this sort of meltdown were nothing out of the ordinary. ‘I’m looking forward to the main course.’

His brows lifted. ‘While I’m looking forward to dessert.’