The Secret Kept From The Italian

She drew a breath and it hitched audibly. Antonio’s eyes flared again. Maisie stared at him, feeling trapped, but in a wonderful way. An exciting way.

‘How old is your younger brother?’ Antonio asked quietly, and the exquisite tension didn’t break, but it lessened. Maisie took another careful breath and removed her hand from his arm; already she missed the warmth of his skin.

‘He’s twenty-two now.’

‘So he was seventeen when your parents died.’

Surprise and a strange kind of gratification rippled through her at his swift recall. ‘Yes.’

‘What did you do? Without your parents?’

‘Worked.’ She didn’t want to get into the whole tedious sob story of her parents’ sudden death, the ensuing shock that they had no savings and her family home had been double-mortgaged. Money had always been a concern in Maisie’s childhood, but she hadn’t realised what an overwhelming fear it could be until after her parents’ death. But surely a man like Antonio Rossi, with his yacht and his houses and his glittering career, didn’t want to hear about that.

‘Worked,’ Antonio repeated slowly, his gaze searching her face. ‘Did you take care of your brother?’

‘Yes.’ Maisie couldn’t keep the ferocity from her tone. Max had been everything to her after her parents had died. She was still finding it hard not to have him at the centre of her world. Even with her new life in the city, she missed him. She missed him needing her, but of course he hadn’t needed her for a while. Not emotionally, anyway.

‘What’s his name?’ Antonio asked softly, and for some reason his interest nearly undid her.

‘Max,’ she whispered. ‘He just finished university in the spring. He’s doing an internship on Wall Street.’

‘Wall Street.’ Antonio gave a low whistle. ‘Sounds like you’ve done a good job.’

‘I tried.’ Maisie dragged her gaze away from Antonio’s eyes with effort. ‘But we were talking about you.’

‘Were we?’

‘What was your brother’s name?’

Antonio hesitated, and Maisie realised it was an intimate, even invasive question. She understood instinctively that he didn’t talk about his brother; that already she was privileged to know as much, or really as little, as she did. ‘Paolo,’ he finally said, and the word escaped from him on a reluctant sigh. ‘He was five years younger than me. He died ten years ago today.’

‘Today...’

‘Hence the whisky.’ He let out a humourless laugh. ‘I always find January sixteenth one of the hardest days of the year.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

He shrugged, his gaze sliding away from hers. ‘It’s not your fault.’

‘I know that.’ She smiled sadly, wanting to touch him again, to offer him that basic comfort, and yet afraid of his response—and hers. ‘But I also know how much it hurts. And I’m sorry that you’re hurting in that way. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.’

‘No.’ He glanced back at her, his gaze heavy-lidded now, turning sensual. ‘You are a very kind person, Maisie. You have a generous heart, to give so much to people and probably receive less in return.’

She laughed uncertainly. ‘That makes me sound a little bit like a doormat,’ she observed.

‘Not at all.’ He cocked his head. ‘Is that how you feel?’

Surprise flared through her at his perception, because the truth was she’d always felt, in the darkest corner of her heart, that she gave more to Max, loved him more, than he did her. But that was the nature of their relationship, wasn’t it? There were only two years between them but she’d become both mother and father to him. She’d had to. And she’d wanted to, but...sometimes her life had felt dreary, thankless. Sometimes she’d wondered if there was anything more, even as she missed his active presence in her life now. ‘Maybe a little,’ she admitted, and then felt wretched. How could she begrudge her brother anything, never mind her own love? ‘Not really...’

‘Shh.’ Antonio pressed his finger to her lips, utterly silencing her. ‘You don’t have to apologise for your feelings. It’s already obvious to me how much you care about your brother, and how much you’ve sacrificed for him.’

‘How could you possibly know that?’ Maisie whispered, her lips brushing his fingers with every syllable. He kept his finger there, pressed to her lips, light as a feather and yet feeling like the most intimate thing she’d ever experienced.

His gaze was dark and hooded as he replied, ‘Because it shines from you. Love and...and goodness.’

From someone else it would have sounded like sentimental flattery, but Antonio’s tone was so gentle and sincere, with a touch of sorrow that made Maisie ache. No one had ever said such things to her before. No one had ever even noticed all she’d done for Max. All she’d given up for herself. And somehow this beautiful stranger had.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and Antonio pressed his finger more firmly against her mouth, a caress that Maisie felt to her core. She shuddered, unable to stop herself, and Antonio smiled.

‘So loving,’ he murmured as he traced the outline of her lips with his fingertip. ‘And so lovely.’

Maisie remained transfixed under his touch; the touch of his fingers felt as if he were imprinting himself on her soul. She’d had a few boyfriends over the years, but none of them had been serious—there had been Max to think of, and life was so busy, working full-time and trying to keep up with her music. Those boyfriends’ kisses and clinches hadn’t affected her the way Antonio Rossi did, by simply touching her lips with the tip of his finger. Not remotely.

Some hazy part of her brain was telling her that she needed to stop this nonsense and get back to work. Finish her shift and go home and forget the dangerous magic that was being wrought in this room, making her insides fizz and the air shimmer.

Antonio trailed his finger from her lips to her chin and then down to the hollow in her throat, where her pulse beat frantically. He rested it there, his brows drawn together as he studied her. He glanced at her from underneath heavy-lidded eyes and then he dropped his finger lower, undoing her coverall and skimming under the plain white T-shirt she wore beneath, with the cleaning company’s insignia on the breast pocket.

Shock and desire crashed through Maisie in a double wave and the half-full tumbler of whisky dropped from her nerveless fingers and fell onto the floor, the alcohol soaking into the carpet and filling the air with its pungent scent.

She gasped and looked down in horror. ‘Oh, no...’

‘It doesn’t matter...’

‘It does. I can’t leave a mess in an office I’ve just cleaned.’

‘Then we won’t leave it.’

He smiled, the wry yet intent look in his eyes as good as telling her that this was not going to serve as a distraction from his true purpose, or at least not for long. Yet what did he, magnetic sexy billionaire that he was, want with her?

Of course, the answer was glaringly obvious. Maisie blinked, rooted to the spot, as Antonio fetched a cloth and some carpet cleaner and began to scrub the stain.

He wanted sex. That was what rich, powerful men wanted with women like her. The only thing. Yet here he was, cleaning the carpet for her. She didn’t understand him. She didn’t understand herself, and how she could actually be tempted by such a sordid proposition.

Sex with a stranger. That was what she was actually thinking about right now. Yet perhaps Antonio wasn’t thinking of sex at all; perhaps he was just being kind, a little flirty, humouring the housekeeper. Pure mortification shot through her, turning her insides to ice and her face fiery. Hot and cold, that was how she felt. Hot and cold right through.

Antonio tossed the cleaning supplies back onto her trolley and then straightened, turning to her with a wickedly sexy smile.

‘Now, then,’ he said. ‘Where were we?’

She was blushing, right to the roots of her hair. Antonio noted her change in colour with interest, just as he’d noted the way she’d responded to his finger against her lips. And he’d responded, desire arrowing through him along with something deeper. He’d meant what he said when he’d told her she was loving and good. She seemed, at that moment, like the most uncomplicated, honest and kind person he’d ever encountered, and he craved that as much as he craved her body. Well, almost.

Maisie tilted her chin a little, her eyes flashing emerald fire. ‘Where were we, exactly?’ she asked, her voice a little croaky yet full of challenge and bravado.

Antonio smiled. ‘I think,’ he murmured as he skimmed his fingers along her cheek, her skin like warm satin under their tips, ‘we were right here.’

Maisie closed her eyes, gritting her teeth as if she had to endure his touch and yet Antonio knew better. Her whole body trembled as if she was strung through with a wire and he was plucking it. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’ she whispered.

‘I haven’t even kissed you yet.’

She opened her eyes, shocked despite everything that had already happened, the tension crackling in the air. ‘Yet?’

‘Yet,’ Antonio confirmed. ‘Surely, Maisie, you know it’s only a matter of time? You want me and I want you. Very much. I want to forget all the grief and sadness, and I want to remember...this.’ Gently, so she could pull away if she really wanted to, he drew her towards him. Their hips bumped and her breasts brushed his chest. Her body quivered and her eyes looked like huge, glassy pools, the colour of ferns.

Part of him, a large part, wanted to drive his hands through her wild, auburn hair and plunder her mouth, lose himself in the oblivion of lust with no thought to the wide-eyed woman before him.

But of course he couldn’t do that. Maisie was too lovely for such coarse treatment. So he took his time, letting his gaze move slowly over her as she adjusted to being so near to him, the shift in their bodies as well as the shift in the air. Flirtation had turned to anticipation. Expectation.

‘You’re very lovely,’ he murmured as he wound a reddish curl around his finger, tugging it gently so she had to come even closer. ‘Very, very lovely.’

‘So are you,’ she returned on a shaky laugh. ‘But you must know how handsome you are.’

He laughed, because there was something so delightfully refreshing about her artless candour. ‘Maybe you could show me.’

She sucked in a breath and then shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t know how.’

He tugged that curl again. ‘You could kiss me.’

A lovely pink blush washed over her face in a tide of colour. ‘I...couldn’t.’

‘You could.’

‘I wouldn’t know how,’ she repeated, her face even fierier now.

‘So I’m meant to do all the work and seduce you?’ he teased gently, and she bit her lip.

‘You don’t have to,’ she muttered, looking away. ‘It’s not like I’m asking.’

He laughed softly, enjoying the repartee as much as the delicious anticipation of her kiss. ‘I’m asking,’ he told her. ‘In fact, I’m demanding.’

‘Demanding...?’

‘Kiss me, Maisie.’

She turned back to him with wide, shocked eyes. He would have thought she was offended except for the flare of excitement in their emerald-bright depths, the way her teeth sank into her lower lip as she considered his request—no, his demand.

‘You’re looking at my mouth like it’s a mountain to climb,’ he observed wryly. They’d barely touched and he was finding it hard to hold on to his light, laughing manner. The need was growing inside him—a torrent, a torment, and soon it would be overwhelming.

‘It feels like it,’ Maisie admitted. ‘I’m not... I’m not adventurous.’

‘But you want to kiss me.’ It was a statement, not a question. He saw and felt her answer in the tremble of her body, the dilation of her pupils, the way her tongue darted out to moisten her plump pink lips.

‘Yes...’

Antonio drew back a little. ‘You sound uncertain.’ But only a little.

‘This is so outside my realm of experience,’ Maisie said on a huff of disbelieving laughter. ‘I feel like I’ve fallen into a fairy tale or down a rabbit hole.’

‘Then enjoy the ride,’ Antonio suggested. He wondered briefly about warning her that this was a one-night stand, a brief moment of pleasure. But he didn’t want to break the mood and surely it was obvious? Relationships didn’t start between strangers on an empty office floor at two o’clock in the morning. Maisie seemed refreshingly honest and artless, but she wasn’t dumb.

‘Enjoy the ride,’ she repeated slowly, savouring each word as if it were a sip of fine wine. ‘Now, that’s something I don’t think I’ve ever done before.’

Antonio raised his eyebrows. ‘No?’

‘No. Definitely not.’

‘Then maybe now is the time.’

Maisie took a deep, slow breath and raised her resolute gaze to his. Antonio felt a blaze of triumph burn through him; he knew that look. She’d made up her mind.

‘Maybe I should,’ she said, and then she stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his, feather-light, whisper-soft. Antonio remained still under her hesitant caress, waiting to see what she would do next. She drew back, frowning a little. ‘Didn’t you...didn’t you like it?’

‘Of course I liked it,’ Antonio was quick to reassure her. ‘But how can I be satisfied with barely a mouthful when what I really want is a meal? A feast?’ He let her see the heat simmering in his gaze as his mouth dropped to her lips. This really was the most interesting and exquisite foreplay, and like nothing else he’d ever done with a woman. ‘Kiss me again, Maisie.’

And she did, this time pressing her body as well as her lips against his, one slender hand curling over his shoulder. It was clumsy and hesitant and somehow perfect. This time Antonio couldn’t keep from responding. He spanned her waist with his hands, revelling in her softness, and drew her even more snugly against him, so their bodies were in sensual alignment. He felt a shudder go through her at his obvious arousal, and he paused, waiting for her to catch up. To take the next step.

And she did, kissing him again, her tongue darting out to touch his lips like a shy butterfly. Antonio captured her mouth against his own, deepening the kiss, plundering her silken depths as he’d been longing to.

Need roared through him, his blood rushing through his veins, pounding in his head. He’d meant to go slowly, to be civilised and controlled about the whole thing, but all his careful plans fell apart as Maisie gave herself to him so generously, so artlessly. He backed her up across the room, all the way to the sofa, and his last remnant of self-control kept him from practically throwing her onto its leather cushions. Instead he laid her down gently, and she stared up at him with wide, shocked eyes.

‘Antonio...’

His breath came out in a ragged hiss as he stared down at her, aghast at the possibility of her having second thoughts. ‘Do you want me, Maisie?’

‘Yes...’ Her voice wavered and Antonio cursed himself for having rushed things.

‘Do you want this?’ He gestured to the space between them, the look in his eyes surely leaving no confusion as to what he meant.

Maisie lay on the sofa, her pupils dilated, her lips slightly parted, her expression dazed and full of desire. She drew in a long, slow breath, her gaze searching him, asking silent questions Antonio didn’t know how to answer. He waited, fists clenched, everything taut and expectant, as he braced himself for her reply.

‘Yes,’ she whispered finally, and her head fell back against the cushions. ‘Yes, I do.’

CHAPTER THREE

MAISIE GAZED UP at Antonio’s intent and beautiful face and felt a peaceful settling inside her; a resolution had been made. She was going to do this. She was going to sleep with him. She wasn’t sure when she had decided. When she’d kissed him? When he’d told her he wanted her? When she’d come into the room?

She didn’t do stuff like this. Of course she didn’t. For the last five years her entire focus had been on Max—caring for him, providing for him, and suppressing all her hopes, dreams and needs. And maybe that was why she had decided, why she was lying on a sofa looking up at the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, waiting for him to start seducing her. Because she’d lived for someone else for too long, and now, just for one night, she wanted to live for herself. For pleasure. For excitement. For this.

Antonio’s gaze roved over her. ‘You’re sure,’ he said slowly.

‘Yes.’ She swallowed, more of a gulp. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

‘Good,’ he answered swiftly. ‘Because so am I.’

Her heart trembled as he knelt before her, his hands on her hips, anchoring her in place. She stared at him, feeling as pinned—and as beautiful—as a butterfly. Waiting.

Then he lowered his mouth to hers and her mind blissfully emptied out. This was what had happened the first time he’d kissed her, or rather, she’d kissed him. Barely a brush of lips and yet her senses, every single one, had short-circuited. She hadn’t been able to think. She had barely remembered to breathe. The touch of his mouth to hers had felt like a spark to her soul, lighting a fire within her. And when Antonio had taken control of their kiss it had become a complete conflagration. She was consumed.

And Maisie felt consumed now, in the best possible way, as his mouth moved over hers—and then lower. He kissed his way down her cheek and throat, his tongue touching the hard edge of her collarbone before nestling in the hollow of her throat, sucking and teasing. A shudder escaped her and she arched up, already helpless.

Antonio chuckled against her skin and then his mouth moved lower, to the edge of her blue T-shirt. ‘What are you wearing?’ he murmured and Maisie squirmed and blushed.

‘My cleaning uniform. It’s hideous, I know...’

‘Clearly you could inflame me wearing a bin bag,’ Antonio returned as his hands slid under the shapeless shirt. ‘But I think I’d like to see you wearing nothing at all.’

He slid her T-shirt over her head and tossed it across the room with a deliberately wolfish smile that would have made Maisie laugh if she didn’t feel so suddenly, unbearably exposed. She struggled not to cover herself; no one had seen her in just her bra. No one.

‘You are even lovelier than before,’ Antonio said softly. ‘There’s no need to be embarrassed.’

Maisie swallowed, not quite willing to admit that no one had ever seen her like this before. That Antonio Rossi, a virtual stranger, was the first. With his gaze steady he reached one hand out and cupped her breast, his palm warm through the thin cotton of her bra. Sparks of sensation radiated outward from his touch, fireworks fizzing inside her. Although she tried to hide her reaction, Antonio noticed and smiled.

‘Do you know how potent a woman’s reaction is to a man? How inflaming?’

‘But you’re still dressed,’ Maisie protested. She wanted him to touch her more; she wanted to touch him. She just had no idea how to go about it.

‘That is something that can be easily remedied.’ He lifted his hands to the buttons of his shirt and then paused, one eyebrow arched. ‘Perhaps you will do it for me?’

‘Oh...’ She hadn’t expected a man like Antonio—powerful, privileged, and surely used to being in charge—to give her so much control. Want her to have it. ‘I...’

He shrugged, his expression one of wry amusement although there was a fierce light in his eyes. ‘They’re just buttons.’

Yes, they were just buttons, of course they were, and yet it was so much more. It was owning the reckless choice she’d made, and taking control of it. It was being bolder and more daring and more sexual than she’d ever been in her life.

Slowly Maisie raised herself up on one elbow and then, with fingers that trembled only a little, she started undoing the buttons of his crisp white shirt. Every time she inhaled she breathed in the clean, woodsy scent of his aftershave; every time she managed to slip a button through its hole she glimpsed a tantalising bit of his chest, bronzed skin over sculpted muscle.

Antonio’s breath came out in a hiss between his teeth, and with a jolt Maisie realised how affected he was. How she affected him. He must have seen her surprised expression, for he laughed softly and said, ‘I’ve told you how you make me feel, haven’t I? Now you can see the proof for yourself.’ The buttons undone, he reached for her hand and laid it flat against his bare chest, over the thudding of his heart, its hectic pace matching her own.

They remained that way for a long, suspended moment, connected by her hand on his heart, all of it feeling so wonderfully and excruciatingly intense. This was so intimate, and not simply because she no longer had a shirt on. She hadn’t expected it somehow, along with the physical pleasure, the overwhelming need. She felt an emotional connection with this man that had begun when she’d seen him looking so sad, and its natural continuation was here.

Maisie spread her fingers against his chest, revelling in the taut muscle, the satiny skin. Another breathless moment passed, and then she looked up at him, waiting, wanting—and everything changed.

It was as if a spark had suddenly caught the tinder, seeming to take them both by surprise. Antonio pulled her towards him, crushing her breasts against his chest as his mouth came down on hers, hard and demanding. And Maisie answered that demand, wrapping her arms around his neck, driving her fingers through his hair as she offered herself to him utterly.

She fell back against the sofa, Antonio’s body pressing into hers, one powerful thigh sliding between her legs, creating an even deeper urgency.

He tore his mouth from hers and moved it lower, a shuddering gasp escaping her as her eyes fluttered closed and his lips nudged aside the thin cotton of her bra.

Her body arced off the sofa as he continued his soft and deft exploration, unclasping her bra so swiftly Maisie barely realised it had gone, and she was naked from the waist up. Her mind was blurred with sensation, fiery arrows of pleasure shooting through her as Antonio continued to explore her body with his lips and hands.

Her baggy trousers followed her shirt and bra, and then her underwear as well, so without even fully realising it was happening she was naked, and so was Antonio. She gazed up at him, his skin burnished in the dim light from the desk lamp, his chest taut and muscled and perfect.

Maisie trembled against the sofa, aware, even in her pleasure-dazed state, what a step she was taking. Enormous. Irrevocable.

Antonio must have sensed something of her feelings, for he paused, his hands braced on either side of her head, his breathing harsh and ragged.

‘Maisie...you are sure?’ She nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. ‘Tell me,’ he urged. ‘Tell me to go on, or tell me to stop.’

She drew a deep breath into her lungs, her body splayed and open to his. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, and reached up to lace her fingers around his neck, bringing his mouth down to hers. ‘I’m sure.’

Antonio needed no more encouragement. He kissed her hard on the mouth as his hips pressed against hers, and Maisie stiffened at the sudden and strange invasion of her body. He frowned slightly, and she wondered if he knew she’d never done this before. Did her inexperience show?

Antonio let out a groan as he slid fully inside her, and Maisie tried not to flinch, adjusting to the feeling of him. So this was sex. She thought she liked the foreplay a bit better.

Antonio lifted his head, his frown deepening as he looked at her. ‘Maisie...’

‘It’s all right.’ It suddenly felt important that he should not know she was—or had been—a virgin. That she’d chosen to give her virginity to a stranger she’d never see again. She arched up, drawing him more fully into her body, wrapping her legs around his hips.

Antonio began to move with slow, deliberate thrusts, and as she adjusted to the feel of him a flicker of pleasure began to grow. Maisie started to match his rhythm, and the flicker grew into flame, their bodies moving in union as the fire began to rage.