The Ruthless Italian's Inexperienced Wife

CHAPTER TWO

MARCO leaned over the little figure in the bed. As she got closer, Cheryl thought she heard the murmured words, ‘Eh, bimbo?’ or something like them. But when her employer realised she was at his elbow, he raised a barrier of grim silence.

Vettor stirred, muttering something in his sleep. Marco started adjusting the bedclothes. It was too much for Cheryl. She couldn’t bear to think of Vettor being frightened awake. She tried to squeeze in between Marco and his nephew, hoping her friendly face would be the first thing the little boy saw when he opened his eyes. It was no good. Marco was big, and solid as a rock. Desperate to protect Vettor, Cheryl did the only thing she could. Reaching around, she grabbed her employer’s hands.

The feel of them came as a shock. They were hard, and the smooth skin was stretched taut over sinew and bone. They contained such strength. Cheryl realised they could snap her like a twig. Although she quailed inside, she braced herself and held on.

‘Please don’t scare him, Signor Rossi!’ she whispered desperately.

‘I want to check his rash. The last message I got was from my secretary. She told me you suspected a bacterial infection. His mother had meningitis at this age. She only survived because, like you, I can recognise signs.’

That stunned her.

‘Oh… Then I’m sorry, Signor Rossi.’

Cheryl relaxed her grip, but did not move. They were locked together, still bending over their patient. When Marco Rossi bobbed his head slightly in acknowledgement, Cheryl felt the movement stir her own body. Her heartbeat reacted instantly, but one look at his face shook it back into line. His expression was tense and inflexible.

‘If that’s the case, then hearing Vettor was sick must have given you a terrible shock,’ she said. ‘But the moment the doctor made his official diagnosis I rang your office number to give you the news. Vettor has scarlet fever. He’s being treated with antibiotics, which are already taking effect.’

‘Scarlet fever sounds serious.’ Marco turned his aristocratic face towards her. ‘Why isn’t he in hospital?’

His expression was like flint, and its effect on Cheryl was instant. He trapped her in his gaze and looked right into her soul. A warm glow began creeping up from her breasts and flushed her cheeks with colour.

‘The doctor said home was the best place for him,’ she said, desperately trying to keep her mind on track.

Marco Rossi might be scary, but he was gorgeous, too. It was amazing to be pressed up against him like this, with neither of them willing to give way. He sent shivers right through her.

‘I can see an improvement in him already, so there’s no need to move him now. Besides, where would you rather be if you weren’t feeling well, Signor Rossi? In an unfamiliar hospital ward, or safe at home with someone who cares about you, not just for you? This is the best place for Vettor,’ she added, half afraid her employer would wheel away with a snarl.

He didn’t. Instead, he went on staring at her with those piercing blue eyes. Eventually his lips twitched into a slow, teasing smile. Then he pulled straight out of her grasp, as though all her strength was nothing. Standing up straight, he confronted her, head on.

‘You English, with your manners and your stiff upper lips!’ He spread his hands wide to emphasise his point. ‘Let me tell you something, Cheryl—’

‘My name is Miss Lane, Signor Rossi.’

He raised one eyebrow in a gesture she wasn’t supposed to defy.

‘And my name is Marco, Cheryl. I don’t have time for airs and graces. That’s why I couldn’t care less if you don’t like the fact I haven’t been here for my nephew. Your opinion means nothing to me. But why don’t you just come straight out with your complaints, instead of tossing that lovely brown mane of hair and flashing those beautiful eyes?’

Cheryl had been about to answer back, but his last words disarmed her completely. All her nervous tension about Vettor, the storm, meeting her new employer dissolved, and she giggled. Actually giggled! She couldn’t help it. But what sort of dedicated professional did something like that? Horrified, she clapped a hand to her mouth, stifling the sound. As she stared round-eyed at Marco Rossi she could hear her whole career shattering around her, louder than the storm.

And then he smiled. It was a triumphant gesture, as though she had fulfilled all his expectations.

The effect on Cheryl was alarming. Feathers of feeling began rippling up and down her spine. She tingled in such an intimate way it scared her. To cover her confusion she started flouncing the bedclothes and bustling around her patient’s bed to neaten the far side.

‘I’m sorry to cut your visit short, Signor Rossi, but Vettor needs peace and quiet. I shall have to ask you to leave.’ While I’ve still got a sensible thought left in my head, she thought. Marco Rossi filled her mind and distracted her body. The silent strength of his tall figure stopped her looking at him as she spoke. She couldn’t trust herself not to fall into the magnetism of his eyes again.

‘Of course.’

That was a surprise. She had expected an argument. Despite all her good intentions, Cheryl looked up. He nodded in agreement with her. As he did so, the light in his eyes faded. Looking down, he swore softly, as though noticing the state of his sodden clothes for the first time.

‘You’re right. And I shall be no good to Vettor if I catch my death of cold,’ he announced. ‘Did all my day staff get away safely?’

Cheryl nodded. ‘They left at around 5:00 p.m. That was when the weather warnings started to get really serious.’

‘I don’t blame them. Storms are trapped here by that ridge of hills.’ He nodded towards the far side of the building, moving restlessly inside his wet suit. ‘I need to dry off and change into some clean clothes. My staff take care of all my domestic details, but with no one else about I’ll have to ask you a favour, Cheryl. I know it’s not in your job description, but could you have a look around and try to find where they keep the towels?’

Cheryl blushed. This was awkward. She was only one of dozens of people who worked for Marco Rossi. She had already glimpsed a side of him the others had never even hinted at. She had been glad—far too glad—of his gentle reassurance when alone and scared. Flinging herself into his arms had been the most delicious, daring thing she had ever done in her life. But all that had happened before she knew who he was. Now it was a case of an employer giving his wage-slave instructions. The change was painful.

Cheryl hoped he would forget the way she had mistaken him for an electrician in the entrance hall. That had been a terrible mistake, but she’d never underestimate him again. She would make sure of that. From now on she would treat Marco Rossi with respect. There was a barrier between them for all sorts of reasons. One short tour around his estate and house had convinced Cheryl the rumours in the media were true. He really must be one of the wealthiest men in the west. Anyone who had the self-confidence to take on a wreck like the Villa Monteolio would need barrowloads of cash to back it up. Which Marco Rossi obviously has, she thought.

She didn’t need to look at the quality of the brand-new handcrafted staircase, or the Olympic-sized pool being installed on the south terrace to know that Marco Rossi was obviously mega-rich…and right out of her league. Thank goodness he’s not really my sort, she told herself. So why had his almost perfect features long ago burned their way into her brain? Somehow Cheryl knew that even if she never saw Marco Rossi again, his face would haunt her for the rest of her life.

Uninvited, the memory of jostling against him over Vettor’s bed rose up to tease her. For a few glorious moments they had been locked together. The touch of Marco’s hands was all power. She had felt them twice now. Once in gentleness, once with determination. They were so unforgettable they fired her blushes all over again. Trying to calm her emotional turmoil, Cheryl thought back to Nick Challenger. He’d been her one and only boyfriend, and the relationship had been disastrous.

As a distraction, her memory worked far too well. Her heart froze. The smile died on her lips. She shivered, hugging her arms around her body. Not that they could give her any protection against a man like Marco Rossi! Nick was only half his size, and she still carried the scars. Marco would make a much more formidable enemy. She didn’t want to put him to any sort of test.

His shoulders were wide and powerful, and two metres was such an awkward height. She already had a crick in her neck from looking up to him. As for his clothes—Cheryl looked them over carefully. His suit and open necked white shirt were obviously expensive. The cut was perfect. This man didn’t have any physical flaws to hide, and his tailor had concentrated on accentuating the tall masculinity of him. The materials used were the best quality linen and fine cotton, but it was all ruined now. Everything he wore was soaking wet, and dirty from his mercy dash.

Even Marco Rossi’s smile isn’t quite perfect, Cheryl realised. It might be white, it might be tempting, but there’s a tiny chip out of that front tooth, on the right…

‘How long will it take for your luggage to catch up with you, Signor Rossi?’ she said briskly, trying to divert her attention from his body to his situation.

‘I’ve told you—call me Marco.’

Cheryl smiled, and then wished she hadn’t. He smiled back, and the effect was electric. Luckily, another hurricane blast smashed against the house and the moment was broken. She glanced over her shoulder, terrified. Marco grimaced.

‘It will take my things some time to get here, judging by this weather.’

‘Then it’s just as well the rest of the staff showed me around before Vettor fell ill,’ Cheryl managed with a trace of her usual bright efficiency. At last there was something about this horrible day to smile about. ‘As we say in England, “it’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good”. While you go and have a shower, Marco, I’ll sort you out some dry things. Finding my way around by torchlight might take some time, though!’

‘I’ll get my clothes, if you could find where Housekeeping store my towels. And don’t worry, you won’t need a torch. Listen—the generators have kicked in.’

He reached across to the nearest wall switch and snapped it on. A low-wattage bulb glowed bravely in the darkness.

‘Oh, that’s wonderful!’

Marco gave a very Italian shrug. ‘It’s always a good idea to have back-up when you live in the country.’

The increased light tempted Cheryl to run an appreciative gaze over him again. She chose exactly the wrong moment to do it. Marco sensed where she was looking, and turned his head. The glint in his eyes made her glance away sharply.

‘That’s very efficient of you, Marco.’ She tried to sound prim.

‘But of course! What else would you expect from a man with my reputation? And you can smile when you speak to me. It’s allowed!’ His response was light and teasing.

Cheryl didn’t know what to think. To hear his staff talk, Marco Rossi was deadly serious about everything. But from the moment he’d burst into this house she’d been swept up by a whirlwind. He’d been protective, determined, and now he was smiling at her again.

She decided not to risk returning his gaze. It brought back memories of his hands touching hers. Cheryl didn’t dare let herself be carried away like that, so she made herself stick to purely practical things.

But trying to talk about one thing while her mind was on something else proved to be a big mistake. ‘When I’ve found the towels, I’ll take your wet clothes off you, Marco.’

Then she gasped, suddenly aware of what she had said.

‘Oh, no! I didn’t mean—that is, when you’ve taken them off, I’ll— No, what I should have said was—’

A devilish look haunted Marco’s face as he watched her floundering. It spurred Cheryl into ever more desperate torrents of apology. She got more and more flustered, but Marco said nothing. He didn’t need to. When he’d had his fun, he stretched like a cat and smiled with equal assurance.

‘Non te la prendere, Cheryl!’ His beautiful accent caressed her into silence. ‘I’d say chill out, but you look like a girl who doesn’t know what that means. What a shame you didn’t leave your English reserve at the airport,’ he said with mocking severity. ‘Life in Italy is going to be tough if you’re always worrying about double meanings. As for this—’ he glanced down ruefully at his ruined suit ‘—it’s not a problem. I’ll sort it out. I’d never expect you to run around after me like that. In any case, it’s the middle of the night!’

To her surprise, his concern sounded genuine. There was no sarcasm in his voice at all. That confused Cheryl even more.

‘You’re a man who employs staff…surely you expect that sort of treatment as your right, Signor Rossi? I mean, Marco.’ She corrected herself as he lowered his dark brows in warning.

‘Not from you. I’m employing you as a nanny—nothing more.’ He was firm, but she couldn’t leave it at that.

‘I have to do something—you’re filthy, soaking wet, and you might have been killed coming across country as you did!’

As she gazed into the blue of Marco’s eyes Cheryl’s mind was filled with images of him powering through the storm. Those pictures superheated a secret place inside her. It was somewhere she had almost forgotten existed.

When he spoke, his teasing tone aroused her most primitive instincts to an even higher pitch.

‘It was worth it for the reception I got when you opened the door to me.’

There was that smile again. Coupled with his low, melodious voice, it plucked at feelings Cheryl hadn’t allowed herself for a very long time. It felt right, and urgent, and…

If I don’t do something fast I’m lost, she thought desperately. Marco Rossi had a way of looking at her that made her forget time and place. Once trapped in the mystery of his eyes, surely it would only be seconds before she was yielding to the kiss to end all kisses…

‘I have to keep my mind off this storm, Marco.’ She gulped. ‘Tell me which bathroom you’ll be using. I’ll bring some towels when I’ve discovered where they’re kept.’

Dodging past him, she tried to distract her body. His voice wandered out of the sickroom and into the corridor. ‘That sounds ideal. I’ll use the shower in my suite.’

He followed her, but in his own sweet time. Cheryl felt as though she was in the presence of some large, predatory feline who watched her every move. She closed the door to Vettor’s room, tense with expectation. Marco was standing so close behind her she could almost feel his soft, warm breath on her neck. She hesitated, alight with nerves. They were both waiting for something to happen.

Compelled to turn and look at him, Cheryl had to lower her head the instant their eyes met. His expression was too intense. The only way she could cope with those burning blue eyes was to look up at him from beneath her lashes.

‘I’m only trying to be helpful, Marco.’

He smiled.

‘Oh, I’m sure you’re going to be invaluable…’ he murmured. And her heart stood still.

CHAPTER THREE

HORMONES surged through Marco’s veins, goading him on. He looked down on Cheryl’s upturned face. Her lips parted. It was an invitation he definitely didn’t need, but he was a red-blooded male. One kiss from her lovely full lips would be a great reward for dropping everything and focusing totally on getting home.

Hours of travelling through foul weather had washed him up on the front steps of the Villa Monteolio in a desperate state. He needed a break—and it had come in the shape of this gorgeous girl. Sex had been the last thing on his mind at the time, but when she’d flung herself into his arms his body had recovered like lightning. Marco’s mind might have been full of worry for his nephew, but physically he had warmed to Cheryl straight away.

Now he’d seen Vettor, Marco could afford to indulge himself. Desire had been rising in him since his explosive arrival. Now it was a simmering need, threatening to boil over at any moment. Whatever the circumstances, there was one part of his body that was forever ready. It throbbed with anticipation right now. He was going to enjoy this.

Although…

Alarm bells rang in his head. His newest female employee ought to be as out of bounds as all the rest of them. Marco never dabbled with his staff. But then, he reminded himself, none of them offered such warm temptation, so obviously. Cheryl Lane was soft as butter. The novelty of her English reserve delighted him. It was almost as much a turn-on as the questions in her eyes. All he saw there was When? Where? and How are you going to take me?

Marco recognised consent. Miss Cheryl Lane was sending out all the right signals, and there was no harm in a little flirtation. He wouldn’t admit it to himself, or anyone else, but his feelings for women were often tinged with revenge. At times like this, thoughts of another English girl shouldered themselves into his mind.

Years before, Sophie had seduced him in her parents’ grand villa. He was a realist. He’d already known then from experience that the sight of him stripped to the waist and working up a sweat would cast a spell over any woman with a pulse. So the fact a titled English ‘princess’ had made a play for him had meant nothing to Marco at first. But Sophie had turned out to be…different. She’d had brains. Her natural lust had quickly directed his feelings to her own advantage. A poor little rich girl, she’d led Marco on and then dropped him as soon as Mummy and Daddy threatened her allowance.

The whole business had been a tourniquet round Marco’s heart, twisting it until he’d sworn never to leave his emotions open to attack again.

It had been a hard lesson in how manipulative people could be when it came to getting their own way. But Marco was a quick study. He had a lot more to lose than his naivety these days. He didn’t do the R word—relationships. Now he was as careful with women as he was with business deals.

And he could afford to be selective. If he decided to seduce Cheryl, it would be his first taste of a woman for quite a while. As usual, he was wary. From the moment he laid hands on them, women could never quite keep the acquisitive look out of their eyes. Whether he met them in Manhattan or Melbourne, Florida or Florence, once a woman learned who he was she wanted his wallet. But there was something about Cheryl… She was definitely one of a kind. When this softly upholstered girl had greeted his arrival by throwing herself into his arms the unusual sensation of pliant, warm helplessness beneath his hands had stimulated his body straight away. Now all he had to deal with was his mind.

He wondered what it would be like to push his hands through her rich brown hair. The need to feel its smooth silkiness rippling through his fingers rose up as he cast appreciative eyes over her. That mane of hers swung like a heavy curtain each time she moved. He liked that. And leaving the sickroom to follow her out into the vestibule had been no hardship at all. Those jeans of hers were good and snug. There was just enough curve about her to make it worthwhile walking along behind.