Читать книгу The Italian GP's Bride - Kate Hardy - Страница 8

THEY were two hours late getting to the airport at Naples. And then there was the wait for the luggage to arrive…except Eleanor couldn’t see her suitcase at all.

Maybe she’d just missed it, taken her eye off the conveyor belt during the moment it had passed her, and the suitcase would be there the second time round.

Except it wasn’t. Or the third time.

Oh, great. Not only was she late—tired, and in need of a shower and a cup of decent coffee—now her luggage was missing. Thank God she’d put the most important things in her hand luggage. She still had the original photographs back in England, so she could’ve had replacement copies made, but she’d wanted to hand them over in person.

And although, yes, she could go into the centre of Naples and replace most of her luggage first thing tomorrow morning, she already had plans. A meeting to which she didn’t want to go wearing travel-stained clothes. Even if she rinsed her clothes out in her hotel room tonight, they’d be crumpled and scruffy and…

Oh-h-h.

She could have howled with frustration. The shops were probably closed by now and, even if she got up really early tomorrow morning, she wouldn’t have enough time to find the shops, buy new clothes and be on time to meet Bartolomeo.

First impressions were important. Especially in this case. This really, really wasn’t fair.

‘Problems, Dottoressa Eleanor?’

Orlando’s voice was like melted chocolate. Soothing and comforting and sinful, all at the same time.

And she really shouldn’t give in to the urge to lean on him. She was perfectly capable of sorting things out on her own. She had a phrasebook in her bag—given a little time and effort, she’d be able to make herself understood. Luggage must go missing all the time. It was probably just mislaid, on the wrong carousel or something. And when she got to the hotel, she could talk to someone in the reception area and ask where she should go to buy clothes and shoes tomorrow. She could call Bartolomeo and put back their meeting by an hour, if need be.

‘I’m just waiting for my luggage,’ she said.

‘It hasn’t arrived yet?’

He was carrying a small, stylish case. And there were only three cases left on the conveyor belt—none of which was hers.

‘I was just about to go and ask.’

‘Let me,’ he said.

Before she could protest, he added, ‘You said on the plane that you didn’t speak much Italian. So let me help you.’

Italian was his native tongue and he spoke perfect English, too: it made sense to let him interpret for her instead of struggling. ‘Grazie.’ Though she still had reservations. ‘But won’t it make you really late home? Especially as our flight was delayed.’

He shrugged. ‘Non importa. It doesn’t matter.’

‘It’s not fair to your family, to keep them waiting even longer.’

He spread his hands. ‘Nobody’s waiting for me. I live alone.’

Now, that she hadn’t expected. She’d been so sure a man like Orlando de Luca—capable, practical and gorgeous—would be married to a wife who adored him, with several children who adored him even more and a menagerie of dogs and cats he’d rescued over the years.

‘I won’t be long. What does your bag look like?’

‘It’s a trolley suitcase—about so big.’ She described the size with her hands. ‘And it’s, um, bright pink.’

‘Bright pink,’ he echoed. His voice was completely deadpan, but there was a sparkle of amusement in his eyes—as if he thought she’d chosen something completely frivolous and un-doctor-like.

She wished now she’d bought her luggage in a neutral colour. Grey, beige or black. She’d just thought that a bright suitcase would be easier to spot at the airport.

He smiled at her and went over to one of the airport staff. During the conversation, the man nodded, looked over at Eleanor with an expression of respect, said something to Orlando, and then strode away.

‘He’s going to check for you,’ Orlando confirmed when he returned. ‘I explained that our flight was late in because of a medical emergency on the plane. You saved the patient’s life and we should be looking after you, not losing your baggage.’

She felt colour flood into her face. ‘I didn’t save Giulietta’s life on my own. You did the chest compressions and got a patient history from her daughter. I couldn’t have done it without you.’

‘Teamwork, then. We worked well together.’ His eyes narrowed as he glanced at her. ‘You look tired. You’ve had a long journey, plus the stress of dealing with a cardiac arrest in a cramped space without the kind of equipment you’re used to, and now your baggage has disappeared. Come and sit down. I will get you some coffee.’

He was taking over and Eleanor knew she should be standing up for herself, telling him that she appreciated the offer but she really didn’t need looking after. Her feelings must have shown on her face because he said gently, ‘It may be a while until they locate your luggage. Why stand around waiting and getting stressed, when the coffee-shop is just here, to our right, and you can sit down in comfort and relax?’

And he was right. She was tired. Caffeine was just what she needed to get her through the rest of this evening until she got to the hotel.

‘Do you take milk, sugar?’ he asked when he’d settled her at a table.

‘Just milk, please.’

There was something about the English dottoressa. Orlando couldn’t define it or even begin to put his finger on it, but something about her made him want to get to know her better.

Much better.

He’d liked the way she’d been so cool and calm on the plane, got on with her job without barking orders or being rude to the flight attendants, and had even tried speaking the little Italian she knew to help reassure Giulietta’s daughter. There was a warmth to Eleanor Forrest that attracted him.

A warmth that had suddenly shut off when he’d asked her a personal question.

And he wanted to know why.

He ordered coffee and cantuccini, then carried a tray over to their table.

‘Biscuits?’ she asked.

‘Because I missed them in England,’ he said simply. ‘Your English biscuits fall apart when you dip them in coffee. These don’t.’ He smiled at her. ‘They’re nice dipped in vin santo, too, but I think for now coffee is what you need.’

‘Thanks. Odd how just sitting around can make you feel tired.’

‘Don’t forget you saved a life in the middle of all that,’ he reminded her.

She ignored his comment. ‘How much do I owe you for the coffee?’

An independent woman. One who’d insist on paying her way. He liked that, too: she wouldn’t take anyone for granted. She was the kind of woman who’d want an equal. ‘My suggestion, my bill.’

He caught the expression on her face just before she masked it. Someone had obviously hurt her—hurt her so badly that she wouldn’t even accept a cup of coffee from a man she barely knew, and saw strangers as a potential for hurt instead of a potential friend.

Softly, he added, ‘That puts you under no obligation to me at all, Eleanor. Whatever you might have heard about Italian men, I can assure you I’m not expecting anything from you. I haven’t put anything in your coffee and you’re not going to wake up tomorrow morning in a room you can’t remember seeing before with no clothes, no money and one hell of a headache.’

‘I…I’m sorry. And I didn’t mean to insult you or your countrymen,’ she said, looking awkward and embarrassed.

‘No offence taken. You’re quite right to be wary of strangers offering drinks. But I’m a doctor buying a mug of coffee for a fellow professional. And this really is just coffee.’

‘And it’s appreciated.’

He settled opposite her. ‘So, are you on holiday in Naples?’

‘Sort of.’

Not a straight yes or no. And she didn’t offer any details, he noticed. He had a feeling she’d clam up completely if he pushed her, so he tried for levity instead. ‘Your mamma told you never to talk to strangers, is that it?’

‘No.’ Her voice went very quiet. ‘Actually, my mother died just before Christmas.’

Six months ago. And the pain was clearly still raw. ‘Mi dispiace, Eleanor,’ he said softly. ‘I didn’t intend to hurt you.’

‘You weren’t to know. It’s not a problem.’

But he noticed she didn’t explain any further. And those beautiful brown eyes were filled with sadness. He had a feeling it was more than just grief at losing her mother. Something to do with the man who’d made her wary of strangers, perhaps?

Yet she’d put her feelings aside and gone straight to help a stranger when the flight attendants had asked for a doctor. Eleanor Forrest was an intriguing mixture. And Orlando wanted to know what made her tick.

He switched to a safer topic. ‘You’re an emergency doctor?’

‘Yes.’

OK. He’d try the professional route: say nothing, just smile, and give her space to answer more fully. Just like he did with his shyer patients. If he waited long enough, she’d break the silence.

She did. ‘I work in a London hospital.’

Something else they had in common. Good. ‘London’s a beautiful city. I’ve just spent a few days there with the doctor I used to share a flat with, Max. It was his son’s christening.’

There was the tiniest crinkle round her eyes. ‘I don’t know if I dare ask. Were you the…?’

‘Padrino? The godfather, you mean?’ So under her reserve there was a sense of fun. He liked that. Enough to want to see more of it. He hummed the opening bars of the theme tune to the film. ‘Yes, I was.’

Though seeing the expression on Max’s face when he looked at his wife and baby had made Orlando ache. Orlando had stopped believing in love, long ago, when his mother’s fifth marriage had crumbled: every time she’d thought she’d found The One, she’d been disillusioned. But Max was so happy with Rachel and little Connor, it had made Orlando think again. Wonder if maybe love really did exist.

Except he didn’t have a clue where to start looking for it. And he wasn’t sure that he wanted to spend his life searching and yearning and getting more and more disappointed, the way his mother did. So he’d decided to stick to the way he’d lived for the last five years—smile, keep his relationships light, just for fun, and put his energy into his work.

‘You work in London, too?’ she asked.

‘Not any more. I did, for a couple of years, on a children’s ward.’ He spread his hands. ‘But then I discovered I wanted to see my patients grow up—not forget about them once they’d left the hospital. I wanted to treat them, just as I’d treated their parents and their grandparents and would treat their children. I wanted to see them with their families.’

Strange, really, when he didn’t have a family of his own. Just his mother, a few ex-stepfathers and ex-stepsiblings he hadn’t kept in touch with. The only way he’d get an extended family now was to get married: and that was a risk he wasn’t prepared to take.

Keep it light, he reminded himself. ‘And I missed the lemon groves. I missed the sea.’

‘And the sunshine,’ she said with a wry smile.

‘I don’t mind London rain. But I admit, although I like visiting London, it’s good to be back under the Italian sun. And I love being a family doctor.’

She smiled, and he caught his breath. Her serious manner masked her beauty—when she smiled, Eleanor Forrest was absolutely stunning. Perfect teeth and a wide smile and those amazing deep brown eyes.

It made him want to touch her. Trace the outline of her face with the tips of his fingers. Rub his thumb against her lower lip. And then dip his head to hers, claiming her mouth.

Then he became aware she was speaking. Oh, lord. He really hoped he hadn’t ignored a question or something. She must think he was a real idiot.

‘My best friend at medical school, Tamsin, did the same thing,’ Eleanor said. ‘She started in paediatrics and became a GP because she wanted to care for the whole family.’

‘There’s a lot to be said for it.’ But they were talking about him. He wanted to know about her. ‘You prefer the buzz of emergency medicine?’

‘I like knowing I’ve made a difference,’ she said simply.

She’d make a difference all right, he thought. Whatever branch of medicine she worked in. But before he could say anything, the man he’d spoken to about Eleanor’s luggage came over, carrying one bright pink case.

‘I am sorry for the wait, Dottoressa Forrest,’ he said politely. ‘No problem. Grazie,’ she said, taking the case and checking the label. ‘Yes, this is mine.’

He left after some pleasantries, and Eleanor stood up. ‘Thank you for the coffee, Dottore de Luca.’

‘You haven’t finished it yet.’

She made a face. ‘It’s getting late. I really ought to check into my hotel.’

He didn’t want her to walk out of his life. Not yet. And there was one way he could keep her talking to him for a little longer. ‘You could be waiting a while for a taxi, and although public transport is good in Naples, you have baggage with you. I’ll give you a lift.’

She shook her head. ‘Thank you, but you’ve already been kind enough. I’d rather not impose.’

He wasn’t sure what was going on here—he’d never experienced this weird, unexplainable feeling before—but what he knew for definite was that if he let her walk out of his life now, he’d regret it. Somehow he needed to persuade her to trust him. And to spend time with him so they could get to know each other.

Max had said he’d known the instant he’d met Rachel that she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Orlando had scoffed, saying it was just lust and luckily he’d found friendship as well. But now he wasn’t so sure. Was it possible to fall in love with someone at first sight? Did ‘The One’ exist? Was this odd feeling love? And was Eleanor Forrest the one he’d been waiting for?

He needed to know.

Needed to keep her with him.

‘Eleanor, I know I’m a stranger, but you’re a fellow doctor and you’ve helped save the life of one of my countrymen. Don’t they say in England, one good turn deserves another?’

Eleanor couldn’t help smiling at the old-fashioned phrase. ‘You’ve already bought me coffee and sorted out my luggage for me. I think we’re quits.’

‘Let me put this another way. You could take a taxi, but why spend money you could spend on…’ he waved an impatient hand ‘…oh, good coffee or ice cream or something frivolous to make your time here in Italy fun, when I can give you a lift?’

Lord, it was tempting. But she knew it would be a bad idea. Orlando de Luca might be the most attractive man she’d met in a long while—probably ever, if she thought about it—but that didn’t mean she should act on the attraction. She’d already proved her judgement in men was lousy. Spectacularly lousy. OK, so Jeremy had caught her at an acutely vulnerable moment, but she’d still swallowed every single lie. Not just hook, line and sinker—more like the whole fishing rod. ‘We might not be going the same way.’

‘Then again, we might.’

The man should’ve been a lawyer. He had an answer for everything.

‘So where are you going?’ he asked.

A direct question. One she was reluctant to answer.

He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Is it all strangers, all men, or just me?’

She frowned. ‘How do you mean?’

‘I make you nervous, Eleanor.’

‘No.’ Actually, that wasn’t quite true. He did make her nervous. Because she was aware of the chemistry between them. And she remembered what had happened last time she’d acted on chemistry. Cue one broken heart. And she was still picking up the pieces.

‘There’s another saying in your country, is there not?’ he asked softly. ‘Trust me, I’m a doctor.’

Ha. Jeremy had proved that one to be false in the extreme. He was a doctor—and most definitely not to be trusted.

She faced Orlando, ready to be firm and say thank you but, no—she was getting a taxi. And then she saw the challenge in his eyes. As if he dared her to take the risk. Let him drive her to the hotel.

They’d worked well together on the plane. She’d trusted him then. Could she trust him now?

‘I won’t expect you to invite me in for a nightcap, if that’s what you’re worrying about.’

She felt the colour shoot into her face. ‘Actually, that didn’t occur to me.’ Though Orlando had already told her he was single. And he was the most gorgeous man she’d seen in years, with those unruly dark curls, dark expressive eyes and a mouth that promised all kinds of pleasure. And she couldn’t get Tamsin’s suggestion out of her head: that a holiday fling with a gorgeous man would do her good…

He folded his arms. ‘So are you going to stand in a long, long queue, Dottoressa Eleanor, or are you going to let me drop you off on my way home?’

She gave in to temptation. ‘If you’re sure it’s no trouble, then thank you. A lift would be nice.’

His smile was breathtaking. And it made every single one of her nerve-endings feel as if it were purring.

‘Then let’s go through Customs, tesoro,’ he said softly.

The queues at the customs area and passport control had died down, and they moved through the airport surprisingly quickly. She followed Orlando into the car park—just as she could’ve guessed, he drove a low-slung, shiny black car. A convertible, to be exact. Men and their toys. And didn’t they say that all Italian men wanted to be racing-car drivers?

As if her thoughts were written all over her face, he laughed and stowed her case in the boot next to his. ‘I have only myself to please, Eleanor. And I love driving along the coast road with the hood down and the wind in my hair and the scent of the sea and lemon groves everywhere. If you have time in your schedule here, maybe you’d like to come with me some time.’

He made it sound so inviting.

And it made her knees go weak to imagine it: Orlando, wearing a black T-shirt and black jeans, a pair of dark glasses covering his eyes, at the wheel of the open-topped car.

‘So, your hotel?’

She told him the name, and before she could tell him the address he told her exactly where it was. Clearly he knew his home city well. ‘And just to stop you feeling guilty about taking me out of my way, it’s on my side of the city. On my way home, to be precise. It’s within walking distance of my apartment, in the Old Quarter.’ He opened the passenger door for her, an old-fashioned gesture of courtesy she found charming.

Though some nervousness must have shown on her face because he added, ‘I assure you, Eleanor, you will be perfectly safe. I am a good driver.’

He proved it. Though he was also a very fast driver, and her knuckles were white by the time he pulled up outside her hotel.

‘We are both in one piece,’ he said with a grin. ‘Relax.’

She wasn’t sure if it was the way he’d driven—exactly the same as all the other people on the road, taking advantage of every little gap in the traffic—or being so close to him in such a small space, but relaxing was the last thing she felt like doing right now.

‘Enjoy your stay in Italy, Eleanor.’ When he’d taken her case from the back of his car and carried it up the steps to the entrance of the hotel, he took a card from his wallet, and scribbled a number on the back of it. ‘If you have some spare time while you are in Naples, maybe we could have dinner. My surgery number is on the front. The one I’ve written on the back is my mobile. Call me.’

It wasn’t a question.

‘Call me,’ he said again, his voice soft, and raised her hand to his mouth.

The brush of his lips against her skin was momentary. It was a mere courtesy, she knew, the Italian way of doing things. It didn’t mean anything. But there was heat in his eyes. Heat matched by the flicker of desire rising up her spine.

Calling him would be way too dangerous for her peace of mind. But she wasn’t going to argue over it now. Instead, she smiled politely. ‘Thank you for the lift, Dottore de Luca.’

‘Orlando,’ he corrected. ‘Prego.’ He smiled, sketched a bow, ran lightly down the steps to his car and drove off.