Читать книгу Italian Escape: Summer with the Millionaire / In the Italian's Sights / Flirting with Italian - Liz Fielding, Helen Brooks - Страница 13

CHAPTER FOUR

‘I’M IN HEAVEN; actual, real-life heaven.’ Minty looked about, barely restraining herself from clapping her hands in delight. It was a child’s dream. Actually, Minty corrected herself, it was anyone in possession of working taste buds’ dream. A long, long counter was filled with box after box of brightly coloured gelato. Another one was stacked high with mouth-watering cakes and pastries. A few tables and chairs were dotted about inside and the full-length patio doors were flung open to the seating area outside.

‘So, this area is open to the public,’ Natalia explained as she took Minty through the exhaustive menu. ‘Take away or eat in, by the portion or the box. It’s on all the tourist maps so we get a great deal of passing trade, plus potential trade customers who like to drop in casually—and the odd competitor snooping around as well.’

The café had been opened at some point in the past six years, another of Luca’s innovations. The place was full of them. And the staff loved it. It was like working with a living saint, Minty thought. The wonderful Signor Di Tore—or Signor Luca to the older staff, who remembered every visit the infant prodigy had paid to the factory and could happily recount them in mind-numbing detail. His every word was listened to adoringly, every pronouncement admired, every movement scrutinised.

No wonder he was insufferable.

‘You have got the hang of it very quickly,’ Natalia said admiringly as Minty deftly dealt with a large group of teenagers, each with a different and complicated request. ‘You’re a natural.’

‘Not really,’ Minty confessed. ‘I ran a café back in London. Cupcakes; they’re pretty big there right now.’ She sighed. Her father’s manager was keeping an eye on them while she was exiled from the family fold. She hoped he wouldn’t interfere too much, or try to enforce his tastes on the staff. His favourite pudding was spotted dick. Minty shuddered. Even her talented bakers would have a hard time creating a tasty treat with that as an inspiration.

A range of cakes based on other traditional English classics might work, though. Minty mechanically served the next couple as her mind went through some ideas. Sticky toffee pudding, jam roly-poly and custard, rhubarb crumble, apple pie—all the basis of perfect little cupcakes. She might be banned from setting foot on the premises but her father couldn’t stop her from texting her ideas through. ‘Old school’, they could call the range. A vanilla sponge, rhubarb middle topped with a smidge of crème anglaise and finished off with a buttery crumble: perfect for the autumn. Mini summer puddings sandwiched together with cream for the coming season. Possibly some variations on a scone?

She rinsed out the metal scoop, her mind still humming with ideas, and pushed it firmly into the frutti di bosco, scraping out a perfect round scoop and placing it carefully into the paper cup. The gelato was a deep purple, bursting with berries. As she handed over the cup to an eagerly outstretched hand, a glimmer of an idea began to grow insistently.

As the post-lunch siesta hour kicked in, the flow of customers quietened down and for the first time in several hours there was no one waiting to be served. It was nice to have a few moments alone with her thoughts. The few customers that were left were content to sit out in the sun sipping their drinks. Natalia had taken advantage of the lull to slip out for some lunch.

Minty took out the small notepad and pencil she’d been issued with and began to sketch out some ideas. Keeping busy kept her mind away from dangerous topics, pushing memories of the other night with Luca firmly out of her mind. It was just that there’d been a moment, a few moments, when Luca had looked at her as if he’d seen something more. As if she weren’t just a thorn in his side, not just a spoilt child.

He’d looked at her like that before. Another memory she’d tried to forget.

Memories could be inconvenient. It was so easy to make them selective. They focussed on molten eyes, on heat, on want. They forgot the burning chill of rejection. They forgot how it felt to lie on a sofa suddenly impossibly alone, skirt rucked up, shirt undone, lips open with need. They forgot the look of horror. Of guilt. Of rejection.

They said you never forgot your first time. It was as true of rejection as it was of anything else.

But memories could also make you hope. Far better to forget, to live in the here and now.

‘You look quite at home there.’ Minty jumped at the familiar voice. He was like the devil: think of him and he appeared. She looked across to see him standing at one of the open doors, leaning against the frame, laughter in his eyes as he looked her up and down.

Another day, another outfit so uncharacteristic she defied any paparazzo to recognise her in it. The white, button-up dress was almost clinical in its severity; her hair was smoothed back, covered with a small pink scarf. She gave him a twirl. ‘What do you think?’

‘You certainly look the part,’ he agreed. ‘Having fun?’

‘It’s not all new to me, you know,’ she said. Why did he always seem to be laughing at her? ‘I do own three cafés and, contrary to popular belief, I have actually worked in them.’

Luca raised a sceptical brow as he sauntered into the café, weekend casual in faded blue jeans and a bright-blue short-sleeved shirt. Minty wanted to wipe that scepticism off his face, see it replaced with respect. After six solid days of work, she deserved some respect. ‘The first one, I set up from scratch: painted the walls, chose the recipes, mixed cake batter until all I could smell was sugar and egg and butter. Stood behind a counter and smiled as people spent ten minutes choosing which one they wanted.’

‘So why aren’t you there now?’

Now, that was a good question. Unfortunately Minty didn’t have a good answer. ‘I told you, they are part of my trust fund, so therefore forbidden,’ she said. Honesty compelled her to carry on. ‘Daddy said as I had barely set foot inside them in months I couldn’t claim that I was needed there, that they were doing all right without me. I guess he was right.’

He didn’t say anything, just wandered round the counter and came to stand next to her, a disturbingly comfortable presence. Calmly, without any fuss or fanfare, he began to make a couple of coffees, loading up a tray with a few small savouries and a helping of the delicious-looking salad they used as garnish. ‘You must be starving,’ he said finally. ‘Come, sit down. If anyone comes in I’ll take over.’

Minty considered arguing, asserting her independence, pointing out that Natalia wouldn’t be long and she could easily wait. But, without quite knowing how, she found herself following him over to a quiet corner with a view of the counter.

‘It’s not that I was lazy,’ she said suddenly, standing beside the table as he pulled out a chair. He glanced at her, eyes mildly enquiring, no judgement on his face. Minty sank into the chair and pulled the plate over, picking up one of the tiny, perfect pastries and turning it round in her fingers, her appetite gone.

‘Joe thought they gave out the wrong message—elitist establishments in expensive areas charging exorbitant prices. Not at all compatible with his values. He preferred that I spent my time volunteering or helping him. So, I did.’

She didn’t know why it was so important that Luca understood, that he didn’t think badly of her—at least, any more badly than he already did. But it did matter.

‘Okay, that’s what Joe wanted. What did you want?’ It was said so gently it almost hurt her. There had been too many times in the past when the only person who had shown a glimmer of understanding was Luca.

She had usually punished him for it.

She continued to twist the mini focaccia between her fingers. The bread was dissolving into a mass of crumbs, the aubergine and mozzarella filling sliding out onto the plate below, releasing an aroma of onions, garlic and oregano. She stared at the mess she was creating, searching for answers. What did she want?

It was the million-dollar question. And she had no idea.

She quite liked it here. Quite liked today, keeping busy, being useful, good at what she did even if it was just serving ice cream. And the other night, the meal, the company—she’d enjoyed that just a little too much.

Until he had shut her out and walked away. Again.

Minty raised her head and smiled across at Luca. He was still looking at her intently, concern etched on his handsome features. The sudden urge to sink onto him, into him, to allow him to shoulder her burdens was immense, almost irresistible.

‘I think I want to live life on the wild side,’ she said. ‘Have my gelato before my savoury. But I can’t decide whether to go with the fruit, the chocolate or the really decadent creamy flavours. What do you recommend?’

* * *

Luca was doing his best to forget about Minty. He stayed late at the office, eating dinner there or calling in at a local restaurant on the way home. Most days this week he had only seen his unwanted house guest in the mornings. She was usually just wandering into the kitchen as he left for work.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of her.

At home he was haunted by the scent of lemons that seemed to have permeated every inch of his house, somehow even his own pillows and sheets. He woke up inhaling the fresh, spicy scent and found himself unable to get back to sleep, knowing that she was just a few metres away.

Her stuff was everywhere. It wasn’t that she was untidy; she wasn’t, particularly, but she did have an innate gift of taking over a space and making it her own. Her fruit and yogurt concoctions were in his fridge, her magazines on his table, her cardigan hung over the back of his chair, her shoes by his door. The only places that were safe from the slow but steady encroachment were his bedroom and bathroom.

Apart from the scent of lemons.

And it was worse at work.

Everybody loved her. In less than two weeks she had learnt the names of not just every member of staff, but the names of their husbands, wives, children, grandchildren, dogs, rabbits and goldfish. Wherever she went, people greeted her, stopped her. If she wasn’t discussing haircuts with Bella on reception, she was asking Mario about how his dog’s operation had gone or was admiring pictures of Maria’s newest grandchild.

Luca thought of himself as a hands-on, informal, friendly boss; he had known some of these people all his life. Yet Minty had discovered more about their lives, their worries, their joys, in days than he had in all that time.

Her ex was wrong, he thought. She would have made an excellent politician’s wife.

Even in the privacy of his office her name was brought up constantly. Everyone was delighted with her hard work, her enthusiasm, her attempts to speak Italian and her ideas. The staff of Di Tore Dolce were rapidly becoming fully paid-up members of the Minty Davenport fan club.

‘Luca!’ And here she was: in his thoughts, his dreams, his conversations, his home. And now in his office.

‘Buongiorno.’ He didn’t mean to sound so formal, so aloof, every time he spoke to her.

It just seemed safer. Twice she had got to him. Twice he had broken his resolve to keep clear, remember that she was unsafe, toxic.

Not that she seemed to notice. She was practically shaking with excitement as she danced up to his desk, a small paper cup in her hand.

‘Look what I did!’ She put the cup down on his desk and took a step backwards, beaming like a proud mother hen. ‘All by myself. Well, actually, with huge amounts of help and input and advice and supervision, but practically all by myself.’

Luca gave up. It was impossible to maintain a formal distance in the face of such all-consuming enthusiasm. ‘What is it?’ He peered into the cup. ‘It looks like gelato.’

‘Of course it’s gelato! You own a gelato factory, you noodle. What was I going to make, some sort of new dog food?’

With a smile, he conceded the point.

‘But this is my very own recipe, mixed by my very own hands. It’s for the autumn special-editions. Tomas said to let you try it. That’s good, right? It means it’s passed the first test?’ She bit down on her lower lip with suppressed excitement, drawing his attention to its fullness. ‘Do you want me to tell you what it is?’

Luca dragged his eyes away from her sparkling eyes and the sensual curve of her mouth. They were too distracting.

‘No, no, I’ll try it first.’

She was jigging from foot to foot in her excitement. ‘Go on, then!’

Some men were wine snobs, closing their eyes and inhaling before tasting. Luca enjoyed a fine wine but didn’t take it too seriously. After all, any local vineyard sold a decent table wine for just a few euros. Gelato, however; well, gelato he took very seriously, especially if it had his name on it.

He pulled the paper cup close, took the small tasting spoon and scooped a mouthful out of the cup, examining it closely. It was a pale, creamy colour, flecked with small biscuit-coloured chunks and a streak of clear fruit puree. Cautiously, he held it close to his nose and took a deep breath. Ah... Apple and cinnamon were the most pervasive flavours, instantly filling his nostrils with the scent of home baking, country kitchens. Autumn smells. He nodded slowly. So far, so good.

He brought the spoon to his mouth and carefully licked just a small portion of the ice cream, rolling the cold, creamy morsel round his mouth until he had savoured every flavour. The gelato base was creamier than usual; he would guess it had been made with a vanilla crème anglaise then swirled through with the apple puree and cinnamon. And the chunks...

He slid the rest of the portion off the spoon and into his mouth: a soft, crumbly, sweet texture. Sponge; apple, cinnamon, custard and sponge. It was delicious.

‘Well? What do you think?’

‘Very good indeed.’

‘Isn’t it? It came to me at the weekend, when I was working in the café. At first I was thinking of cupcakes but then I thought about the expansion and a way to corner the UK market. What better than English classic puds with an Italian gelato twist? Eve’s pudding—which is this one—crumbles, pies, even arctic roll? Of course,’ she added, ‘I might steal my own idea for cupcakes too. There’s no direct competition. Arctic roll cupcakes might be rather fun.’

Minty had perched on his desk, one long leg slung across the other, and her words were almost drowned out by the roaring in his ears. Mio Dio, did she have any idea of the effect she was having on him, sitting so close?

Today her formal office wear had been discarded and she was wearing a pretty summer dress in a deep sky-blue reminiscent of her eyes. Her legs were bare and far too close. Within touching distance. Her feet were clad in flimsy velvet flip-flops, her toenails painted to match her dress.

He really should say something about inappropriate footwear but all the breath had been sucked out of his chest.

Oblivious, she rattled on. ‘For all our sophistication, we are traditionalists at heart, especially with pudding. If you are going for a soft opening in the autumn, then this kind of stodgy comfort food might be the way forward.’

He could just put his hand out and touch her thigh, run his hand along those long, toned legs. Or put both hands on her waist and swivel her around. Pull her close to the end of the desk, down onto his lap, facing him.

Dear God, his mouth was dry. He stood up abruptly and skirted past her to the other end of the office, to the safety of his water cooler, to the safety of distance.

Luca took a sip of the ice-cold water, and then another, eyes focussed on the painting on the opposite wall, a vibrant abstract of the local countryside. But he wasn’t noticing the colours, the skilful brushstrokes, the stunning overall effect. He was trying to dampen down this sudden, fierce wave of desire that had swamped him.

What was wrong with him? So she had nice legs. So did hundreds of other women and he didn’t find himself wanting to stroke their thighs, thank goodness. That kind of behaviour could get a man into serious trouble. Blonde hair didn’t usually do it for him, either. That one night with Minty aside, his previous relationships had all been with brunettes.

Grimly he began to recite in his head all the reasons walking over to her and pulling her close were such a bad idea: she was working for him, she was practically family and she was a city girl with a life she was going to return to very, very soon.

The last time he’d given in to an urge to kiss her it had not ended well.

And, he told himself firmly, they had nothing in common. Oh, she was filled with excitement and passion for his business right now. That was because it was new and fun, different.

They both knew she wasn’t going to stick around.

But, a little insistent voice in his head pointed out, what did all that matter? Sure, Luca wanted a wife, a family, but it wasn’t as if he was dating anybody right now. Was he planning to live like a monk until he found the perfect candidate? Minty wasn’t actually working for him, she was playing at working. He wasn’t her boss; she could walk away any time.

She was no longer a girl. There was nothing wrong in wanting her now.

And she wanted him too. He’d seen it in those deep blue eyes as mysterious as the sea. He’d seen it in the flush of her cheeks, the curve of her lips. If he walked over there now and kissed her, she would respond. He knew that at some primeval level with utter certainty.

He just had to push that knowledge away. Far, far away.

* * *

‘So, next I’m spending some time in packaging and design and Tomas suggested that if you like the ice cream I could concentrate on the packaging for it. Not just for this, but for the concept. That’s if I’m staying. The two weeks are nearly up, after all.’

Of course she had won; she knew it. There was no reason to fail her. A new start, a challenge, a wager: she thrived on all these things.

And it had been fun. Unexpectedly fun.

Working with people all day, all part of a team, all trying to attain the same goal, was a buzz. Why did people say the nine-to-five was dull? It was absolutely stimulating. Of course, she conceded, she wasn’t having the full experience, moving from department to department as she was, but she had never felt so full of ideas, of creativity. Even at night she lay there with ideas buzzing round her brain, unable to sleep with it all.

Okay, it wasn’t just the work stopping her sleeping. Sharing a house with Luca was a serious mistake. Just knowing she could slip out of her bed, pad along the corridor to his room and slip in beside him was torture.

But what if he said no? He had refused her before. He wanted a woman to have his babies, all four of them. He didn’t want a ditzy debutante who fluttered from project to project, fiancé to fiancé, like a pollen-drunk butterfly. He wanted a sensible woman in sensible shoes with a sensible attitude.

And thank goodness he did, she told herself sternly. It was too risky. This one would hurt—had hurt. She might not bounce back this time.

If she was staying, she should seriously consider finding her own place well away from temptation. Maybe the local convent had a room. ‘So?’

‘So?’ he echoed.

‘Have I passed? Do I get to stay?’

‘If you want to.’ He sounded indifferent, as if her arrangements, her presence here, meant nothing to him. Perhaps it didn’t. Why should it? Occasionally she thought he felt it too, that he might be attracted to her. But attraction meant nothing without respect. Good genes had given her a healthy metabolism, body and bone structure. Money and an abundance of leisure time had allowed her to enhance those genetic gifts. Minty was under no illusions: a toned body, good skin and thick hair were nice to have. But she hoped she was worth more than their sum.

She hoped she’d have the chance to find out how much more one day. Being here, working with people who didn’t seem to care that her father was an earl, her mother an actress, or didn’t care that she had been tabloid fodder since her wild-child teens, people who only expected hard work, was liberating. It gave her hope.

‘Of course I want to stay.’

‘Of course,’ he murmured. ‘Of course, why would you want the financial freedom selling your shares to me would give you? Of course you would prefer to get up early every day and work for nine hours, five days a week.’

‘That’s how most people live.’

‘Yes, but you are not most people.’ Minty flinched at the sardonic gleam in his eyes, another reason not to get too close. He’d always had a disconcerting habit of seeing more than she revealed, seeing past her armour. ‘However, if you wish to stay I will, of course, honour our agreement. Unless...’ He paused reflectively. The amber eyes blazed; he looked at his most devilish. ‘Can you handle a new deal?’

He sounded so calm, so superior. Minty was tempted to say no, to flounce out, head held high. They’d made a deal and she had won. He couldn’t take that away from her.

But she was intrigued. Damn those gaming ancestors of hers.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll consider what you have to say.’

‘You can stay. I can see you would be useful in the marketing department working on the English-language campaigns. You have worked hard the past two weeks. Everyone is full of praise—and it’s what Rose would have wanted—so, we’ll sort out a job description, salary; everything will be done properly. And, of course, I expect you to take up your seat on the board. But when you get bored...’ He looked her straight in the eyes. ‘And you will get bored, Minty, we both know that— probably sooner rather than later. Then you sell your shares and you don’t come near my company again. Capisce?’

Oh, he was good, too good; too damn perceptive.

She slid off the desk, pulling her dress down as she did so. ‘What if I have a genuine reason?’ she asked sweetly. ‘A new job, a baby, a fiancé who sticks around, a broken leg, an emergency back home? What if I work for you for ten years and get a new opportunity? Does that still count?’

He laughed, a genuine burst of humour that surprised her, made her smile with the infectiousness of it. ‘If you are here in ten years I’ll...’ He cast about for an appropriate expression.

‘In English, we say “eat my hat”,’ Minty informed him helpfully and smiled back over at him. The smile wavered on her lips. Luca was looking at her intently, the humour disappearing as suddenly as it had arrived, an unreadable expression in his amber eyes. The contrast with his olive skin and those long, dark lashes was startling; it made him seem wild, almost wolflike. They were eyes a girl could get lost in, eyes that could make you forget where you were, what you were doing.

She swayed, taking a tiny step closer, and then another, hypnotised by those eyes, by the heat she could see burning in them, when the shrill sound of her phone’s ringtone blared out. She looked about for her phone, desperate to shut the intrusive noise off, to get back to the intimacy that had suddenly flared up. The noise was coming from her bag which was slumped on the desk behind her, next to the rapidly melting ice cream.

The ice cream wasn’t the only thing melting in the suddenly stuffy room.

Her legs like jelly, Minty wobbled to the desk, reaching out to grasp it for support. This wasn’t right. Luca hadn’t even touched her! How could a look, one look, affect her this way? She fumbled for her phone, but by the time she had pulled it out it was too late; the call had diverted to voicemail.

She took a deep breath. She was going to say something. She just wasn’t sure what. ‘Don’t look at me that way.’ Or maybe, ‘Kiss me.’

Possibly both.

She turned round, the words trembling on her lips. But Luca was gone.