Читать книгу Italian Escape: Summer with the Millionaire / In the Italian's Sights / Flirting with Italian - Liz Fielding, Helen Brooks - Страница 15

CHAPTER SIX

‘IT’S NOT THAT I’m not enjoying the walk,’ Minty said when she reached him, ‘but I am wondering where we’re heading.’

Luca glanced at her curiously. ‘I thought you were a spur-of-the-moment type girl?’

She flushed. ‘Usually, yes. I mean, I have been known to do the odd impulsive thing. But there’s usually a reason or a destination. If I suddenly decide I’m going to crew a tall yacht around the world, for instance, then there is a plan behind that impulsive decision. I don’t just get on a boat to see where it sails.’

There was still a questioning look on his face. ‘Did you really crew a tall yacht round the world?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘At least, halfway round the world. I signed off when I got to Australia. A last minute decision that some might have called impulsive, but I knew exactly where I was heading and why.’

Luca raised an eyebrow. Minty knew full well he’d spent the summer he’d turned fourteen perfecting the art. It didn’t make the effect any less devastating. ‘Where were you heading?’

‘To Sydney,’ she admitted. ‘To party and to learn to surf. Turns out boat crewing was really hard work.’

His mouth twitched and Minty reined in the undignified urge to stick her tongue out at him. ‘So,’ she prompted. ‘Where are we going?’

‘The cow sheds are in that direction.’ He gestured down the valley. ‘Or we could head over the fields towards the stream.’ His eyes flickered towards her feet.

Minty followed his eyes and sighed. The bright velvet was looking dusty and stained, beyond repair, not that she would admit it. ‘Not one more word about my shoes,’ she said. ‘They’ll cope.’ She glanced over the fields to the trees lining the horizon. ‘I haven’t been down to the stream for years. It was always one of my favourite spots—and, let’s face it, way more picturesque than a cow shed, even a cow shed that produces wonderful milk to make into even more wonderful gelato. I vote we head that way.’

He nodded and strode off without waiting to see if she was following. It was, Minty thought, a good thing that she was long-legged, otherwise she’d have had to scuttle to keep up with him. And that would have been most undignified.

She caught up with the tall Italian and fell into step beside him, arms swinging, unabashedly enjoying the air, the sun, the exercise. She looked around her with approval. The views had been glorious from the farmhouse, but as they approached the bottom of the valley the countryside was not just a view, something to admire—it enclosed them; they were a part of it.

It wasn’t silent; it was too real for that. A cacophony of birds competed with each other to make the loudest call, sing the most tuneful song, like some avian reality show. She almost expected to see a row of small feathered judges sitting on a branch ready to destroy the enthusiastic chirpers’ dreams. She could hear the sound of engines in the distance—some farm machinery doing something she probably wouldn’t be able to identify if she stood and watched for an hour—mingled with the ever-present lowing of the cattle.

Definitely not quiet, but somehow so peaceful. In just a few weeks the corn poppies would explode into a vibrant slash of red in the green landscape. She wanted to be around to see it.

‘I am usually all about the city,’ she said. ‘Yet this place is so special too. I missed it. No wonder you wanted to stay here. You must love it that it’s yours, part of you.’

Luca nodded. ‘It’s part of the family history, in my blood. It’s a good marketing gimmick too; all the milk we produce is used in our ice cream, although we have to buy in a lot more. It’s tenanted out, though, I don’t get involved in the day-to-day work much.’

Judging by the firm muscles under the snug jeans and T-shirt Minty suspected he did more than he let on. If sitting at a desk and testing ice cream led to bodies like that, London’s gyms would be a lot less full. And a lot less sweaty.

The sun was still shining down from the cloudless sky bathing the earth below in a benevolent warmth, yet Minty’s arm goose-pimpled and she suppressed a sudden shiver. Walking with this man, in this place, suddenly filled her with a melancholy, a lonely nostalgia.

A babble of shallow water interrupted her thoughts, and pushing through a line of small trees brought Minty to the edge of a wide, shallow stream liberally carpeted with pebbles and rocks. Luca was leaning against a tall oak tree, staring thoughtfully into the water.

‘There won’t be any fish in there,’ Minty said, walking next to him and following his eyeline. ‘Too shallow.’

‘I didn’t know you fished.’

‘I don’t.’ She shuddered. ‘Too much sitting around for me. And I always feel so sorry for them, with their mouths gaping and their cold little eyes. Daddy fished, of course. I think he almost has to; it’s in the earl charter or something.’

She stopped, looking down at the shallow water. ‘Spike liked country sports too. In some ways he and Daddy were better suited than he and I. You know, I watch some of those TV programmes about music. Spike was so anti-establishment when he was young, all about the shock value and creativity. And now he has a country estate, fishes and wears tweed. I kid you not. And loads of his friends are the same. The ones who didn’t die of drug overdoses, that is. They don’t even see the irony.’

‘Are you still friends?’

She shook her head. ‘Not at all; he didn’t want to be friends.’ She sighed, almost imperceptibly. ‘They never do.’

For a moment he didn’t say anything, just stood there, a reassuring presence. The silence was oddly comforting.

‘Come on, Minty, accompany me to Florence.’

Her heart gave a funny little jump. It felt almost like hope. What harm could there be in a weekend away?

‘A couple of days in Florence would be nice. And...’ she gave him her best cheeky smile ‘...grandfathers usually love me. Grandmothers not so much, but we can’t have everything.’ She eyed him suspiciously, trying to remain objective, not to allow her gaze to dwell on the stubbled cheeks and the way his hair fell unguarded over his forehead.

‘Why do you want me to?’

‘Does there have to be a reason?’

For Luca? Usually yes, unless he felt sorry for her, just like the old days.

She didn’t want to be the object of his pity.

He shrugged. ‘He does like you. I know I shouldn’t care about pleasing him and, to be honest, I find it insulting that he will be far more impressed if you accompany me to this event than he is by my multi-million-euro turnover, but...’ He paused, oddly vulnerable. ‘But he’s old. Frail.’ Another pause, longer this time, then, almost imperceptibly, ‘He and Gio are all I have left.’

Minty was torn between conflicting emotions. If there was one subject she didn’t do, it was families. Oh, she could laugh at her own situation, turn her childhood, her failed relationships, into a self-deprecating stand-up routine that had them rolling in the aisle. But deep, heartfelt, emotional discussions? Not her style. And yet, she sensed that this man rarely opened up, that he carried his shame, his fears, tightly boxed up inside him.

For some unfathomable reason he was choosing here and now to release them—he was choosing her. It terrified her and yet at the same time she was touched, gratified that he didn’t think she was too shallow to understand.

‘He’s a link to your mother,’ she offered shyly.

‘Yes!’ He turned to her. ‘Exactly. Would she approve of me, of the man I’ve become? Or, like him, would she be disappointed that I don’t attend balls and charity events and the opera in Verona? Would she think I was an uncouth country farmer who thinks of nothing but ice cream?’

‘She married a farmer,’ Minty pointed out. ‘And for what it’s worth I think she would be ridiculously proud of you. So proud she’d have to bite her tongue at parties so as not to bore all the other guests with a long list of your virtues! I think she would look at you and see a man proud of his home and his heritage. A man who has no reason at all to make his grandfather happy, but wants to anyway, because that’s the kind of person he is. That’s what she would see.’

Minty stopped abruptly, heat flushing her cheeks. Where on earth had all that come from? ‘Anyway,’ she said gruffly. ‘That’s what I think. For what it’s worth.’

Consumed with embarrassment, she couldn’t look at him. Instead, kicking off her shoes, she padded forward, enjoying the unaccustomed feel of the soft spring grass under her bare feet, still pale from months of London winter, from the restriction of tights, thick socks and boots. The stream rushed merrily on over the flat pebbles, a cool, enticing blue. Minty dipped one toe in and inhaled in shock. Goodness, it was cold.

‘It’s not just about you, though. These occasions—charity balls, trips to the opera—they’re all good for networking.’ She shrugged, leaning forward until all her weight was on the submerged foot, wiggling it over the flat pebbles until it was comfortable. She dipped her other foot in until she was standing in the stream, water swirling round her ankles. ‘It all depends,’ she said, horribly aware that he still hadn’t spoken. ‘Depends on what you want to do. I’m happy to go with you. It could be a good business step. You should start to think about sponsorship opportunities as well. It’s the missing link in your marketing strategy.’

She swivelled to face him and instantly wished she hadn’t. If he looked this good in a black T-shirt, what on earth would he be like in black tie? Her pulse sped up.

Minty shuffled backwards, carefully testing her weight on the pebble bed before shifting. Her skin had adjusted to the temperature; it was gloriously refreshing. Bending down, she trailed her fingers in the water. ‘I wish it was deep enough to swim in.’

He was giving her a quizzical look. ‘It must be freezing. Is this one of those English things?’

‘Used to be. Of course, now we’re not supposed to swim in rivers; if it’s not private land or contaminated, then the health and safety people will get you. Luckily there’s a river at Westhorpe which has a perfect bathing place. With the great British weather, though, there’s no point waiting for a nice day. If we did, we’d never swim.’ She heaved a gusty sigh. ‘Of course, I didn’t spend enough holidays there to really take advantage of it and I doubt Stepmama lets the heir, spare and girl loose in it often.’

‘I prefer a nice, clean, regulated swimming pool myself,’ Luca said a little stiffly, but she noticed that his eyes seemed to be drawn to the calves of her legs, her submerged ankles.

Regulated pool indeed. ‘Come in,’ she coaxed. ‘The water’s lovely.’

He shook his head at her, amused. ‘You said yourself it’s not deep enough to swim in; it barely covers your feet!’

‘I’m paddling,’ she said with as much dignity as was possible when one is standing in the middle of a stream. ‘And it’s lovely.’ She swivelled round to show him, almost slipping on an unwary pebble but catching herself in time. ‘See?’ Her eyes were laughing at him, daring him, but she felt secure. He seemed so solid on the bank, so rooted in the ground she couldn’t imagine him doing something so uncivilised, so childlike. ‘Scared?’ she taunted softly.

Slowly, with almost cat-like grace, Luca pushed himself away from the tree on which he’d been leaning and leant down, loosening the ties on his boot before slipping it off, casually kicking it off his foot. His eyes fixed on Minty’s face, he slid his sock off his foot, tucking it neatly into a boot. It should have looked ridiculous, he should have looked ridiculous, like a still from a fifties seaside advertisement: father relaxing at the beach. But there was something so deliberate, so assured in his movements, Minty could only stand and watch, her mouth dry.

Now the other shoe, the other sock. His eyes still on hers, he pulled up his T-shirt, flashing a glimpse of toned stomach. He loosened his belt and then slowly, far, far too slowly, worked the buttons at his fly before pulling off the jeans and laying them neatly on the ground.

Minty stared at his legs, her mouth dry. They were, she thought, rather nice legs; very nice indeed. Defined; definitely legs that had known manual work, legs with lean, muscular strength, but not bulky. They had a shapeliness that any regency buck would have been glad to slip into a pair of skintight breeches. They were less tanned than his hands and his face, more a burnt-gold colour, lightly dusted with silky dark hairs.

Her eyes skated back up over the crisp, blue boxers, up that narrow waist and the disappointingly hidden abdomen she’d caught such a tantalisingly small glimpse of earlier. Up to the comforting width of his shoulders and his strong, golden arms.

Minty swallowed. As Luca advanced over the grass, his eyes fixed on her face, she wanted to retreat, wade backwards through the icy water, flee to the safety of the other bank. But she was paralysed. The sun was behind him, casting a glow to that golden flesh. His amber eyes were lit up with amusement, with challenge. With desire. She wanted to speak, to break the spell, but she was caught; there was nothing she could do.

Tension mingled with the sweet ache of desire twisting in her chest, spreading outwards, downwards. She swayed helplessly as he slid one foot into the water. His expression didn’t change, didn’t register the cold. Her heart raced, the beat so loud, thrumming in her ears. It was as if the countryside marched to the beat of her desire. Slowly, so very slowly he advanced, wading effortlessly through the shallow depths.

Minty licked her lips, desperately trying to get some moisture back into her dry mouth. A flicker of his eyes showed his register of the movement—and his approval. Her hands, shaking, damp, twisted convulsively.

Luca stood before her, impossibly tall, imposing. Infinitely fascinating. She wanted to lean bonelessly into him, be absorbed by him—by his strength, by his goodness, by his loyalty. She couldn’t help herself. She raised one hand to his sculpted cheek and traced a feather-light path down, past the indention of the dimple, onto his lips. How could anything be simultaneously so hard and yet so soft? She ran her finger wonderingly along his smooth lower lip, coming to rest on his jaw.

There it was, faint but determined, the muscle tensing: a give-away that he was not as calm as he seemed. She took one tiny step closer, the water swirling round her ankles, the sharp cold a welcome relief on her sensitised skin. That one tiny step brought her into full contact with him. Her breasts, swollen, aching, pressed against his chest. Leg against leg, arm against arm. Minty looked up at him and saw such unfettered desire swelling in the tawny depths of his eyes that she was undone.

‘Luca,’ she said hoarsely.

He didn’t answer but looked down at her searchingly. What the question was she did not know, but her face must have signalled an answer because with a muttered groan Luca pulled her close, moulding her long curves against his hard body, one hand tilting her chin up as his mouth came down upon hers.

The urgency of his embrace took her by surprise. This was no teasing kiss but a wholesale assault on her weakened defences. His mouth was hard and sure on hers, his hands holding her close, caressing. He was in control, completely in control, and she was being swept away. She pressed harder against him, one hand clutching at his shoulder, the other slipping behind his head to bury into the thick, dark hair.

Time came to a standstill. All she knew was this: his mouth on hers; the sure, steady hands tracing such long, languorous circles on her back setting her skin on fire beneath the fine material of her dress. The thin layer of cotton felt as thick as a blanket separating her thirsty skin from his touch. Unsteadily she pushed him away, pulling her dress over her head, ready to fling it down. She looked wildly around for somewhere safe, somewhere dry, to put it, her fingers itching to start pulling at Luca’s shirt. There must be somewhere...

Then it hit her. They were standing in the middle of a stream and, despite her earlier protestations, a cold stream. She looked ruefully up at Luca. ‘Nowhere to put this.’

He looked back at her, the heat still blazing in his eyes. ‘Not a problem,’ he said and, before Minty could move, he swooped her up and carried her to the bank, stepping out of the stream and laying her underneath a wide-spread tree. Luca stood looking at her for one long, torturous moment. She met his gaze fearlessly, openly letting her need and want shine out. And then he covered her body with his. Her mouth was his and she was swept away in a tangled heat of kisses and caresses. There was nothing but him and the heat blazing between them. There was no sound but their gasps and moans. Nothing but the here and the now. Nothing but them.