Читать книгу The Italians: Luca, Marco and Alessandro: Between the Italian's Sheets / The Moretti Heir / Alessandro and the Cheery Nanny - Natalie Anderson - Страница 10

CHAPTER THREE

GIARDINO GIUSTI. The beautiful Renaissance gardens had been designed centuries ago and were magnificent. The green upon green of the trees was a pleasant contrast to the grey and stone of the buildings in the centre of town. They wound their way through the formal topiary section. And although it was quieter and should have been cooler, all Emily felt was hotter and more attuned to the tiniest of sounds—the trickle of water, the hum of a bee, the shortness of her own breath…and the nearness of him.

He led her along a path, to where it seemed to be a little wilder, more shade, taller trees and a moist grotto not far in the distance. She looked at a shaded grassy bank.

‘Oh, look, someone’s having a picnic.’

‘Yes.’ He smiled that boyish smile. ‘We are.’

He walked up to the dark-suited man standing beside the spread. They spoke briefly and then the man walked away, down the path to the exit.

Luca gestured for her to come closer. ‘You’re hungry?’

As she stared she felt her insides light up. ‘And you say you’re not romantic, Luca?’ she gently mocked to cover the thrill.

‘It’s a simple picnic.’

There was nothing simple about it. A large, ruby-red blanket was spread, and scattered on top of it were round cushions in heavy, gilt fabric—deeper reds, threaded with gold. Another rug was folded on one corner—what, should they need more room or was it for them to hide beneath? Oh, Emily was tickled…and so tempted.

Beside the space upon which they were so clearly meant to recline stood a large basket. Luca had knelt beside it already and pulled out wine. As he poured into the crystal glasses Emily decided she’d entered paradise.

Unhesitatingly she sat on the rug, accepted the glass he gave her and looked across the view of the impeccably maintained garden, needing a moment to recapture her sanity before she tossed all caution aside.

‘This is incredible.’

‘The best of Italy.’ He smiled, as if he knew she’d already lost it. ‘Here for you.’

‘The basket doesn’t look big enough.’

‘I wasn’t referring to the basket.’

‘Very sure of your own worth, aren’t you?’

‘Down to the last euro, yes. But we’re not talking money now.’

‘No?’

‘We’re talking pleasure. And you can’t put a price on absolute pleasure.’

* * *

Luca couldn’t look away from her. Her expression of delight was so genuine, so pleased, it made him feel guilty. ‘I didn’t pick all this, or lay it out.’

She laughed. ‘I know. But it was your idea.’

It was. And now he felt even more guilty—he wanted to wine, dine and woo her. For one night only. And for all her fiery eyes and flirting she was more sweet than sophisticated. Really, he had no right to mess with her, not unless she wanted it too. Not unless she understood the rules. A one-off, holiday fling. ‘The hotel prepared the food.’

‘So I get the five-course feast.’

‘You do.’

‘How come you have connections at the opera?’

‘My company is a corporate sponsor.’

‘Your company?’

‘Mine.’ It was all his and it was all his life. He had spent almost the entire decade dedicated to it. Getting his education, the experience and growing the private finance firm into the extreme success it was. He had taken no help from his father. He didn’t need his uninterested parent throwing him nothing but pretty patterned paper. He could make his own money, prove his own worth. ‘I often take valued clients and their wives.’

‘Their wives?’

‘Sì.’ He suppressed a smile. So she’d wondered about the woman with them last night. Yes, she was the wife of a client and, no, he wasn’t interested. He sent her a meaningful look, but saw she was checking out his left hand. He tensed. He’d worn a ring on that finger once. He’d kept it on for some time after—using it like a talisman to ward off women. But every time he’d looked at it he’d been reminded. Nikki hadn’t had the strength to push it on and he’d had to do it himself. And despite its tiny circumference, the ring he’d given her had hung loose, threatening to slide over her bony knuckle. There hadn’t been an engagement ring. There hadn’t been time.

Eventually he’d taken his ring off and allowed the sun to brown the pale mark. But even so he couldn’t forget. Even now, when he was plotting a moment of madness, the memory clung to him, reminding him of what not to do: don’t ever get attached.

‘What does your company do?’

‘Hedge funds.’ Good, when painful thoughts impinged he turned back to work—that was the way Luca liked it.

‘Hedges?’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘So it’s like gardens?’

He hesitated, unwilling to launch into a detailed explanation of the complex transactions he managed, so he fudged it instead. ‘I like making things grow.’

‘Money trees.’ Her eyes were sparkling with amusement.

He laughed—her naiveté had been a ploy and she was teasing him. ‘Right.’

‘And you like the opera?’

Why did she think that was a surprise? ‘I’m Italian, of course I like the opera.’

‘You don’t sound all that Italian.’

‘The curse of my education—boarding school in England from the age of seven. Over a decade ’til I emerged from the system. But I guess I inherited my appreciation of the opera from my mother.’ But more painful memories lurked with the mention of her so he moved the conversation back to Emily. ‘Do you like Italy?’ He didn’t need to hear her answer, already had it as her face lit up and it was his turn to tease. ‘Your first visit, right? Is it everything you hoped it would be?’

‘Actually it’s better.’

There was that genuine, warm enthusiasm again. Her anger had risen from that last night—based on the desire to enjoy herself, to make the most of the moment she’d obviously been waiting a while for. The freshness was tantalising. ‘Are you enjoying the food?’

She nodded.

‘Have you tried some of the local specialities?’

She looked vague so perhaps not. Of course, budget was an issue. He could help out with that today. ‘Italian cuisine isn’t just buffalo mozzarella and sun-dried tomatoes, you know.’

‘No?’ She pouted. ‘But I love buffalo mozzarella and sun-dried tomatoes.’

He chuckled. ‘Come on, try some more with me now.’

He delved deeper into the basket. The hotel had done a fabulous job, filling it with many small containers, each holding samples of this and that. Some were simple, just a few olives, other were complex miniatures of great dishes.

He lifted them out and explained them to her, where each came from, made her say the Italian name for them and then watched as she tried each, waiting for her reaction before tasting them himself. And all the while, his appetite grew.

Emily licked the sweet oil from her lips. Yes, she loved sun-dried tomatoes but, my goodness, the nibbles in those containers were out of this world. By now, eating as much as she had, under the shade of the trees, in this warmth, she would ordinarily have been overcome with laziness. But his presence, so close, precluded that. He was stretched out, propped up on one elbow, his long, athletic length stretching from one end of the blankets to the other. Relaxed.

Emily ached to touch him now—one appetite filled, another starving. Instead she took a breadstick from the box, needing something to fiddle with.

‘Tell me about your life.’ He looked across the small gap between them now littered with lids and containers, to where she sat up, legs curled beneath her.

She wrinkled her nose. ‘There’s really not that much to tell.’ There really wasn’t, certainly nothing glamorous or exciting.

‘Where are your parents?’

As she broke the grissini in two the shadow on her heart must have crossed her face.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘Will you tell me what happened?’

‘Of course.’ She smiled the moment away. ‘It was a long time ago.’ She broke one half of the grissini into quarters and gave him the potted summary. ‘Mum died in a car crash when I was fifteen. After the accident Dad went into a decline. He drank a lot. Smoked. Stopped eating.’ She rubbed the crumbs between her fingers and looked down at the trees. ‘I think with her gone he lost the will to live.’

‘Even though he had two beautiful daughters to look after?’

She could understand the question, perceived the faint judgment. Hadn’t she thought the same in those moments of anger that had sometimes come in the wee small hours? But she also knew the whole story; things never were black and white—shades of grey all the way. And so she shared a part of it.

‘He was driving the car, Luca. He never got over the guilt.’ She flicked away the final crumb, sat back on her hands and stared down the gentle slope to the row of cypresses. ‘He died two years after her.’

Two years of trying to get him through it. But the depression had pulled him so far down and the drinking had gone from problem to illness and the damage to his mind and body had become irreparable. He couldn’t climb out of it and he didn’t want to. He simply shut down. Emily had taken over everything.

‘What happened then?’

‘I was eighteen. Kate was nearly thirteen. They let her stay with me. I left school and got a job.’

Emily had been thinking of studying piano at university but instead she’d worked and they’d put all they had into Kate’s singing. Her younger sister had the looks, the talent and the drive. Now, nearly nineteen, she was determined to come overseas and make her break before, as she put it, she got ‘over the hill’. Emily was her accompanist—both in terms of playing the piano for her to sing, and in terms of support.

‘So you looked after Kate.’

Emily shrugged. ‘We looked after each other.’ There was no one else.

The silence was long and finally she looked at him. The darkness in his eyes reflected the dark days. Somehow he knew. He understood the struggle and the loneliness. And for a second there she thought she saw pity. Well, she didn’t want that—not today, not from him. She’d lived through it, she’d survived and so had Kate. Now they were off, heading towards that new horizon. Life was moving forward. And she was totally trying to ignore the fear thumping in the pit of her stomach. For the last six years she’d worked two jobs plus done all the household chores. She’d created stability, routine…now nothing was stable, there was no routine and she couldn’t foresee the future. All she knew was that she wanted more than what her life had been back home. A more satisfying job, a more satisfying social life… And sitting with this gorgeous man in this beautiful garden, it felt as if the chance to open up a new part of her life was being offered right now.

‘What about you?’ she asked, lightening her tone. ‘Where’s your family?’

His face tightened and she knew the shadow was a match for her own. ‘Really?’

‘Cancer killed my mother when I was seven.’ He spoke bluntly but it was clear the pain was still sharp.

‘And your father?’

He shrugged. ‘I went to boarding school straight after. We’re not close.’ The bare recitation spoke volumes.

She sat back, shocked. He’d been sent away? To a whole other country where they didn’t even speak his first language?

The slight smile in his eyes was all cynical. ‘I take after my mother. I think I was too painful a reminder.’

So in a way they’d both been rejected by their surviving parent. Luca had been sent away, and Emily’s father had gone away himself—in mind and spirit anyway—leaving Emily to shoulder the burden of caring for his fading shell.

‘Where’s your dad now?’

‘He remarried. They live just outside Rome.’

Their eyes met. Was that part of what had drawn them together? That somehow they’d recognised that they had shadows in common?

She barely had the chance to process that when he sat up. ‘Enough gloom. The day is too short.’ He reached into the apparently bottomless basket. ‘Let’s try dessert.’

Perhaps their pasts had nothing to do with the attraction. Perhaps it all came down to the fact that he was the most physically dynamic man she’d ever seen. And he was right. They didn’t need to share more in the way of gloom. Today was about holidays and sun.

The dessert was some creamy confection. He held the spoon, his laughter a soft rumble as he made her lean closer to taste it.

Oh, my. It was the taste of pure decadence.

‘Good, isn’t it?’ He had a spoonful and then offered her another.

‘Mmm-hmm.’

She stretched out and lay back on the pillow then, giving herself over to the utter indulgence. Closing her eyes, letting her mind savour the flavour and soak up the heat. She wanted more of the sweet, wanted much more of him.

‘So all this time you’ve been looking after your sister,’ he spoke softly. ‘Now you need someone to satisfy your needs.’

She turned her head and opened her eyes. His head was close, resting on the cushion right by hers. ‘What makes you think I haven’t got someone already?’

‘If you did, you wouldn’t be looking at me with those hungry eyes.’

She lifted her head, a little on her dignity. ‘You don’t need to lay it on with a trowel, Luca. I’m not completely inexperienced.’

‘Only relatively, sì?’ He laughed. ‘What was he? Some young fool who wouldn’t know how to give pleasure to a woman even if she gave him step by step instructions and a map showing the way?’

She felt the blush covering her cheeks and neck and she shut her eyes again to pretend it wasn’t happening. Her ex had been exactly like that.

‘Emily. I can offer you nothing but a memory.’ His voice was a little strained. ‘But I think it would be some memory.’

She reopened her eyes then—drawn by the power behind his words.

‘When did you last do something you wanted to do?’ he asked. ‘Not something for someone else, or something you had to do. But something you wanted, just for you?’

She couldn’t remember. And she knew he knew. ‘Is that what you’re offering? How generous of you, Luca,’ she mocked gently. ‘As if there’s nothing in it for you.’

‘There’s everything in it for me. I admit it.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m selfish. Be selfish with me.’ He raised himself back up on one elbow, rolling onto his side to face her. ‘We have more in common than you might think. I’ve been working hard too and you’ve worked hard for so long. Don’t you deserve a treat?’

‘Is that what you are?’

He leaned closer. ‘You tell me.’ He reached across and took her hand, lifted it and pressed it to his chest. ‘Feel it? Accelerating?’

The solid thump in his chest was strong and regular and hypnotic and her fingers wanted the fabric to disappear so she could feel his skin direct.

‘Is it like this for you, when we touch? When our arms brush as we walk side by side, does your body want more? Mine does.’ He still spoke quietly but she felt the force of his underlying feeling pierce through to her marrow. ‘What if I did that to you, Emily—would your heart start to race?’

It already was—faster and faster with every word and the spiralling anticipation.

‘I think we should find out.’ He let her hand go and reached across to her, his fingers drawing along the line of her collarbone.

‘Luca…’ She shook her head but couldn’t deny the fire his touch ignited.

His hand slid down, pressed against her tee shirt, pulling it close to her skin, so that her breast was displayed, and he looked at her tight, peaking nipple. He smiled as it jutted out for him; he didn’t need to feel her heart to know his effect on her.

He looked back into her face, intensely determined. ‘Just one kiss.’

One afternoon. One absolute temptation.

He didn’t need to coax her mouth open. She met him halfway, already wet and pliant and seeking. She closed her eyes, able to focus on nothing but him. And there was nothing but his kiss. His mouth moved over hers, his tongue probing, tasting. Rapidly it became more insistent—plundering, taking. She raised her hands, sliding them into his hair. Surrendering and then beginning to make her own demands—opening wider, seeking deeper, harder.

It was bliss. She wanted it to last, wanted to savour each stage. But too soon she wanted more. The need to move closer grew, she wanted him to roll right above her, wanted to feel his weight, to be pressed down into the soft rugs by his hard hips, wanted to explore his…

He drew back. ‘Emily.’

She opened her eyes, hating the interruption.

‘I am going to take you back to my hotel and kiss you like that all over your body. Is that OK with you?’

‘Is your hotel far?’

He laughed, an uncontrolled shout of genuine amusement.

‘I’m serious. Can’t we just do this some more here?’ She didn’t want to wait. She wanted it all, right now.

He smiled, that wonderful warm, relaxed smile, and leaned over her again. The kiss was right back at hot. And then he was kissing her jaw, her throat, his hand was at her breast and she learnt him too, learning the boundaries with her touch—learning that with Luca there were no boundaries. The kisses and caresses were so intense and satisfying yet awakening such an appetite that she knew there would be no saying no. No tomorrow and no regrets. There was only now and a need so great it was overwhelming.

Through heavy eyes she saw the blue of the sky and the green of the branches above them, felt the heat of summer, and all her senses appreciated this paradise. And there was more to come; he promised so much more with every kiss. She shifted on the rug, restless. She’d never known how desire could be a sort of suffering, hadn’t felt this depth of longing for physical fulfilment. The pain of it and the way the body could absolutely overrule reason.

He groaned, as if he too were in pain, and as if he’d read her mind and knew how willing she was, how much she wanted. ‘I’d love to see you naked under these trees, but the Giardino is public. Unless spending the night with the carabinieri is on your list of tourist activities, then we need to leave. Now.’

She almost, almost didn’t care, caught between not wanting this moment to end and wanting to get to the end as fast as possible—to completion.

‘OK.’ She forced the answer; it was like dragging herself out of the warmest, sweetest water. And all she wanted to do was disappear into the depths again. Had he drugged her with that food? But, no, it was his body, and his touch, that were the opiate.

He rose to his feet and held out his hand. ‘Then come.’

Their eyes met for a pregnant moment. And then she smiled.

‘What about this?’ She gestured to the rumpled rug and scattered cushions and containers, not wanting to have to think about them, but years of taking responsibility insisted on it.

He shook his head. ‘It’s taken care of. Don’t worry.’

He took her hand and led her down the sloping gardens. Waiting at the gates was a sleek grey car. Luca held the door open for her and she slid in. He climbed in the back with her. The driver pulled away. It was only minutes to the centre of Verona and his hotel, but all of them were occupied as with light fingers he turned her head towards him and kissed her. She didn’t want to stop. She didn’t want him ever to stop.