Читать книгу The Italians: Alessandro, Luca & Dizo - Ким Лоренс, Rebecca Winters - Страница 15

LILY CHECKED HER ROSTER, noted her next free day, and called Sophia.

Family, she accorded wistfully. True friends were gold, but beloved family represented the finest of precious jewels.

‘I have a free day on Wednesday,’ Lily explained when they’d exchanged mutual news. ‘I’d love to have you to dinner at my place. Carlo, too, of course.’ She paused fractionally. ‘And Alessandro.’

If Sophia noticed the slight change in Lily’s voice, she chose not to comment. ‘I accept with pleasure. You will contact Alessandro?’

‘Yes.’ Doing so was a given, although just thinking about making the call had her stomach doing a slow somersault. ‘Does seven-thirty suit?’

‘Perfect. I’m so looking forward to it.’

‘It’ll be great,’ Lily responded with genuine warmth.

With Sophia and Carlo, yes. Alessandro’s presence … not so much.

So why do you go to pieces whenever you see him?

Melt when he touches you, even in the most casual manner? And let’s not think about the way his mouth feels on your own … lethal, she admitted.

So make the call, why don’t you? Get it over with before you need to leave for the afternoon shift. After all, what could be easier … you have his cell-phone number on speed-dial.

He answered on the second ring. ‘Lily. What can I do for you?’

She was tempted to tell him, except that would be most unwise. ‘I’ve invited Sophia and Carlo to dinner on Wednesday evening. Are you free to join us?’

‘It will be a pleasure.’ His voice held a warm sensuality that sent her pulse-beat into overdrive.

‘Seven-thirty, my place.’ She got the details out quickly, adding, ‘Ciao’ before ending the connection.

There, it was done.

In his luxurious office Alessandro put down the phone and contained a slight smile. He received many invitations over the course of each year, among them social, and the intimate kind. But none, he mused, that had been issued with such polite reluctance.

Lily … or Liliana, as he preferred to think of her, was a piece of work. Warm, charming, delightful, when she let down her guard.

A welcome change from women who played the seductive game for any man sufficiently wealthy to afford the lifestyle they craved. Their bodies sculptured to what they perceived as perfection, their adopted façade so practised they became carbon copies of each other.

He could name a dozen or more he could call who would drop everything to be by his side.

Except Lily Parisi, the one woman he wanted, who kissed like an angel and fitted into his arms as if she was meant to be there.

He intended that she would, eventually. When he’d succeeded in earning her trust.

Time and patience … he possessed both.

And he always won.

The night was busy, with every table filled in the restaurant. Which involved kitchen and wait staff working with maximum efficiency.

Lily was beginning to feel comfortable and part of a valued team. Any reserve on Giovanni’s part no longer existed, and Cristo, even at his temperamental best, she could usually succeed in making him smile.

Of the wait-staff, she shared an empathy with Hannah, whose sense of humour and facial expressions on occasion lightened the load. Especially when the occupants of a table chose to place an order and expect a gourmet dish be delivered in a matter of minutes.

Giovanni, who usually held everyone together with unruffled calm, was known to vent sotto voce, that he ran a first class restaurant, not a franchised fast-food chain.

As in any restaurant, on occasion, there appeared the guest who felt empowered to impress loudly with his knowledge of wine, assuring anyone who cared to listen that he was a noted connoisseur of fine food, only to view the dish he’d ordered with a disappointed sigh, appear to reluctantly fork a sample taste into his mouth, deliberately test the morsel and give a slight but expressive shrug as if to convey it failed to meet his expectation.

Then there was the guest who found fault with everything, and made such a production of sending each dish back to the kitchen, after consuming part of it, in a ploy to gain a complimentary meal.

A good lurk if you could work it, and there were the few who attempted to try.

Lily reached the end of her shift, removed her apron and tossed it into the laundry bin, and was about to leave when Hannah caught her attention.

‘We’re both on the lunch shift tomorrow. What say we share a coffee together when we’re done?’

‘Love to.’ Lily gave a quick smile and received an impish grin in response.

It would be fun, Lily reflected on the edge of sleep. Hannah was of a similar age and they shared the same interests.

‘You choose,’ Lily declared as they finished up the following day. ‘You’ve been in Milan longer than I have.’

‘One year and counting,’ Hannah agreed. ‘There’s this little café a few streets away that serves divine coffee.’

‘Then let’s go.’

It was small but cosy, and they chose a table, ordered a latte each, and it was Hannah who spoke first.

‘Is this where we exchange our life stories, commiserate or rejoice?’ Her eyes gleamed with mischief. ‘Or do we forget all that and discuss something meaningful and dull?’

‘What if the life story is dull?’

‘Impossible. The kitchen goss pegs you as owning your own restaurant, you’re Italian by birth, and a professional match for Giovanni and Cristo.’

Lily gave a light laugh and spread her hands. ‘Well, there you have it. Your turn.’

‘Uh-huh. More details.’

‘Not much to tell. My aunt invited me to visit, and I decided to stay a while.’

‘Boyfriend break-up?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Same goes. Relationship growing stale. Thought if I left London, he’d miss me and follow. He didn’t.’

Their lattes served, they each took an appreciative sip.

‘I’m kind of seeing someone,’ Hannah confided. ‘He’s Italian.’

Lily smiled. ‘That’s nice.’

Hannah rolled her eyes and shook her head. ‘His mother wants to see him settle down with an Italian girl, follow tradition and bear him fine sons. Not an English girl who has different ideas and doesn’t speak the language.’

‘And what does this man you’re kind of seeing have to say?’

‘It’s his life, and he’ll choose his own wife.’

‘Sounds as if he knows his own mind.’

Hannah’s eyes glowed with warmth. ‘Yeah. He does.’

‘So what’s the problem?’

‘Italian mothers tend to be very protective of their sons,’ she answered drily. ‘Famiglia. I don’t fit in.’

‘Simple. You keep him happy and win his mother over with your cooking skills.’

‘No problem keeping him happy,’ Hannah assured with a suggestive wriggle of her eyebrows. ‘I can cook. And I’ve been taking lessons in Italian.’

‘Well, then, you have nothing to worry about.’

She brightened a little. ‘What about you? Are you seeing anyone?’

Lily laughed. ‘Hey, I’ve only been in Milan a short while.’

‘There’s a rumour you have connections with Alessandro del Marco, the restaurant’s owner.’

Lily kept her voice even. ‘He’s a friend of my aunt.’

‘He dines at the restaurant occasionally. Prime,’ Hannah accorded with a wicked grin. ‘Bet he’s fantastic in bed.’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

Hannah rolled her eyes in expressive disbelief. ‘And don’t want to?’

‘No.’

‘Shame.’

They lingered a while, finished their coffee, then they parted as Hannah headed to the rail station and Lily made her way to her car.

Wednesday she rose early, cleaned the apartment, then she pondered the evening’s dinner menu as she ate breakfast.

Linguini with a delicate funghi sauce as a starter, she decided, followed by a revered Parisi specialty chicken dish, and a delicate fruit torte as dessert, a mango sorbet to cleanse the palate. Coffee. And wine.

Simple, not too fussy, good wholesome family food. Not a visual work of cuisine art for clientele.

Lily checked her pantry, made a comprehensive list, and shopped for the ingredients needed.

Everything was in place by early evening, the table set, wine chilling, the torte resting in the refrigerator.

Time to dispense with jeans and top, shower, don something feminine, fix her hair, and add a touch of lip gloss.

The in-house phone buzzed at seven-thirty, and when she picked up it was Alessandro’s visual image displayed on the video monitor, not Sophia and Carlo as she’d hoped would appear first.

Lily felt her heartbeat quicken its pace as she released the external door allowing entry into the downstairs lobby.

All too soon he reached her apartment, and she let him in with what she hoped was a welcoming smile, accepted the gift bottle of wine, offered her thanks, then her eyes flew wide as he cradled her face and kissed her.

A little too thoroughly, for her peace of mind.

‘Nice,’ Alessandro murmured appreciatively as he lifted his head to regard her with quizzical warmth.

Nice? Apropos the kiss, her, the apartment, the tantalizing aroma of food simmering on stove top and in the oven?

Like she intended to ask?

Fortunately it was only a matter of minutes before the in-house phone buzzed, announcing Sophia and Carlo’s arrival.

Did her relief show? She hoped not.

Lily felt the tension ease a little as she assumed the hostess role, offering wine.

‘Let me take care of it,’ Alessandro said as he moved to her side, and her eyes flared a little as he expertly dispensed with the cork before pouring a portion of wine into each of the four goblets.

With ease he passed them around, then lifted his goblet and offered a toast. ‘Lily. A new and happy life.’

Five minutes, maybe ten, and she’d retreat into the kitchen, set the pasta to cook, transfer the chicken into a serving dish, arrange the vegetables, then as soon as the pasta was ready she’d serve the starter.

There seemed no valid reason for the onset of nerves. She didn’t do nerves when it came to food. So why the feeling she was treading on eggshells? It didn’t make sense.

Although, nothing made sense when she happened to be in Alessandro’s presence. The air seemed to shimmer with sensual electricity, so much so it almost became a palpable entity.

Was it just her fanciful imagination … or did he sense it, too?

For heaven’s sake, she silently chastised. Get with the programme. Go do what you do best, put the final touches to the starter, retrieve herb bread from the oven, and put food on the table.

‘If you’ll excuse me?’

‘Would you like some help?’ Sophia queried.

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

It only took a matter of minutes to drain the linguini, set it on plates and add the delicate funghi sauce. The main course rested in warming dishes, ready to transfer to the table.

Lily took a spot check, set the herb bread into a napkin-lined basket, then she called her guests to be seated.

The linguini was declared perfecto, the chicken ambrosia, and the fruit torte followed by mango sorbet excellente.

It was, even in Lily’s critical opinion, a satisfactory dinner. Even if she’d been dogged by more nerves than she could remember. A fact she laid solidly at Alessandro’s feet.

‘Miei complimenti,’ Carlo added quietly.

‘Grazie,’ she accepted with a warm smile, and almost froze as Alessandro brushed light fingers to her cheek.

‘Superb, Lily.’

Her eyes dilated, and for a moment she lost the power of speech. ‘Thank you,’ she managed at last. ‘Would you like to move into the lounge while I clear the table? Then we can relax in comfort.’

‘It’s pleasant to sit around the table for a while, don’t you think?’ Sophia said wistfully. ‘It reminds me of my family, when we caught up with each other, laughed a little and talked a lot.’

‘The table it is,’ Lily agreed gently. For, like her aunt, she associated food with family camaraderie, for it had been the one time of the day when they were all together … the closeness mattered, and the love.

Any further wine was declined as both men had to drive, and coffee was delayed as they sat informally at the table and exchanged anecdotes.

‘Do you remember, Lily,’ Sophia began, ‘when you visited with your parents? You were, I think, fourteen, or was it fifteen years old?’

Lily chuckled. ‘Please don’t. I had braces, wore my hair in a tail, I lived in jeans and bewailed the fact I would never be tall.’

‘I recall your mother endeavouring to persuade you to wear a dress.’

‘While I thought jeans made my legs seem longer, and therefore added the illusion of height.’

‘A cute teenager,’ Alessandro drawled, sparing her a gleaming look.

Cute? That was what he remembered? Better that, than the way she’d secretly fantasized, no, tell it how it was. drooled over the tall handsome young man with a wicked past, whose image invaded her dreams far too often.

Except that was more than ten years ago, and there had been a lot of changes in her life, some good, as she recalled time with her parents, her travels, success as a chef. And more recently, the not so good.

Lily turned towards Alessandro. ‘And what of your teenage years, Alessandro?’

His eyes held her own, dark obsidian and bearing an edge of mockery. ‘I’m sure you’ve heard how Giuseppe and Sophia took me into their home, their lives, and shaped me into the man I’ve become.’

‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘I have. But very little of your life before then.’

‘It’s something I share with very few people.’

‘That bad?’

Living hand to mouth, with no home to go to; learning to fight dirty in order to survive on the streets; being one step ahead of the polizia, constantly watching his back.

‘Sì.’

He bore the scars from the slashes he’d taken from knives; tattoos now removed by laser, and the few he’d kept as a reminder of a life he’d left long behind him.

‘I’ll make coffee,’ Lily ventured. ‘It’s becoming late, and Carlo and Sophia need to return to Como.’

It was a simple matter to grind the coffee beans and set up the coffee machine. She set out the requisite crockery on a tray while she waited for the machine to percolate. Then when it was done, she added the sugar bowl and took it to the table.

Soon Sophia, Carlo and Alessandro would leave, then she’d clean up and retire for the night.

Except it didn’t play out that way.

Alessandro stood at her side as Sophia bade them both an affectionate buona notte and preceded Carlo from the apartment.

‘I thought you might be leaving, too,’ Lily said as he closed the door and turned to face her.

‘When I’ve helped you clean up.’ He removed his jacket, deftly rolled back his shirtsleeves and moved towards the kitchen.

‘It’s not necessary.’ Her protest went unheeded, and she had little option but to follow him. ‘You don’t have to do this.’

Be honest, she didn’t want him there, invading her space, dominating the room. Worse, she definitely didn’t want to feel on edge and so acutely aware of him.

‘I’ll rinse, you stack the dishwasher,’ Alessandro said calmly, and proceeded to do just that.

‘This happens to be my kitchen …’

‘And you’d prefer I wasn’t in it,’ he said calmly, shooting her a perceptive look. ‘Let me know when you’ve worked out the reason why.’

With deliberate calm she took the rinsed goblets, the plates and cutlery and stacked them carefully. Clattering them noisily would only give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d ruffled her feathers.

When he was done he dried his hands and turned towards her, and she became trapped by the darkness in his eyes, the hint of something she didn’t want to explore as he lifted a hand and trailed light fingers down her cheek.

Her eyes flared momentarily before she attempted to mask them, and his own darkened as he cupped her face and touched his mouth to her own, tracing the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue.

He felt her stiffen, but didn’t stop, teasing gently as he sought her response, which she fought against giving, until her body betrayed her and she succumbed with a despairing groan.

It was a kiss like no other she’d experienced, and she recalled beating a helpless fist against his shoulder as he deepened the kiss into something more before gently releasing her, his hands holding her steady as she stood locked into immobility, wide-eyed with a mixture of shock, dismay and wonder, that she’d allowed him so close.

‘I think you should leave,’ Lily managed shakily, her eyes darkening as he brushed gentle fingers over the swollen curve of her lower lip.

‘If that’s what you want.’

Want? She daredn’t even consider what she wanted, because if she listened to the heat of desire, she’d lead him into the bedroom, tear off his clothes, her own, and indulge in wild wanton sex.

Except treading that path would only lead to disaster.

He watched as she reassembled her resolve … the way she swallowed a sudden lump in her throat; the telltale pulse slow its rapid beat; the tinge of pink colouring her cheeks.

‘Yes.’

He used his thumbs to soothe the curve of her shoulders, then slowly slid his hands down her arms before releasing her.

‘Your call.’

His very presence was a threat to her peace of mind, and she crossed her arms over her midriff in a gesture of self-protection. ‘I’d prefer not to see you again.’

No sooner were the words out of her mouth before she realized the futility of them. Alessandro del Marco was as much Sophia’s son as if he bore the dalla Silvestri name.

He looked at her in silence for what seemed an age, and she had to consciously force herself to meet and hold his gaze.

‘Afraid, Lily?’

‘Of you? No.’ Myself, she owned silently, and for a moment she thought she caught a glimpse of humour in his dark gaze as he ventured softly,

‘You’re sure about that?’

She didn’t answer, couldn’t for a few heart-stopping seconds. ‘Yes.’

‘And you’d prefer me to leave.’

‘Please.’

He reached for his jacket and shrugged it on as she crossed the lounge to the front door.

‘Grazie, Lily. For a pleasant evening.’

He made no attempt to touch her, and she tamped down the contrary urge to feel his lips brush her own.

Which was crazy.

‘You’re welcome.’ The polite words were an automatic acknowledgment as she opened the door and stood aside for him to pass.

Then he was gone, and she locked up the apartment, doused the lights and went to bed.