Читать книгу The Italian's Christmas Secret - Sharon Kendrick - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

KEIRA LAY IN the darkness nudging her tongue over lips which felt as dry as if she’d been running a marathon. She’d tried everything. Breathing deeply. Counting backwards from a thousand. Relaxing her muscles from the toes up. But up until now nothing had worked and all she could think about was the man in bed beside her. Matteo Valenti. In bed beside her. She had to keep silently repeating it to herself to remind herself of the sheer impossibility of the situation—as well as the undeniable temptation which was fizzing over her.

Sheer animal warmth radiated from his powerful frame, making her want to squirm with an odd kind of frustration. She kept wanting to fidget but she forced herself to lie as still as possible, terrified of waking him up. She kept telling herself that she’d been up since six that morning and should be exhausted, but the more she reached out for sleep, the more it eluded her.

Was it because that unwilling glimpse of his body as he was about to climb into bed had reinforced all the fantasies she’d been trying not to have? And yes, he’d covered up with a T-shirt and a pair of silky boxers—but they did nothing to detract from his hard-packed abdomen and hair-roughened legs. Each time she closed her eyes she could picture all that hard, honed muscle and a wave of hunger shivered over her body, leaving her almost breathless with desire.

The sounds coming from downstairs didn’t help. The dinner which Mary had mentioned was in full flow and bothering her in ways she’d prefer not to think about. She could hear squeals of excitement above the chatter and, later, the heartbreaking strains of children’s voices as they started singing carols. She could picture them all by a roaring log fire with red candles burning on the mantle above, just like on the front of a Christmas card, and Keira felt a wave of wistfulness overwhelm her because she’d never had that.

‘Can’t sleep?’ The Italian’s silky voice penetrated her spinning thoughts and she could tell from the shifting weight on the mattress that Matteo Valenti had turned his head to talk to her.

Keira swallowed. Should she pretend to be asleep? But what would be the point of that? She suspected he would see through her ruse immediately—and wasn’t it a bit of a relief not to have to keep still any more? ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘Can’t you?’

He gave a short laugh. ‘I wasn’t expecting to.’

‘Why not?’

His voice dipped. ‘I suspect you know exactly why not. It’s a somewhat unusual situation to be sharing a bed with an attractive woman and having to behave in such a chaste manner.’

Keira was glad of the darkness which hid her sudden flush of pleasure. Had the gorgeous and arrogant Matteo Valenti actually called her attractive? And was he really implying that he was having difficulty keeping his hands off her? Of course, he might only be saying it to be polite—but he hadn’t exactly been the model of politeness up until now, had he?

‘I thought you said you didn’t find me attractive.’

‘That’s what I was trying to convince myself.’

In the darkness, she gave a smile of pleasure. ‘I could go downstairs and see if I could get us some more tea.’

‘Please.’ He groaned. ‘No more tea.’

‘Then I guess we’ll have to resign ourselves to a sleepless night.’ She plumped up her pillow and sighed as she collapsed back against it. ‘Unless you’ve got a better suggestion?’

Matteo gave a frustrated smile because her question sounded genuine. She wasn’t asking it in such a way which demanded he lean over and give her the answer with his lips. Just as she wasn’t accidentally brushing one of those pretty little legs against his and tantalising him with her touch. He swallowed. Not that her virtuous attitude made any difference because he’d been hard from the moment he’d first slipped beneath the covers, and he was rock-hard now. Hard for a woman with terrible hair whose incompetence was responsible for him being marooned in this hellhole in the first place! A different kind of frustration washed over him as the lumpy mattress dug into his back until he reminded himself that apportioning blame would serve little purpose.

‘I guess we could talk,’ he said.

‘What about?’

‘What do women like best to talk about?’ he questioned sardonically. ‘You could tell me something about yourself.’

‘And what good will that do?’

‘Probably send me off to sleep,’ he admitted.

He could hear her give a little snort of laughter. ‘You do say some outrageous things, Mr Valenti.’

‘Guilty. And I thought we agreed on Matteo—at least while we’re in bed together.’ He smiled as he heard her muffled gasp of outrage. ‘Tell me how you plan to spend Christmas—isn’t that what everyone asks at this time of year?’

Beneath the duvet, Keira flexed and unflexed her fingers, thinking that of all the questions he could have asked, that was the one she least felt like answering. Why hadn’t he asked her about cars so she could have dazzled him with her mechanical knowledge? Or told him about her pipedream of one day being able to restore beautiful vintage cars, even though realistically that was never going to happen. ‘With my aunt and my cousin, Shelley,’ she said grudgingly.

‘But you’re not looking forward to it?’

‘Is it that obvious?’

‘I’m afraid it is. Your voice lacked a certain...enthusiasm.’

She thought that was a very diplomatic way of putting it. ‘No, I’m not.’

‘So why not spend Christmas somewhere else?’

Keira sighed. In the darkness it was all too easy to forget the veneer of nonchalance she always adopted when people asked questions about her personal life. She kept facts to a minimum because it was easier that way. If you made it clear you didn’t want to talk about something, then eventually people stopped asking.

But Matteo was different. She wasn’t ever going to see him again after tomorrow. And wasn’t it good to be able to say what she felt for once, instead of what she knew people expected to hear? She knew she was lucky her aunt had taken her in when that drunken joy-rider had mown down her mother on her way home from work, carrying the toy dog she’d bought for her daughter’s birthday. Lucky she hadn’t had to go into a foster home or some scary institution. But knowing something didn’t always change the way you felt inside. And it didn’t change the reality of being made to feel like an imposition. Of constantly having to be grateful for having been given a home, when it was clear you weren’t really wanted. Trying to ignore all the snide little barbs because Keira had been better looking than her cousin Shelley. It had been the reason she’d cut off all her hair one day and kept it short. Anything for a quiet life. ‘Because Christmas is a time for families and they’re the only one I have,’ she said.

‘You don’t have parents?’

‘No.’ And then, because he seemed to have left a gap for her to fill, she found herself doing exactly that. ‘I didn’t know my father and my aunt brought me up after my mother died, so I owe her a lot.’

‘But you don’t like her?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘You didn’t have to. It isn’t a crime to admit it. You don’t have to like someone, just because they were kind to you, Keira, even if they’re a relative.’

‘She did her best and it can’t have been easy. There wasn’t a lot of money sloshing around,’ she said. ‘And now my uncle has died, there’s only the two of them and I think she’s lonely, in a funny kind of way. So I shall be sitting round a table with her and my cousin, pulling Christmas crackers and pretending to enjoy dry turkey. Just like most people, I guess.’