Читать книгу The Boselli Bride - Susanne James, Susanne James - Страница 6

‘WHY don’t you go back to the hotel, Coral, and have a lie down…? It is pretty stifling today.’ Emily glanced sympathetically at her friend as they sauntered along the sunhot streets of the capital.

‘I think “pretty stifling” is a bit of an understatement—it must be all of forty degrees,’ Coral said plaintively, taking off her hat for a second to wipe perspiration from her forehead. She sighed. ‘Perhaps I will get a cab and go back…Do you have much more to do, Ellie?’

‘Not really-but I’ll look in on one more place before I call it a day,’ Emily replied. She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll be back before five o’clock, and then there’ll be time for me to have a rest and a shower before we find somewhere for dinner.’

The two girls were staying at a small hotel in Rome on the outskirts of Trastevere. Emily was on one of her normal working assignments, where she had the task of vetting certain hotels and restaurants for the travel firm who employed her, and this was the first time she’d ever been accompanied abroad while on business. But Coral’s long-term boyfriend, Steve, had recently dumped her and, in an attempt to cheer her friend up, Emily had suggested she come to Rome, too. ‘A complete change will do you good, Coral,’ she’d said and, after a little persuasion, Coral had agreed.

Although her grasp of Italian was rather poor, Emily was determined to become sufficiently fluent to make herself well understood by the staff at all the places she’d been asked to investigate—while also expecting that their English could cope with the continuous influx of visitors from Britain.

Stopping for a moment to buy herself a cappuccino ice cream, she started to stroll up a side street which appeared almost completely shaded by the tall buildings on either side. She paused briefly to lick her tongue quickly around and around the smooth, creamy ice cream as it threatened to melt before she could eat it, then wandered on again somewhat listlessly. Perhaps she should have gone back to the hotel as well, she thought—but there was this one other restaurant she needed to visit before finishing for the day.

Soaking up the atmosphere of the ancient city, she wondered whether her parents had actually walked up this very street when they had done all their travelling. The thought of her mother, who had died so suddenly four years ago when she, Emily, was twenty-one, made the girl’s eyes mist and she swallowed a painful lump in her throat. Even though her father, Hugh, had picked up the pieces of his life and carried on alone, she knew that he didn’t find it easy…They’d been such a close couple, and wonderful parents to her and her brother, Paul. Paul was just a few years older than her, but he had a rather serious nature and outlook on life—which might be partly explained by his work as a lawyer. Emily wished that he was here now, so that she could give him a hug.

Lost in her own thoughts, her reverie was brought to a sudden—and ignominious—halt as she almost fell over someone sitting on the pavement outside a small shop whose open-fronted entrance exhibited a colourful array of pottery and glass. Half-sitting, half-lying on a canvas chair with his long legs stretched out nonchalantly in front of him, his large-brimmed hat completely shading his face, he might have been fast asleep because he made no discernible movement as Emily paused to glance at the wares on offer. Slightly embarrassed at how close she’d come to nearly sitting on his lap, she cleared her throat and busied herself with picking up one or two items, even though she had no intention of buying anything. If she’d purchased something in every place she’d been sent to since working abroad, her small flat would be hopelessly overloaded. But then—there was always room for just one more jug, she thought.

Venturing just a little way inside the shop, she gingerly picked up a round, chunky marmalade jar—her father had started making his own marmalade, and she thought how he would love this.

‘Unique.’ The man’s voice was cruelly seductive.

Turning quickly, Emily found herself looking way up into the blackest of black eyes—eyes which twinkled mischievously into her soft grey ones…The inert figure outside had come to life! Standing now, he had removed his hat and his thick, dark and lustrous hair hung haphazardly over his forehead, while the deeply tanned skin of his outrageously handsome face shone slightly with perspiration.

‘I’m sorry…?’ Emily found herself fluttering inside like a silly schoolgirl! Come on, she thought, this isn’t the first Italian male you’ve met! Get a grip!

‘Unique,’ he repeated, averting his gaze from hers just long enough to pick up one of the jars and to slowly turn it around in his long, sensuous fingers. ‘Each one unique.’

Emily smiled inwardly. He was a man of few words, his somewhat sparse way of communicating clearly suggesting that his English was about as good as her Italian.

‘They’re…very…attractive,’ she murmured, speaking slowly. ‘How much…?’

Now he smiled down, his glistening, perfect teeth enlivening the density of his tan. Without taking his eyes from her, he pointed to the small price tag at the base of the jar, raising one eyebrow quizzically.

‘Of course—I should have spotted that,’ Emily said quickly, taking her purse from her bag.

‘No problem.’ He spoke carefully—and Emily thought, well, he’d obviously learned the necessary phrases to get by. So far he’d only uttered about six words, but he was doing all right. Quite well enough to run this small, unassuming shop. She smiled up at him, handing over her euros, conscious that his fingers seemed to linger on hers for several seconds longer than was necessary but admitting that she’d not objected to the feel of his hand on hers like that. He was not offensive in any way, just…just warm…warm and even affectionate. What she had seemed to need just then.

She watched as he carefully wrapped the jar in brown paper before putting it into a small bag. He handed it to her slowly.

‘For you?’ he asked.

Emily couldn’t help smiling at him again. ‘No. A gift,’ she replied, her comments as economically spoken as his. ‘For my father. He…he likes to make his own marmalade these days.’ Now why had she bothered to tell the man that? He was only being polite. He didn’t need to know her business.

‘Ah, yes.’ The dark eyes grew solemn for a moment. ‘Your father…He is alone, yes?’

She hesitated. ‘My mother died. Not so long ago,’ she said quietly, and suddenly his brown hand caught hers again and squeezed it gently-not like before, but impulsively, sympathetically.

‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured, letting her go and moving away. Then his eyes twinkled again and the moment had gone.

Emily turned decisively. ‘Thank you very much…for the jar,’ she said.

He bowed his head slightly to one side. ‘You are very welcome,’ he replied formally.

Emily walked away and up the street, admitting that she felt strange inside. What on earth was the matter-had she got sunstroke? But that unlooked-for encounter with possibly the most overtly sensuous Italian male she’d ever spoken to had shaken her up. Had made her feel quite giddy. What on earth had they put in that ice cream?

With slightly narrowed eyes he watched her as she walked away. Of course he’d seen her coming up the street towards him a few minutes ago, his natural antennae homing in on her delectable appearance, on the cool, straight dress just above the knee, revealing gently tanned slim legs, her long fair hair falling casually onto her shoulders, her glitzy strappy sandals twinkling in the heat as she strolled. She was obviously in no hurry, he’d thought as he’d observed her enjoying her ice cream. She’d paused briefly a couple of times as she’d licked at the ice cream, then he’d watched as she’d nibbled at the last piece of the biscuit before taking a tissue from her bag to wipe her lips. He’d recognized at once that she was not of his own nationality—probably English, he’d thought, or German—or Swedish. A familiar shiver of desire had rippled right down his spine as he’d seen the slight figure come nearer, and he’d deliberately lowered his head even further on his chest while still maintaining his undisturbed scrutiny of her. And then she’d given him the perfect opportunity to come and stand close to her as she’d stopped to examine some of the merchandise on display. And to buy something. He had taken his time wrapping up what she had chosen, inhaling the light, tantalizing drift of her perfume.

Now, he sighed as he watched her disappear out of sight. She had been like a welcome apparition in the rather sickly afternoon heat, and now she had gone. He glanced at his watch, feeling somewhat irritable. He only had another hour here before someone came to relieve him, and then he could go and have a long, satisfying drink to cool himself down.

Emily had some difficulty finding the restaurant on her list that she wanted to visit—no one seemed to know where it was—but eventually she tracked it down and had a brief interview with the manager. It seemed a friendly, well patronized place, just the sort she herself might like to eat in, she thought and, taking away some menus and other literature, she hailed a taxi and went back to the hotel.

Coral was lying on her bed reading a magazine.

‘Oh, good, you’re back,’ she said. ‘Did you manage to finish what you had to do?’ She stared at Emily for a second, thinking how pretty her friend looked. She had the same slim figure she’d had when she’d been in her teens. ‘You look as cool as a cucumber, Ellie—and you’re very lucky you don’t burn in this sun,’ she remarked. ‘Not like me. With your fair skin you ought to look like a lobster.’ She sighed. ‘There’s no justice.’ Coral’s red hair and freckled skin needed a lot of protection in these conditions.

‘Well, I may not look burned up, but I feel it right now—’ Emily smiled ‘—so it’s a cool shower for me.’ She took a long cotton skirt and fresh top from the wardrobe and went into the bathroom. ‘Shan’t be long.’

Later, refreshed and looking forward to their evening, the two girls left the hotel and took a taxi to the centre of town.

‘With your experience and expertise, you ought to know all the best places to eat,’ Coral said as they strolled along the busy streets.

‘I still have a lot to learn,’ Emily said. ‘I’ve only been sent here once before, but there’ll certainly be plenty of choice.’ They went on, passing one restaurant after another, the early evening atmosphere muted and relaxed, and presently they stopped for a moment outside a particularly well-lit place to examine the menu. ‘This looks good,’ she said. ‘Shall we try it?’

They took their seats at a table outside under the sun awning and Coral sighed. ‘Why does the thought of food always fill me with such delight?’ she asked, glancing across at Emily. ‘At this moment in time, I do not wish to be anywhere else, with anyone else,’ she added meaningfully.

Emily smiled at the words, knowing that Coral had always loved food. But since the split with her boyfriend, Steve, a month ago, she had definitely started to look thinner—and it didn’t suit her. Coral’s normal appetite was legendary, and it went with her popularity and usually bright outlook on life.

‘The only thing to complete this idyllic picture,’ Coral said as she examined the menu, ‘is for a drop-dead gorgeous Italian male to present himself at my feet and whisk me off to some exotic rendezvous. But not until I’ve had my meal,’ she added.

Emily felt pleased that a change of scene seemed to be having a positive effect on Coral’s frame of mind. Her recent depression seemed to be less in evidence, anyway—at least for the moment. Coral and Steve had been an item for four years—with neither, apparently, wanting to commit themselves, when one day, out of the blue, he’d announced that enough was enough and he wanted to call it a day. To describe it as an emotional bombshell was an understatement and Emily had felt it too-the girls shared their lives in a flat together. It was horrible to see the normally happy-go-lucky Coral so downcast.

As she ran her finger along the huge menu, Emily frowned slightly. It was all very well thinking about other people’s affairs and relationships…but what about her own love life? She had to admit that it didn’t stand much scrutiny at the moment—and who could blame her for that? Her confidence in human relationships having a hope of surviving in the long-term had been shattered when Marcus, her last boyfriend, had been targeted by her best friend from university, who had made no secret of the fact that she’d always fancied Marcus. But it had never bothered Emily, who’d trusted him so naively…so, when he’d unbelievably succumbed to the determined charms of the other woman, Emily had suffered a bombshell all of her own. Then, it had been Coral’s job to pick up the shattered pieces of her ego and her bruised heart. Emily sighed briefly as her thoughts ran on. The event was a whole year ago and, although she barely thought about him now, she’d been taught a hard lesson. Beware of those you thought you could trust. Especially handsome men, who were naturally attractive to the opposite sex.

Presently, they gave the young Italian waitress their order, and within a couple of minutes two large glasses of white wine arrived. Coral picked up hers straight away, beaming across at Emily.

‘Cheers,’ she said, taking a generous gulp, and Emily smiled back, picking up her own drink. It was good to have her friend’s company on this trip, she thought. Even if she was beginning to get used to finding her own way around new places and fending for herself.

Coral leaned back in her chair and looked around. ‘There seems so much talent everywhere,’ she said, almost ruefully. ‘I mean, just look at those two guys over there, Ellie—gorgeous or what?’ She paused. ‘Hey, they’re looking at us…Do you think we might get lucky later on…?’

‘Well, you might,’ Emily said cheerfully, ‘but count me out. I’ve got my busiest day tomorrow, and after we’ve eaten it’ll be back to bed for me.’

‘Spoilsport,’ Coral said. ‘Anyway, I was only joking.’ But she continued staring across at the men, returning their rather suggestive smiles.

Emily said mildly, ‘Don’t encourage them, Coral. It’ll really complicate matters if they think we’re giving them the come-on.’

Soon their meal was put in front of them and for the next ten minutes Coral didn’t say another word as she began rapidly consuming everything on her plate.

‘This veal is so tender,’ Emily said appreciatively, ‘and I wish I knew what the dressing on the salad is. It’s fantastic.’

‘And I love, love, love these chips!’ Coral said theatrically. ‘I was so afraid we were only going to get pasta on this holiday.’

The portions were generous, so the girls decided that fruit and coffee would be all they’d need to complete the meal. But Coral insisted on ordering more wine, waving away Emily’s protest.

‘Don’t be a party-pooper, Ellie,’ she said beseechingly. ‘We’re on holiday, remember.’

‘You are—I’m not,’ Emily replied, but she drank the wine anyway. She certainly didn’t want to be accused of being a drag. Anyway, Coral was having such a good time it was hard not to be affected by the girl’s exuberance.

As they sat sipping their wine, the men whom Coral had been smiling at came over and, without asking, pulled out two chairs so that they could sit down.

‘Is OK,’ one of them said, ‘to sit?’ and, although Emily merely shrugged pleasantly, Coral was thrilled.

‘Of course it’s OK,’ she said brightly, darting a quick glance at Emily.

Immediately, one of the men beckoned a waiter and insisted that the girls should have more wine. They were young—probably barely twenty years old, Emily thought—good-looking and well turned-out in their casual clothes, and it was obvious that they’d been encouraged by Coral’s overtly friendly eye signals.

It didn’t take long for the men to find out that the girls were English and on holiday and, in their halting attempts to make themselves understood, they became more and more animated, throwing their heads back and roaring with laughter at the mistakes they were making. But when one of them leaned across and took hold of Emily’s hand, looking into her eyes and telling her how beautiful she was, the girl had had enough. While she was quite ready to go along with this—up to a point, for Coral’s sake—it was becoming clear that this was going to lead to a situation she definitely did not want. She took her hand away, glancing at her watch.

‘Well—great to have met you,’ she said, ‘but we have to go now.’

‘Oh—no—no,’ her admirer said. ‘Is too early…’

Emily looked helplessly at Coral, hoping for some support, but her friend refused to meet her gaze, clearly enjoying the situation, and for a few moments Emily felt at a loss. The men were only being friendly and she had no sense of being threatened. Yet this was the very thing she had wanted to avoid. How was she going to get out of it without appearing to snub these local lads?

And then her good fairy alighted on her shoulder, literally, as the warm hand of the handsome Italian she’d met earlier in the day rested on her bare arm for a second. He looked down into her rather startled gaze and smiled the smile that set her heart racing.

‘We meet again,’ he said calmly. ‘I was sitting inside in the bar having a drink and saw you come in.’ He paused. ‘Is—is everything all right?’ The words were uttered in perfect English, which had the effect of throwing Emily off balance for a moment. What she’d thought of earlier as his halting ability with the language was obviously a ploy he used in order to avoid having to make tiresome conversation with customers! But she admitted to feeling relieved that he’d turned up then—because now the situation was different—and the younger men saw it at once, standing up almost deferentially.

‘ ‘Giorno, Giovanni,’ the men said, almost in unison. He was obviously well known, Emily thought—and why not? He ran a local shop, and these were local youths. She smiled up at him.

‘Oh, hello again,’ she said. ‘We…were just explaining to these…guys…that we are actually just leaving now…’

‘Giovanni’ spoke in rapid Italian to the men, who answered back in the same way, all three laughing loudly and clearly enjoying a joke—probably at her and Coral’s expense, Emily thought—and then they were gone, smiling back as they went, leaving Giovanni standing there alone. He looked down at the girls, treating Coral to one of his disarming grins before introducing himself, holding out his hand to each of them in turn.

‘My name is Giovanni,’ he said, ‘but my friends call me Joe…Gio.’ He paused, his eyes flickering over Emily’s upturned face.

Quickly, she said, ‘Oh—I’m Emily, and this is Coral. We’re only here for a few days—on a sort of holiday…’ she went on rather stumblingly, aware that her friend was staring at her open-mouthed. Not just because it was obvious that Giovanni was somehow known to Emily, but also because he was looking so stunningly handsome she knew that the girl’s curiosity would be killing her. Emily knew she had some explaining to do!

‘Um…do sit down…Giovanni…’ she said hesitantly, and immediately he pulled out a chair. She looked across at Coral. ‘I bought a lovely present for my father at Giovanni’s shop this afternoon,’ she began, ‘and that’s when I met…Giovanni…Gio…’

Although Coral might have been disappointed at the hasty exit the younger men had just made, she was so entranced at the most recent arrival she could hardly speak! He was wearing well-cut jeans and a loose, immaculate white cotton shirt open at the neck, exhibiting a teasing expanse of muscular brown chest. His hair was stylishly untidy, one or two dark fronds falling over his broad forehead. And his bewitching eyes were fringed by long, curling lashes. But when he leaned across and took Coral’s hand in his briefly, saying, ‘I am so delighted to meet you, Coral,’ Emily thought her friend was going to faint!

‘Oh…’ Coral said at last. ‘Pleased to meet you, Gio.’ She darted a quick glance at Emily, as if to say-Well, you might have said something—before giving the man her close attention. And his perfect English, with only the occasional mouth-watering Italian accent, made conversation easy—and wonderfully entertaining, as he turned on the full power of his Latin charm. He beckoned to the drinks waiter and turned to Emily.

‘May we celebrate our acquaintance?’ he asked. ‘What would you like to drink—and you, Coral…? What may I order for you?’

‘I’d like another coffee, please,’ Emily said firmly. She’d already had several generous glasses of wine. Any more would be too many, she thought. But Coral had no such problem, and soon she was sipping at yet another large glass of the expensive bubbles as she regaled Giovanni with her life story, allowing Emily to add one or two comments about herself while he listened intently.

Presently, Emily decided that for her the evening was over. ‘I want to go back to the hotel now, Coral,’ she said. ‘It’s late.’

‘Where are you staying?’ Giovanni asked casually, and when they told him he said, ‘I can take you, if you like. My car is just a few minutes away.’

‘Oh, lovely!’ Coral said at once, but Emily interrupted firmly.

‘Thank you, but we can easily get a taxi. We wouldn’t want to bother you.’ She stood up and shot a warning glance at Coral, who stood up as well. Then she held out her hand. ‘It’s been very…pleasant…to meet you…Gio,’ she said. ‘And thanks for the coffee.’

He smiled at her, tilting his head briefly to one side. ‘You’re welcome,’ he said. He hesitated. ‘By the way, if you have trouble locating the places you need to visit tomorrow, I’ll be at the shop, so you know where to find me. I can always point you in the right direction.’

‘Oh…thank you, but I’m sure I’ll manage,’ Emily said.

‘Why didn’t you accept his offer of a lift?’ Coral demanded as they were driven swiftly back to the hotel in a taxi.

‘Because we don’t know him, Coral!’

‘He wasn’t exactly a stranger…’

‘As good as,’ Emily replied.

But later, as Emily listened to Coral’s gentle snoring from the other bed, she instinctively felt that there would have been no need to fear Giovanni’s intentions. He was clearly a well known member of the local community and, if the younger men’s reaction was anything to go by, highly respected.

Emily turned over, flinging her arm across her pillow. Behind her closed lids she could still see those ruinously seductive eyes gazing at her. Then she half sat up, pushing her hair away from her face. This would not do, she thought. She was here chiefly on business, not to indulge herself in sensitive thoughts about the first Italian who’d paid her any special attention. It was just a shame that she and Giovanni would probably never meet again…especially as there were only two days to go before they returned to England.

Back in his luxury flat in the heart of the city, Giovanni dragged his shirt over his head and unbuckled his jeans before going into the bathroom to shower. What a piece of good luck that he’d come across Emily again. She might have gone to any one of the countless restaurants on offer, or indeed might have already been on her way back home. And what luck that fate had given him the opportunity to approach her without causing any offence. He’d observed the young men attach themselves to the two girls, and had spotted at once that Emily had seemed uncomfortable about it. She’d certainly not appreciated the rather clumsy gesture she’d received from one of them. It was that which had made Giovanni intervene.

He stared at himself in the mirror for a second, a slight grin on his rugged face. He met many lovely women all the time, and this was hardly the first occasion that his masculine propensities had been briefly shaken and stirred. But, somehow, this felt different…He suddenly felt alive inside again, the persistent sense of guilt which he’d been suffering for the last eighteen months lessening slightly. He bit his lip. He was being introspective again, he thought. He must stop it. Wasn’t it time to give himself an emotional break and start looking forward, instead of back? And he was not going to deny that Emily had lit a particular spark in him which was both exciting and unexpected. On so short an acquaintance he was, quite simply, enchanted by her. She was not only beautiful, she was…thoughtful…wistful, maybe…some other quality that he couldn’t quite identify, but everything about her made him want to hold her and protect her. He had never, ever felt that instant, deep attraction to a woman before in his life—and the realization came as something of a shock.

Stepping into the shower, he let the water rush in cool, satisfying waves over the length of his taut, muscular body before beginning to soap himself vigorously. At least he knew where she’d be staying for the next few days, but he didn’t have long and he wanted to know more about this Englishwoman before it was too late.

He finished showering, then knotted the huge white towel around his waist and padded barefoot into his bedroom, feeling elated. Feeling eighteen again. Emily Sinclair had definitely sprinkled some magic dust over him that day, he admitted—and who knew what may lie ahead? Didn’t all his friends call him ‘Lucky Gio’?