Italian Mavericks: In The Italian's Bed. Кейт Хьюит
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back to the discomfiting level of the infatuated teenager she had once been and that galled her, but the tight, prickling sensation in her breasts and the dampness between her thighs were uniquely memorable testaments to the temptation Gaetano provided. Falling for a very good-looking guy at sixteen and comparing every other man she had met afterwards to his detriment was not to be recommended as a life plan for any sensible woman, she reflected ruefully, ashamed of the fact that she couldn’t treat Gaetano as casually as she treated other men.
‘An ordinary girl?’ she questioned with pleated brows, returning to the table to succumb to the allure of the melted marshmallows topping her hot chocolate. While she sipped, Gaetano filled her in on his grandfather’s fond hopes for his future.
Poppy almost found herself laughing again. Gaetano would never genuinely want an ordinary girl and no ordinary girl would be able to cope with his essentially cold heart.
‘So, why me?’ she pressed.
‘You’re beautiful enough to convince him that I could be tempted by you—’
Guileless green eyes assailed his. ‘Am I?’
‘Yes, you’re beautiful but, no, I’m not tempted,’ Gaetano declared with stubborn conviction. ‘When I say fake engagement I mean fake in every way. I will not be touching you.’
Poppy rolled her eyes. ‘I wouldn’t let you. I’m very, very picky, Gaetano.’
Gaetano resisted the urge to toss up the name of that young estate worker she had entertained in the shrubbery. Odd how he had never forgotten those details, he conceded, while recognising that such a crack would be cruelly inappropriate because she was as entitled to have enjoyed sex as any other woman. His perfect white teeth clenched together. He loathed the way Poppy somehow knocked him off-balance, tripping his mind into random thoughts, persuading his usually controlled tongue into making ill-advised remarks, turning him on when he didn’t want to be turned on. Each and every one of those reactions offended Gaetano’s pride in his strength of will.
‘You’ve got to be wondering what would be in this arrangement for you,’ Gaetano intoned quietly. ‘Everything you want and need at present. Rehabilitation treatment for your mother, a fresh start somewhere, a new home for you all as security. I’ll cover the cost of it all if you do this for me, bella mia.’
Straight off, Poppy saw that he was throwing her and her family a lifebelt when they were drowning and for that reason she didn’t voice the refusal already brimming on her lips. Treatment for her mother. You couldn’t put a price on such an offer. It was what she had dreamt about but knew she would never be able to afford.
‘You’ve got to have a selfish bone somewhere in your body,’ Gaetano declared. ‘If you get your mother sorted out you can get your own life back and complete your nursing training, if that is still what you want to do.’
‘I’m not sure I could be convincing as your ordinary-girl fiancée—’
‘We’ll cover that. Leave the worrying to me. I’m a skilled strategist,’ Gaetano murmured, lush black lashes low over his beautiful dark golden eyes.
Her chest swelled as she dragged in a deep breath because really there was no decision to be made. Any attempt to sort out the mess her mother’s life had become was worth a try. ‘Then...where do I sign up?’
She had agreed. Having recognised that Poppy was pretty much between a rock and a hard place, Gaetano was not surprised by her immediate agreement. In his opinion she had much to gain and nothing at all to lose.
‘So...er...’ Poppy began uncertainly. ‘You’ll want me to dress up more...?’
A sudden wolfish smile flashed across Gaetano’s lean, darkly handsome features. ‘No, that’s exactly what I don’t want,’ he assured her. ‘Rodolfo would see straight through you trying to pretend to be something you’re not. I don’t want you to feel the need to change anything—just be yourself.’
‘Myself...’ Poppy repeated a tad dizzily as she collided with shimmering dark golden eyes fringed by those glorious spiky black lashes of his.
‘Be yourself,’ Gaetano stressed, severely disconcerting her because she had expected him to want to change everything about her. ‘My grandfather, like me, respects individuality.’
Poppy wondered how it was then that, even in recent years, she had noticed from reading the papers, and catching a glimpse or two of past companions at the hall, Gaetano’s women all seemed to be formed from the same identikit model. All were small, blonde and blue-eyed arm-clingers, who appeared to have no personality at all in his presence. The sort of women who simpered, hung on his every word and acted super-attentive to their man. No, Gaetano had definitely never struck her as a male likely to appreciate individuality.
‘I would have another request,’ she said daringly. ‘My brother’s a fully qualified mechanic. Find him a job.’
Gaetano frowned. ‘He’s an—’
‘An ex-con. Yes, we are well aware of that, but he needs a proper job before he can hope to rebuild his life,’ she pointed out. ‘I’d be very grateful if there was anything you could do to help Damien.’
Gaetano’s beautifully shaped mouth tightened. ‘You drive a hard bargain. I’ll make enquiries.’
* * *
Almost a full month after that breakfast, Poppy was sitting in the kitchen with her mother. Jasmine was studying her daughter and looking troubled, an expression that had become increasingly frequent on her face as she slowly emerged from the shrouding fog of alcoholic dependency and realised what had been happening in the world around her. Initial assessment followed by several sessions with trained counsellors and medication for her depression had brought about an improvement in Jasmine’s state of mind. The older woman was trying not to drink, not doing very well so far but at least trying, something she had not even been prepared to contemplate just weeks earlier. This very afternoon Poppy and her mother were heading to London where Poppy would join Gaetano and take up her role as a fake fiancée while Jasmine embarked on a residential stay in a top-flight private clinic renowned for its success with patients.
‘I just don’t want to see you get hurt,’ the older woman repeated, squeezing her daughter’s hand. ‘Gaetano is a real box of tricks. I appreciate his help, but I would never fully trust him. He’s too clever and he hasn’t got his granddad’s humanity. I can’t understand what’s in this masquerade for Gaetano—’
‘Climbing the career ladder at the bank—promotion. Seems that Rodolfo Leonetti is a real stick-in-the-mud about Gaetano still being single.’ Poppy sighed, having already been through this dialogue several times with her mother and wishing the subject could simply be dropped.
‘Yes, but how will it benefit Gaetano when your engagement is broken off again?’ Jasmine prompted. ‘That’s the bit I don’t get.’
Poppy didn’t really get it either but kept that to herself. How was she supposed to know what went on in Gaetano’s multifaceted brain? Apart from anything else she’d had hardly any contact with him since that hotel breakfast they’d shared. He had phoned her with instructions and information about arrangements for her mother and travel plans, but he had not returned to the hall. In the meantime, a new housekeeper had moved into Woodfield Hall and Poppy assumed that the giant refrigerator was being kept fully stocked and vases of flowers were now once again decorating the mansion for the owner who never visited. Gaetano had dismissed Poppy’s opinions with an assurance that made it clear that his household arrangements were not and never would be any of her business.
The helicopter picked them up at two in the afternoon. Poppy had packed for both her and her mother, who was being taken to the clinic. Jasmine was nervous and not entirely sober when they boarded and fairly shaky on her legs by the time they landed in London, leaning on her daughter’s arm for support.
Gaetano, however, didn’t even notice Jasmine Arnold. He was too busy watching Poppy stroll towards him with that lithe, lazy walk