Modern Romance July 2016 Books 5-8. Кейт Хьюит
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‘Oh, I know him,’ Daniela said darkly and Hannah inwardly seethed. Luca could have warned her that a former paramour would be here, unsheathing her claws and trying to draw blood. And what if she gave something away to this elegant harpy? Daniela might know more about Luca than she did. Judging by her smouldering looks, it seemed almost a certainty. The idea made her feel unsettled in a way she didn’t like. She wasn’t jealous, just annoyed and angry all over again at Luca putting her in this position.
By the time the dessert plates had been cleared and coffee served, Hannah was having trouble keeping up her sparkly pretence. The excitement of pretending to be someone she wasn’t had worn thin, and she longed only to return to their room and go to sleep. Actually, what she really wanted to do was go back to London and snuggle with her son. When she’d been in the bathroom changing she’d managed to speak to Jamie on the phone for a few minutes, listening to him chatter about his day, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.
Luca must have seen the slump of her shoulders or the fatigue on her face for in one graceful movement he rose from the table. ‘It’s been a lovely evening, but I fear I’ve tired my fiancée out. Do you mind if we excuse ourselves?’
‘Not at all, not at all,’ Andrew replied as he also rose. ‘We’ll see you both in the morning.’
Luca and Hannah made their farewells to the rest of the group and then they walked in silence to their bedroom; with each step Hannah was remembering that big bed and how small it now actually seemed. They surely wouldn’t share it. Luca would be a gentleman and make up a bed on the divan. Or so she hoped.
And yet even the thought of sharing the same room with Luca made her head go light and her palms turn damp. He was so male, so potently virile and sexual. She’d been immune—mostly—in their usual office environment, but she felt it keenly here, when they were sharing a bedroom and the moonlight and the gentle whooshing of the sea conspired to make everything seem romantic.
Luca opened the door to their bedroom, stepping aside so Hannah could go in first. He shrugged off his jacket while Hannah kicked off her heels with a groan. ‘Wretched things.’
‘You’re not a fan of high heels?’
‘I like taking them off.’ The room was bathed in moonlight, the windows open to the sea breeze, the light from the lamps on the bedside tables giving out a cosy glow. Hannah glanced at the bed, which had been turned down, the cream duvet folded back to reveal the silky sheet beneath. A heart-shaped chocolate in gold foil nestled on each pillow. ‘How is that going to work?’ she asked, deciding to tackle the problem head-on.
Luca barely glanced at the bed. ‘How is what going to work?’ His fingers had already gone to the buttons of his shirt, and, heaven help her, he was going to take it off again. And this time she might let herself watch.
‘Sleeping arrangements,’ Hannah said, dragging her gaze away from the tantalising glimpse of Luca’s chest. ‘We can’t both sleep in the bed.’
‘Oh?’ He sounded amused. ‘Why can’t we?’
‘Because!’ Startled, she turned back to him and watched as he shrugged out of his shirt and then went for his belt buckle. ‘Luca. Can’t you change in the bathroom?’
‘What are you, a nun? If it makes you feel better, I won’t sleep in the nude as I usually do.’
‘What a prince,’ Hannah gritted through her teeth. ‘Seriously, Luca—’
‘Seriously,’ he said as he reached for a pair of drawstring pyjama pants that were going to leave very little to the imagination. ‘It’s a bed. It’s huge. We can both sleep in it. I need my sleep, and I don’t want anyone suspecting that we’re not sleeping together. And, in case you’re worried, I’m perfectly capable of sharing a bed without ravishing the other occupant.’
Hannah swung away as Luca dropped his trousers to change into his pyjamas. ‘I’m not afraid of that,’ she said, staring hard at the curtains drawn against the French windows. She could hear the whisper of fabric over Luca’s legs, imagined his powerful thighs, muscles flexing...
Stop. Hannah pressed one hand to her flaming cheek. She really had to get a grip on her imagination. And her hormones.
‘I’m dressed,’ he said mildly. ‘You can turn around.’
Taking a deep breath, Hannah did so. And dropped her gaze to his bare chest, his perfectly sculpted pectoral muscles lightly dusted with dark hair. The pyjama bottoms were slung low on his hips, so she could see the taut muscles of his abdomen, tapering down to... Quickly she jerked her gaze back up.
‘If you’re not worried that I’m going to ravish you, what are you afraid of?’ Luca asked.
Why did he have to sound so reasonable? And make her feel so ridiculous? ‘It just doesn’t seem appropriate,’ Hannah muttered.
‘Hannah, we passed “appropriate” a while ago.’ He took a step towards her, his hands outstretched. ‘Look, you were magnificent back there. The whole thing about the Eiffel tower and the ring? I was practically believing it myself. And you seemed like you were having fun.’ Hannah looked away, biting her lip. ‘Well?’ Luca pressed. ‘Were you?’
‘Sort of,’ she admitted. What woman wouldn’t like to step into a fairy tale for an evening, even if it was fake?
‘So maybe you should let go of what’s appropriate in this situation,’ Luca suggested, his voice dropping to a beguiling murmur, standing only a step away from her.
She had the insane urge to reach out and stroke his chest.
‘Let yourself enter into the spirit of the thing,’ Luca continued, his voice all honeyed persuasion. ‘Like you did tonight.’
‘And share your bed.’
‘In the literal sense only.’
‘Oh, you know I didn’t mean that,’ Hannah protested, her face flaming once more. She shook her head. ‘Honestly, you’re incorrigible.’
‘You’ve only just realised that?’ He turned to the huge bed and plucked the chocolate from the pillow. ‘So what are you waiting for?’ he asked as he unwrapped the chocolate and popped it into his mouth. ‘Come to bed.’
LUCA LAY IN BED, his arms braced behind his head, as he waited for Hannah to emerge from the bathroom. She’d been in there for quite a while, no doubt summoning her nerve to come out.
He didn’t feel bad about sharing the bed with her. He’d even suggested, before she’d huffed into the bathroom clutching her pyjamas, that she was free to construct a barrier of pillows between them if she really did fear for her virtue.
She’d rolled her eyes. ‘I can handle it,’ she’d retorted, which amused him because she’d been the one to get all worked up about the issue in the first place.
She’d been incredible tonight, though. Sparkling and funny and charming, and he’d seen how Andrew Tyson had come under her spell. He almost had. Luca had found his gaze continually moving towards her, ensnared by her tinkling laugh, her teasing smile, the way the light caught the honeyed highlights in her hair.
Several times he’d leaned forward to try to catch what she was saying, needing to know and not because of the pretence. Because he really wanted to hear.
Then he’d reminded himself that she was playing a part and so was he, and Andrew Tyson was falling for it. That was all that mattered. He had no sympathy for the man, no pity whatsoever. Watching Tyson, Luca had barely been able to sit across from him and keep a smile on his face. Hannah had at least provided a distraction from the rage that simmered beneath the surface, threatening to bubble over.
The door to the bathroom opened and Hannah stepped