The Italians: Luca, Marco and Alessandro. Natalie Anderson
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escorted her through the streets and fought to regain mastery over his emotions. She’d just torn every shred of self-control and reservation from him. He’d expected sweet, simple enthusiasm and he’d got a vehement passion that had rocked him to the core.
He wanted more. Oh, my God, he wanted. It was good she was going. Because despite that deep response, she was young and inexperienced and he’d be a heel to take advantage any more than he already had. The very occasional affairs he had were ultra short and he only had them with women well used to that sort of game. That wasn’t Emily.
Yet the glow that had enveloped her as she lay cushioning him was like a soft, flattering light—it was how she was meant to look. Utterly beautiful and the most sensual person he’d known—and the most dangerous. Because if she could rip him open in one afternoon, what would she threaten if he saw her again? Luca had spent the best part of a decade sealing away his emotions, had zero tolerance for that kind of risk. He’d held and lost too much before and he wasn’t taking the chance on it ever happening again.
Maybe he should feel guilty already but he couldn’t. He’d seen the completion in her eyes—that he’d given her. It had made him feel mightier than anything. And she’d asked him for it, accepted it—understanding without asking why that this afternoon was all there could be. But, ironically, that got to him. Why didn’t she want more?
She turned to him across the street from the hostel. It hung on her now, the last vestiges of satisfaction. She smiled, a serene smile that he wanted to capture and keep in his memory for ever. ‘Thank you, Luca. It was the best, wasn’t it?’
He nodded, unable to speak. He tilted her chin towards him with a finger, brushed her lips with his. He intended only a light kiss, a sweet goodbye to an even sweeter afternoon. But her mouth opened to him and he couldn’t stop going further. And the fingers that he’d lightly rested under her chin slipped further to cup the back of her neck and pull her that little bit closer. He stroked the soft heat of her mouth with his tongue. The tiny moan in the back of her throat almost tipped him into madness.
Tearing his mouth from hers, he looked into those luminous green eyes that one last time and choked, ‘Ciao, bella.’
He turned his back to the hostel, to her, and walked. Instinctive reluctance tried to drag him back. He resisted with the determination that had seen him climb to the top of his ultra-competitive market. Yet even as he pushed his feet away he pulled out his PDA. He might not be going to see her again, but he couldn’t beat the desire to ensure her arrival in London was secure—couldn’t beat the need to know she was safe.
THE LIGHTS of London seemed to stretch on and on. It felt as if they’d been flying over the city for hours—would they ever land? Nerves quickened Emily’s pulse—part excitement, part anxiety. For the first time in her life, she had no idea what she was going to do next.
Luca dominated her thoughts. Her stiff, sore body reminded her with every tiny movement how passionate they’d been together. But she had no regrets. There was no shame or embarrassment. How could there be when it had been so natural, so right? But there was that soft romantic part of her that wished it could have lasted—could have been more. That kiss by the hostel had only refuelled her desire. She couldn’t imagine having a response so absolute to anyone other than Luca.
Damn. Because Luca was in Italy and she was in England. And they would never meet again.
She forced her focus onto Kate. She was here to help her sister succeed, and succeed Kate would because she had that rare drive—there was nothing more important to her. And Emily was glad to be able to help—she’d play at her auditions, help her practise… All her adult life she’d been putting someone else first; it was easier that way. But she knew she had to sort her own problems soon, when she’d had the chance to settle Kate in. Because her life would change now; it was A.L.—After Luca. She smiled as the wheels of the plane touched down. For Emily, After Luca meant nothing would ever be the same.
As they exited the walkway from the plane Kate noticed the man holding the sign that had both their names scrawled on it. Emily approached him, heart drumming loud in her ears, wondering what on earth the message could be.
He greeted them with almost a bow and a broad smile. ‘I’m under instruction to take you wherever you wish to go.’
Wherever? He was Italian. Emily’s breath hitched. Could he take them back to Italy? Oh, yes, please! ‘Whose instruction?’ She dared not dream of the answer.
‘Luca Bianchi.’
The bubble of excitement blossomed. ‘Grazie,’ she replied shyly, smiling back at him. Luca had arranged this? How?
The driver’s smile just went wider. He lifted their bags and led the way. Kate was giggling. It was no ordinary taxi—not a taxi at all, in fact. It was a sleek, powerful, private machine that was even bigger than the one she’d ridden in with Luca in Verona.
Emily felt a fraud pulling up outside the budget hostel in such flash wheels.
As they unloaded she didn’t know whether they were supposed to tip the driver, reached for her wallet to be on the safe side.
He saw and shook his head. ‘Please, Luca is a good employer but he would fire me on the spot if I took money from you.’
He lifted their packs and put them in Reception for them. Anticipation, shameless hope curled high in Emily from her toes right up to her slightly spinning head. Where was Luca? What did he want?
But there was no message, no note, no comment, niente—nothing. And then he was gone. The silent, smiling chauffeur, her last link to Luca, disappeared out of the door and drove away.
By the time Emily slogged up the stairs, Kate had already nabbed the top bunk and was hauling out a piece of paper. One Emily had seen too many times for comfort.
‘Do you think it’s too late to give this guy a call?’
‘What do you think?’ Emily answered, unable to hide irritation as she gestured to the window and the darkness of the night sky.
But Kate didn’t even notice. ‘I think it’s all going to happen.’ She read the note aloud for the millionth time, then asked, ‘How fortunate were we to meet him?’
Emily was no longer sure. She looked at Luca’s strong, bold handwriting—listing details of a very senior executive at an international recording label. She smarted inside over the way he seemed happy to pull strings for Kate and yet had made no attempt to retain contact with Emily at all. Indeed the note he’d given to Kate had been written on hotel stationery—no address or email or anything that would allow her to contact him again. He’d told her it could only be a memory—and while in her head that was fine…it wasn’t fine in her heart. She couldn’t stop herself from wondering…why had he sent his driver? And why then hadn’t he left a message?
Being human, she found the little hurt wouldn’t ease, and nor would the hope die.
‘Get some sleep, Kate,’ she shushed and flopped onto the bottom bunk. Trying not to talk or even think about him any more, wishing she could just put him in a box and appreciate him as that ‘memory’—failing at two out of three.
Three weeks later Emily ambled along the footpath towards the hostel. She was no further ahead than when she’d first landed. By rights she should have walked into a job quickly. She’d been the one working for years—sure, it was ‘only’ in retail but she’d worked her way up to a managerial position and had fabulous references emphasizing her reliability. Instead it was Kate who had scored a job working in a specialist music store, found a room to rent in an apartment and she’d phoned Luca’s contact—wheels were starting to turn. He’d been expecting her call, had invited her in for an audition and she’d impressed them.
So much had happened for her