The Italians: Luca, Marco and Alessandro. Natalie Anderson
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and in her body.
She waited in her room until she was sure Micaela and Marco would have left for the day. Then she walked—for hours along the river, trying to figure out how to fix the crack that was appearing in the holiday fling. She didn’t want it to end but she might have to reset the rules.
Luca got home as soon as he could without officially declaring it a holiday. Who was he kidding? His brain had gone AWOL days ago. And after leaving her earlier, he had taken a detour. Another whim, another moment of madness. He’d wanted to find something for her. In his mind’s eye he’d seen her playing the piano, in that old worn shirt and thin skirt, her bare arms and naked fingers making such music. He’d never felt jealous of a four-year-old boy before but he’d have given anything to sit where Marco had been sitting and be the beneficiary of that beautiful smile and all that attention.
He had the even stronger desire to take a few days off and take her on a jaunt—truly make it a holiday. But as that idea teased he clenched his teeth hard together; mentally he inked the line and underlined it again. Too damn dangerous. Already he was in a position he’d vowed never to let happen—he had a lover who’d lasted more than a few dates and, worse, she was staying in his own home. And while he was trying to maintain much of his usual distance, every day it was eroding and the desire to keep distant was eroding fast with it.
He had to fight harder. He had to finish this sooner rather than later because the one thing he refused to risk again was getting close to anyone. Because he always lost out, didn’t he? Those he loved never stuck around. Losing Nikki had been the worst thing that had ever happened to him. In no way was he up for anything like a repeat. He wanted some fun now, he’d earned it with all the years of nothing but work, but fun was all it could be.
But when he walked in and found Emily was out, disappointment hit him heavy in the chest. He sat at the kitchen counter and opened another box of the grissini he’d got Micaela to find especially for her. Gnawing on the breadstick, he appreciated it for the displacement activity it was.
He glanced at his watch and then out at the sky. Not long now and the darkness would fall completely. Maybe she’d gone to see Kate. Maybe she’d left him? At that thought he went to her room and felt relief gush as he saw her pack still there, small items still scattered on the table.
And then irritation mopped all the good feeling up. Well, where was she, then? And what was he doing even worrying about it? This was what he didn’t want. He didn’t want to be so concerned about someone else; he was comfort-eating breadsticks while he waited for her. He didn’t want to wait for anybody. He didn’t want to be sitting around letting someone else mess with his emotions.
He poured wine, drank it, decided to give her ’til nine and then he’d start walking the neighbourhood.
Ten minutes later the key scraped against the door and he raced to jerk it open.
‘Where have you been?’ he positively barked, and then had to take a breath and remind himself to chill out.
‘Walking.’ She looked surprised. ‘I didn’t think you’d be home this early.’
‘Oh.’ Ordinarily he wasn’t. But ordinarily his ultimate temptation wasn’t waiting for him on his sofa.
Except she hadn’t been. She’d been out somewhere and now she looked knackered. ‘Come and eat. You look done in.’
She sat at the counter and helped herself to the grissini as he poured a large glass of red. He let her sip and munch while he pulled a salad from the fridge, tossed some onto a plate for her, and broke some bread to put alongside it. ‘Where did you go?’
She shrugged. ‘For a walk down by the river.’ She crunched for another moment. ‘It’s a lovely night. Lots of people spilling out of pubs.’
‘You didn’t go in?’
‘Not on my own, no.’
He hadn’t been down that way in ages. She was right, he wasn’t usually home by now—still working, watching the US markets, and then when they closed those in Asia were almost due to open again… He glanced out of the window. It was a warm night—a drink by the river would be nice.
Then he remembered his mild panic when she hadn’t been home—not nice—and so he held back the whim. He’d succumbed to two of those already today. He set down a platter of cheese and meat for her to pick at as well as the salad.
‘Have you spoken to Kate at all?’ She should go out with her sister. Then he wouldn’t have either this niggle of guilt or this leap of temptation.
‘No.’ She kept her eyes on the plates. ‘She’s busy.’
Busy being self-absorbed.
But he didn’t go there, he let her eat, told her some lame scuba story. When she’d finished he whisked away her plate. ‘Come on, let’s go somewhere comfortable.’
She did look tired. He wanted to make her smile—he hoped he had just the thing. He led her to the lounge and nudged her onto the sofa and went to the stereo to choose some music.
Emily sighed as she found the page in her book and tried to concentrate, wondering whether she really did have the guts to mention the rules, let alone reset them. He sat beside her but had no book tonight, seemed content to lie down, using her thighs as his pillow. She stroked his hair with her fingers, unable to resist touching. He turned his face towards her. She felt his warmth through her shirt. Maybe he wasn’t so content because she could feel his fingers, feel his breath, feel his…lips.
He batted her book with his hand, knocking it to the floor.
She shifted back a fraction and looked down.
‘You weren’t reading it anyway,’ he defended, eyes dancing.
She leant forward this time, so her sensitive nipple brushed his mouth again. ‘You were making that impossible.’
He didn’t deny it, just made any kind of concentration impossible again with his teasing tongue. She sighed, eyes closing, giving in.
But he stopped, smiled once more when she looked at him. ‘I have something for you.’ He reached a hand under the sofa and pulled out a small rectangular box.
She looked at it and marvelled at how fast her heart could suddenly beat without warning. She knew that brand—the world-famous jewellery store. She told herself to calm down—it wasn’t the shape of a ring box—besides, she didn’t want any kind of box, she wanted… ‘Luca—’
‘Open it.’
It took a little more effort than she’d thought it would. When it finally clicked, she stared at the contents. Confusion blinded her. On the backdrop of velvet so navy it was almost black rested the most exquisite bracelet she’d ever seen. It was fine and, oh, how it sparkled, even like that, lying still in the box. Diamond after diamond after diamond, strung together by delicate platinum.
Her heart totally stopped then. What was he doing giving her something like this? She munched the inside of her cheek. What was this for? ‘Luca?’
Lying there, looking up into her face, he must have read her unease. ‘Don’t worry. It wasn’t expensive.’
Yeah, right. ‘Don’t lie to me, Luca.’ She shifted the box and met his eyes. ‘Not even to be nice.’
He met her gaze square on. ‘It wasn’t expensive for me. It’s just a trinket.’
It wasn’t just anything, not to Emily. Questions crowded her head once more. Increasingly nasty questions. Was this part of his usual game plan? Did he buy all his lovers a beautiful piece of jewellery? Was this a little nothing, a bonbon to sweeten the goodbye? Had he bought it himself or got his secretary to race out? Or did he have a stash of them even, in a drawer in his secret bedroom that was as out of bounds as Bluebeard’s dungeon? The evil thoughts kept coming, swirling before her and clouding her vision of what was a beautiful bracelet. So classical, elegant and stunning—nothing