The Italian's Passionate Proposal. Sarah Morgan
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where were you working last?’
‘In a private clinic outside Milan.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘Most of my patients were nothing like Kelly, I’m afraid.’
‘Too posh to push?’
He smiled in appreciation. ‘Something like that.’
‘Well, it was decent of you to take a look at Kelly for me.’ She glanced at him. ‘Don’t think I don’t know that most doctors would have refused. Too worried about litigation.’
Carlo looked unconcerned. ‘I’m well insured.’
And very experienced and self-confident. She also suspected that he would never refuse to help a patient. He was that type of man.
‘This is where I live.’ Zan stopped outside a block of flats and Carlo leaned against the wall, his eyes watchful.
‘So…’ he drawled softly. ‘Are you going to invite me up?’
She stared at him, caught by the intensity of his gaze. Excitement curled in the pit of her stomach and she struggled to be sensible.
‘I don’t usually invite strangers up to my flat.’
His smile had a peculiar effect on her knees and she felt them wobble alarmingly. ‘I’m very glad to hear that.’ He moved fractionally closer to her, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘But we’ve already kissed twice and spent an evening together so we’re not exactly strangers.’
She laughed to disguise her awareness of him.
‘We spent the evening in a filthy flat with a man who wanted to hit both of us. Is that your idea of a perfect first date?’
‘It was different,’ he admitted, his gaze dropping to her mouth and lingering there. ‘You can trust me, Zan.’
She hesitated, common sense wrestling with temptation.
‘I don’t know anything about you.’
Except that he was strong, clever and stunningly good-looking.
‘What do you want to know?’ He smiled down at her. ‘I’m Italian, I’m an obstetrician, I have one older brother and one younger sister. I also have a black eye.’
She smiled back and then looked at him cautiously. ‘You’re not married?’
His gaze didn’t shift from hers. ‘No wife. No kids.’
She bit her lip. Would it be such a big mistake to invite him up?
She paused a moment longer and then made up her mind. She pushed open the swing doors and led him into the deserted entrance hall. ‘I’m on the top floor.’
They walked towards the lift and she pressed the button, watching the lift doors close and wondering what on earth she was doing, taking a total stranger back to her flat.
Was she mad?
Her brothers would have thrown a fit.
But then she’d spent most of the past twenty-four years being cautious, and frankly she was getting impatient with herself. It was time she lived a little. Time she trusted her own instincts.
And her instincts about Carlo were all good.
She loved his wicked sense of humour, the way the corners of his eyes creased when he smiled, and she loved his easy confidence. There was something about him that was tough and kind and, no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise, the fact that he’d stepped in and rescued her made her insides squishy. It might not be politically correct to have a tough man looking after you but the truth was it had felt good.
Better than good.
It would be a long time before she forgot the feel of that hard muscle pressing her down onto the snowy pavement or the taste of his warm lips as he’d kissed her.
She shivered slightly with nerves and excitement as she remembered that kiss. Until tonight she’d always thought that kissing was a very overrated pastime.
She’d obviously been kissing the wrong men.
She sneaked a sideways look at him, still finding it hard to believe that he was a doctor. All the doctors she’d ever met were mild-mannered and academic or just plain arrogant. Carlo was none of those things. He was all muscle and strength, mixed with a wickedly sexy sense of humour.
He intercepted her look and gave her a smile that reminded her of his kiss. Hot and exciting.
She dragged some air into her lungs and leaned against the wall of the lift for support. If all Italian men looked like him she was moving to Italy.
The lift pinged as it arrived at her floor and she made an effort to stand upright.
‘You’d better prepare yourself,’ she warned him as she scrabbled in her pocket for the key. ‘I call it the penthouse because it’s on the top floor and the view are great, but trust me when I say that the resemblance ends there. When I win the Lottery I’m buying something bigger. You can’t swing a cat in here…’
She pushed the key in the lock and then paused, aware that he was staring at her oddly. ‘What? What have I said?’
‘Why would you want to swing a cat?’ His accent was marked as he repeated her words. ‘I thought you English were supposed to like animals?’
‘We do. Well, some of us do.’ Zan grinned. ‘It’s just an expression.’
His eyes gleamed. ‘Totally incomprehensible language. I thought my English was good, but evidently I still have a lot to learn.’
Carlo had gorgeous eyes—very dark brown and fringed with sinfully thick, dark lashes that he used to hide his expression when it suited him. And it suited him often. She suspected that he wasn’t an easy man to read.
‘Don’t worry—I’ll teach you.’ Zan opened the door and walked into her flat, flicking on the light.
The pale wooden floor was covered in plastic packets and bags from various shops, and she shot him an embarrassed look as she started to scoop them all up.
‘You needn’t hide the packaging from me,’ he said, his tone amused. ‘I was well aware that all that baby stuff you gave her was brand-new.’
She clutched the evidence to her chest and looked at him in dismay. ‘Oh, no! I tried to rumple them and make them look old. Do you think they guessed?’
‘I think Kelly was too pleased to notice.’ He moved closer to her and removed one of the plastic wrappers from her grasp, lifting an eyebrow as he saw the price. ‘Do you always spend your money on your patients?’
She blushed and snatched the wrapper back. ‘No. Well, sometimes. I like Kelly and I feel sorry for her.’
He looked at her for a long moment and she felt the breath jam in her throat. Just looking at him made her legs shaky.
As if he’d guessed her thoughts, he gave a lopsided smile and strolled over to the huge windows that made up one wall of her tiny flat.
‘Fantastic view.’
‘Thanks.’ She tugged the hat off her head and shook her dark hair like a kitten in a rainstorm. Typical. She had a man to die for in her flat and she looked as though she’d been dunked in a puddle. ‘I’ve never bothered with curtains. No one can see in so it didn’t seem worth it.’
‘It’s a nice flat.’
She smiled. ‘Well, like I said, it’s the penthouse, but when I win the Lottery I’m buying a bigger version.’
For a moment he didn’t respond, and then he turned, a strange light in his eyes. ‘You do the Lottery? Is money important to you?’
‘No.’ She tossed the rubbish into the bin and smiled cheerfully. ‘Just what it buys. I love to dream, don’t you?’