Moretti's Marriage Command. Kate Hewitt
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the menu and gave him a perfunctory smile. ‘Thank you.’
The waiter came with the wine list, and Luca barely glanced at it before ordering a bottle. He turned to Hannah the moment the man had gone, his gaze resting on her. Again she had the sense of coming up short, of not being quite what he wanted, and she didn’t understand it.
‘It occurs to me that I know very little about you.’
‘I didn’t realise you wanted to,’ Hannah answered. Luca had never asked her a single personal question in her three years of employment.
‘Information is always valuable,’ he answered with a negligent shrug. ‘Where did you grow up?’
‘A village outside Birmingham.’ She eyed him warily. Where was this coming from? And why?
‘Brothers? Sisters?’
‘No.’ Deciding this could go both ways, Hannah raised her eyebrows. ‘What about you?’
Luca looked slightly taken aback, his eyes flaring, mouth compressing. In the dim lighting of the restaurant he looked darker and more alluring than usual, the candlelight from the table throwing his face into stark contrast from the snowy whiteness of his shirt, his whole being exuding restless power, barely leashed energy. ‘What about me?’
‘Do you have brothers or sisters?’
His mouth flattened into a hard line and he looked away briefly. ‘No.’
So apparently he didn’t like answering personal questions, just asking them. Hannah couldn’t say she was surprised. The waiter came to take their order, and she chose a simple salad and the roasted quail, which she hoped would taste like chicken. Luca ordered steak and then the sommelier was proffering an expensive-looking bottle. Hannah watched as Luca expertly swilled a mouthful and then nodded in acceptance. The sommelier poured them both full glasses.
‘I really shouldn’t...’ Hannah began. She didn’t drink alcohol very often and she wanted to be fresh for tomorrow. And she didn’t relish getting a bit of a buzz in Luca’s presence. The last thing she needed was to feel even sillier in front of her boss.
‘It won’t be on an empty stomach,’ Luca replied. ‘And I think you need to relax.’
‘Do you?’ Hannah returned tartly. ‘I must confess, this is all a bit out of the ordinary, Mr—’
‘Luca.’
‘Why?’ she burst out. ‘Why now?’
His dark gaze rested on her for a moment, and she had the sense he was weighing his words, choosing them with care. ‘Why not?’ he finally replied, and reached for his wine glass. Hannah deflated, frustrated but also a tiny bit relieved by his non-answer. She didn’t know if she could handle some sort of weird revelation.
Fortunately Luca stopped with the personal questions after that, and they ate their meal mainly in silence, which was far more comfortable than being the subject of her boss’s scrutiny, but even so she felt on edge, brittle and restless.
Which was too bad, she realised as Luca was paying the bill, because, really, she’d just had the most amazing evening—being bought a designer wardrobe and then treated to a fantastic meal by an undeniably sexy and charismatic man. Too bad it didn’t feel like that. It felt...weird. Like something she could enjoy if she let herself, but she didn’t think she should. Luca Moretti might have dozens of women at his beck and call, at his feet, but Hannah didn’t intend to be one of them. Not if she wanted to keep her job, not to mention her sanity.
They drove in silence to her little house; by the time they’d arrived it was nearly ten o’clock. Her mother, Hannah thought with a flash of guilt, would be both tired and worried.
‘I’ll see you here tomorrow at nine,’ Luca said, and Hannah turned to him in surprise.
‘I thought I would be making my own way to the airport.’
‘By Tube? And what if you’re later? It’s better this way. Here, let me get your bags.’
Hannah groped for her keys while Luca took the bags from the boutique to her doorstep. ‘Thank you,’ she muttered. ‘You can go—’
But he was waiting for her to open her front door. She fumbled with the key, breathing a sigh of relief when the door finally swung open.
‘Hannah?’ her mother called. ‘I’ve been wondering where you were—’
‘I’m fine—’ Hannah turned to Luca, practically grabbing the bags from him. ‘Thank you very much. I’ll see you tomorrow at nine.’
He was frowning, his gaze moving from her to the narrow hallway behind her, her mother coming around the corner. Clearly he was wondering about her living situation.
‘Goodnight,’ Hannah said, and closed the door.
Her mother, Diane, stopped short, her eyes widening as she saw all the expensive-looking bags by Hannah’s feet. ‘What on earth...?’
‘It’s a long story,’ Hannah said. ‘Sorry I’m so late. Did Jamie...?’
‘Went to bed without a whimper, bless him,’ Diane said. Her gaze moved to the bags. ‘Goodness, that’s a lot of shopping.’
‘Yes, it is,’ Hannah agreed rather grimly. ‘Let me go see Jamie and then I’ll tell you all about it.’ Or at least some of it. She’d probably omit a few details, like Luca undoing her dress. The memory alone was enough to make a shiver go through her. Again.
‘I’ll make you a cup of tea,’ Diane said. Hannah was already heading up the narrow stairway and then down the darkened hall to the small second bedroom. She tiptoed inside, her heart lifting at the familiar and beloved sight: her son. He slept on his back, arms and legs flung out like a starfish, his breathing deep and even.
Gently Hannah reached down and brushed the sandy hair from his forehead, her fingers skimming his plump, baby-soft cheek. He was five years old and the light of her life. And she wouldn’t see him for a whole weekend.
Guilt niggled at her at the thought. Hannah knew her job was demanding and she wasn’t able to spend as much time with Jamie as she would like. She also knew, all too well, the importance of financial independence and freedom. Working for Luca Moretti had given her both. She would never regret making that choice.
With a soft sigh Hannah leaned down and kissed her son’s forehead, and then quietly left the room. She needed to get ready for her weekend with her boss.
LUCA DRUMMED HIS fingers against his thigh as the limo pulled up in front of Hannah’s house. He’d been there less than twelve hours ago, dropping her off after their shopping and meal. He’d been strangely disquieted to have a tiny glimpse into her life—the narrow hall with its clutter of coats and boots, the sound of a woman’s voice. Her mother? Why did he care?
Perhaps because since he’d met her he’d viewed Hannah Stewart as nothing more than a means to his own end. First as his PA, efficient and capable, and now as his stand-in wife-to-be. Last night he’d realised that if this ridiculous charade was going to work, he needed to know more about Hannah. And he hadn’t learned much, but what he had discovered was that getting to know Hannah even a little bit made him feel guilty for using her.
Sighing impatiently at his own pointless thoughts, Luca opened the door to the limo and stepped out into the street. It wasn’t as if he was making Hannah’s life difficult. She was getting a luxurious weekend on a Mediterranean island, all expenses paid. And if she had to play-act a bit, what was the big deal? He’d make it worth her while.
He pressed the doorbell, and Hannah answered the door almost immediately. She wore her usual work outfit of a dark pencil skirt and a pale silk blouse, this time grey and pink. Pearls at her throat and ears and low black heels complemented the outfit.