Hired: The Italian's Convenient Mistress. Carol Marinelli
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and glanced at his watch. In those two small gestures he compounded every one of her fears—she wasn’t a backpacker, and nine p.m. on a dark December night was too late to start acting like one. ‘How long have you been staying there?’
‘I haven’t.’ Ainslie gave a tight shrug. ‘I was on my way there when we met. I’m actually from Australia…’
‘I have just come from Italy—first class,’ he added, ‘and I looked more dishevelled than you when I got off the plane.’
Somehow she doubted it, but she understood the point he was making.
‘Well, I’ve been here for three months. I have a job—had a job…’
‘Working with children?’
‘That’s right.’
‘But not now?’ She shook her head, loath to elaborate, but thankfully he sensed her unwillingness and didn’t push.
‘Stay.’ It was an offer, not a plea. The phone rested on his shoulder as he affirmed his offer. ‘Stay for tonight—as you say, tomorrow things may seem better.’
Ainslie opened her mouth to tell him why she couldn’t possibly—only nothing came out.
Even if a hostel was open, even if she could get in one, the thought of registering, the thought of starting again, of greeting strangers, lying in a bed in a room for six, held utterly no appeal.
‘Stay!’ Elijah said more firmly. ‘Guido is sick—it makes sense.’
It made no sense.
Not a single scrap of sense.
But somehow it did.
CHAPTER THREE
THOUGH he never voiced it, Ainslie knew and could understand that he didn’t want to be alone. Jangling with nerves after the day’s events, while simultaneously drooping with exhaustion, she sat on the sofa, tucked her legs under her and stifled a yawn as Elijah located two glasses and poured them both a vast brandy. Even though she didn’t particularly like the taste, she accepted it, screwing up her nose as she took a sip, the warmth spreading down her throat to her stomach. She knew there and then why it was called medicinal—for the first time since she’d caught Gemma in between the sheets the adrenaline that had propelled her dimmed slightly, and she actually relaxed a touch—till he asked her a question.
‘You said you worked with children?’
‘I’m a kindergarten teacher—well, I am in Australia. Here I’ve been working as a live-in nanny.’
‘Why?’ Elijah frowned.
‘Why not?’ Ainslie retorted—though he was hardly the first to ask. Why would she give up a perfectly nice job, walk out on her perfectly nice boyfriend, and travel to the other side of the world to be paid peanuts to live in someone else’s home and look after their kids?
‘What were you running away from?’
‘I wasn’t running…’ Ainslie bristled, and then, because he had been honest, somehow she could be more honest with this stranger than she had been with her own family. ‘I suppose I was running away—only I didn’t know from what at the time. I had a nice job, a lovely boyfriend, nice everything, really…’
‘But?’
‘Something wasn’t right.’ Ainslie gave a tight shrug. ‘It was nothing I could put my finger on, but it turns out my instincts were right.’
‘In what way?’
Shrewd eyes narrowed on her as she stiffened, and Elijah didn’t push as, with a shake of her head, Ainslie stared into her glass and declined to elaborate. ‘Everyone said I was crazy, that I’d regret it, but coming to London was the best thing I’ve ever done—I’ve loved every minute.’
‘So why were you standing on the platform crying?’ Elijah asked, and her eyes flew back to his. She was surprised he’d even noticed. ‘And why are you checking into a youth hostel so late in the evening?’
‘Things didn’t work out with my boss…’ Ainslie attempted casual, but those astute eyes were still watching her carefully. ‘I’ll find something else.’
‘You already have,’ Elijah answered easily. ‘I don’t know how long it will be for, but I’m certainly going to be here till after Christmas…’
‘You don’t know me…’ Ainslie frowned.
‘I won’t know the girl the agency sends tomorrow either!’ he pointed out. ‘The offer’s there if you want it.’
‘Won’t his father’s family want to help out?’ She could see him bristle—see him tense, just as he had before when they were mentioned.
He was about to tell her it was none of her business—about to snap some smart response—but those green eyes that beckoned him weren’t judging, and there was no trace of nosiness in her voice. Elijah realised he didn’t want to push her away, didn’t want to be alone. For the first time in his life he actually needed to talk.
‘Our families have never got on. When Maria started going out with Rico I didn’t talk to my sister for two years.’
‘Were you close before that?’
‘We were all the other had. I was five when my mother died; Maria was only one. Our father turned to drink, and he died when I was twelve.’
He’d never told anyone this—could scarcely believe the words were coming out of his own mouth. Her jade-green eyes hardly ever left his. Every now and then she looked away, swirling her brandy in her glass as he spoke, but her gaze always returned to him. Her damp blonde hair was drying now, coiling into curls on her shoulders, and for the first time he walked through the murky depths of his past in the hope that it would guide him to the right future, that the decisions that must surely be made now would be the right ones for Guido.
‘We brought ourselves up,’ Elijah explained. ‘Did things that today I am not proud of. But at the time…’ He gave a regretful shrug. ‘There was a family in our village—the Castellas. They were as rough as us, and after the same thing—money to survive. You could say we were rivals, I guess. One day Rico’s older brother Marco came on to Maria.’ His eyes flinched at the memory. ‘She was still a child—thirteen—and she was an innocent child too. I had always been the one who did the cheating and stealing while Maria went to school; she was a good girl. Maria always hated Marco for what he did to her; she would not want him near Guido.’
‘So this isn’t about revenge?’
‘I had my revenge the day it happened,’ Elijah said darkly. ‘I beat him to a pulp.’
‘So the hatred just grew?’ Ainslie asked, but Elijah didn’t answer directly.
‘When I was seventeen I was outside a café, watching some rich tourists. It was a couple, and I was waiting till it was darker, till they’d had a few more drinks and wouldn’t be paying close attention to their wallets. They spoke to the waiter. Their Italian was quite good—they were looking to retire, wanted a property with a view…’ He smiled at the memory. ‘There was no estate agent in our small village in Sicily then—it wasn’t a tourist spot. I knew, I just knew, that I didn’t want to be stealing and cheating to get by any more. Finally I knew what I could do to get out of it.’
She didn’t comment further, didn’t frown at the fact that he’d stolen, didn’t wince at his past, and that gave him the strength to continue.
‘I sold them my late grandfather’s home—to me and to my friends it was a shack, just a deserted place we hung out in. It had been passed to us, Maria and me, but till then it had been worth nothing. But we cleaned it painted and polished it, and Maria picked flowers for the inside. I could see what they wanted, and knew that this villa was it.’
‘You sold it to them?’