Italian Mavericks: New Year Temptation. Robyn Grady
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jumped to his feet. ‘I’m sure that by the time Christmas is over you’ll have had the chance to see for yourself that it makes sense. It’s time for us to eat. Come, we mustn’t keep Cook waiting.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ protested Megan.
‘You will be when you see what culinary delights Edwina has managed to conjure up. She’s a marvel in the kitchen.’
Megan reluctantly allowed herself to follow him into the smallest of the two dining rooms where a walnut table had been set for the two of them. It looked very festive with a holly table decoration and red napkins tucked into gold rings, but Megan guessed that there would have been none of these seasonal trimmings if he were eating alone. He probably wouldn’t even have been home yet. He would dine out, or make do with a sandwich at around midnight. That used to be his normal practice.
William, the butler, served their meal and Megan found with surprise that she was hungry, very much so.
They started with mango and lobster on a green salad, a combination Megan had never had before, and she found it truly delicious and complementary. ‘Is your cook always this inventive?’ she asked between mouthfuls.
‘Always,’ he agreed. ‘She keeps urging me to have dinner parties so that she can show off her prowess.’
‘And do you?’ Megan dabbed a drop of French dressing from her lip with her napkin, an action Luigi watched closely. His eyes on her mouth reminded her of the time on their honeymoon when they’d shared a bowl of strawberries. He had dipped each one in cream and then held it between his teeth for her to take half. And any cream that was left on her lips he had licked off. It had been a truly sexually exciting experience and she dashed the memory away quickly. It was dangerous allowing such thoughts. Besides, such sensual activities had stopped once they were home and work consumed his every waking hour.
The whole meal was a gastronomic experience, making Megan wonder what Christmas Day itself would be like. Her own cooking skills were limited to plain cooking. She ensured Charlotte had a well-balanced diet, they had no takeaway meals or fast food and they ate plenty of fruit, but she wasn’t into this type of cookery.
‘You’re enjoying your meal?’ Luigi had hardly taken his eyes off Megan all the time they were eating.
‘Very much so,’ she said. ‘You’ve found a treasure in Edwina.’
‘You could eat her food all the time if you—’
‘And I’d end up piling on weight. No, thank you. I prefer my own simple cooking.’
‘Maybe I should give Edwina her marching orders?’
‘Maybe you ought to get the message that we’re not staying,’ Megan retorted coolly.
Luigi’s lips compressed and he said no more, but even when their meal was finished he wasn’t ready to let her go. ‘Where do you normally put Charlotte’s presents?’
‘I fill a stocking from Santa which I put by the fireplace, and a couple under the tree from me.’
‘Then we’d better start,’ he said.
Megan frowned. ‘It won’t take a minute; it’s too soon. What if she wakes and comes down?’
‘If she wakes we’ll hear the monitor. I thought it a wise precaution in a house of this size. We don’t want her getting lost and upset.’
We, thought Megan, as though he was already of the opinion that they were back together as husband and wife. But maybe it was a good idea to put the presents out because then she could go to bed early and escape him for a few hours. She really wasn’t looking forward to Christmas Day, which was a shame because it was normally the highlight of their year.
It wasn’t that easy to get away from him, though. After they’d placed their presents—and she was pleased to note that there was only one from Luigi for his daughter—he invited her to join him for a nightcap. Megan wasn’t really in the mood but Luigi was insistent, and she knew he wouldn’t let her go until she’d agreed.
She couldn’t help wondering how things would have been if she hadn’t run out on him. Would he be where he was today or would he have become a doting father and spent a lot more time at home? She would never know and, surprisingly, she felt a faint pang of regret that she’d never stopped to find out.
‘Would you have ever told me?’ he asked, his eyes steady on hers now as he sipped his Scotch.
‘About Charlotte?’ How had he known what she was thinking?
‘Of course.’
‘I don’t know,’ she answered honestly. ‘Maybe one day, if Charlotte began asking about you. Not simply, Why haven’t I got a daddy?’
‘Then I can thank my lucky stars that I was in the right place at the right time. I could have waited a long, long time to meet my daughter.’ And with a swift change of subject, ‘You’re more beautiful than ever, do you know that? Motherhood suits you.’
‘Flattery will get you nowhere,’ Megan assured him tartly.
His lips curved upwards into a gentle smile. ‘It’s not flattery for the sake of it, it’s the truth.’
They were back in his den, sitting in companion armchairs, the lights turned low, the fire flickering in the grate. The whole house was centrally heated, and she’d never thought Luigi the type to like old-fashioned comforts, but even so it was very welcome. Maybe the fire was in honour of Christmas. There was one already laid in the drawing room fireplace where the tree had been set up. Tomorrow she could imagine it roaring up the chimney, adding to the magic of Christmas for Charlotte.
‘Would you have gone to all this trouble if we hadn’t been here?’ asked Megan, preferring to steer the conversation back to safer grounds. ‘I mean the Christmas tree and the log fires.’
‘Truthfully?’
‘Truthfully.’
‘No,’ he answered. ‘What would have been the point? This is going to be the best Christmas ever for me—and for you too, I hope.’
‘I’m merely here to make Charlotte happy.’
‘You’re making me happy.’
His voice went down an octave, seeming to vibrate through her bones, and Megan turned her head away, concentrating on her drink, taking large sips of the vodka and orange he had mixed for her. A big mistake; it went straight to her head. Much more of this and she wouldn’t be in charge of her senses. ‘I’ve never seen you as the slippers in front of the fire sort of guy.’
‘So how do you see me?’ he asked with a roguish growl, his eyes reflecting the glow of the embers.
Megan felt them warming her—or was it the fire? Or even the drink? Whichever, she was growing hotter by the second. ‘As the tough businessman who’s feet never hit the ground. What made you buy Gerards? I thought you were in the IT industry.’
‘I still am, but I have my finger in lots of pies. I’ll tell you about them some day,’ he added dismissively, ‘but for the moment I want to talk about you. Why didn’t you tell me you were unhappy? Why did you walk out without saying a word?’
‘Because I knew you’d stop me,’ she retorted, her eyes condemning as she looked at him over the rim of her glass. Her almost empty glass, she realised. ‘You’d probably have sworn that you’d change, but I knew differently. And I was right, wasn’t I?’
‘No one will ever know,’ he answered sadly. ‘It’s hard to accept that I’ve missed the first three years of my daughter’s life—it’s something I shall never forgive you for,’ he finished harshly as he tossed the last of his drink down his throat. ‘Ever!’
Megan finished her drink also and put her glass firmly down on the table. ‘I don’t want to talk about this. It’s late, I’m