Modern Romance November Books 1-4. Sharon Kendrick
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to be in the right place at the right time.’
Or the wrong place at the wrong time. Just like the last time they’d met.
The thoughts rushed into Salvio’s head before he could stop them and he felt his body tense as he worked out how best to handle this. Because now he found himself in a difficult situation. He frowned. The amazing night he’d shared with her had haunted him ever since, but nobody was going to deny that it had been a foolhardy action on so many levels. Did she think it was going to happen again? he wondered. Was she expecting to resume her position in his bed? That once all his guests had left, he would be introducing her to another night of bliss?
He raked his gaze over her, unable to suppress the hunger which instantly fired up his blood but resenting it all the same. He shouldn’t feel this way about her. He shouldn’t still want her. That night had been a mistake and one which definitely shouldn’t be repeated. Yet desire was spiralling up inside him with an intensity which took him by surprise and despite his best efforts he was failing to dampen it. With her fleshy curves accentuated by the waistband of an apron, she looked the antithesis of the glamour he’d always regarded as a prerequisite for his lovers. She looked wholesome and plain and yet somehow incredibly sexy.
Suddenly he felt a powerful urge to take her in his arms and lie her down beside the Christmas tree. To pull down her mismatched panties and kiss between those generous thighs, before losing his tongue and then his body in all that tight, molten heat. He wondered how she would react if he did. With the same breathtaking eagerness she had shown before—or would she push him away this time? His mouth hardened and so uncomfortably did his groin and, although he was unbearably tempted to test out the idea, he drew himself up, wondering if he’d taken leave of his senses.
He was her boss, for heaven’s sake!
Shaking his head, he walked over to the window and stared out at the thick white layer which was coating the lawns and bare branches of the trees. The light was fading from the sky, intensifying the monochrome colours of the garden so that all he noticed was the diamond-bright glitter of the ice-encrusted snow.
His mouth hardened. He’d thought tonight would just be another evening to get through, before flying out to Naples for a family Christmas. Slowly, he turned around. But suddenly everything had changed—and all because of this pink-faced woman who was standing in front of him, nervously chewing her lip.
‘How long are you supposed to be working here?’ he demanded.
‘Just for tonight. And tomorrow I have to supervise the clean-up after the party.’
‘And after that?’ he probed. ‘What then?’
She rubbed the tip of her ugly shoe over the Persian rug as if she were polishing it. ‘I don’t know yet. I’ll just have to find something else.’
‘Including accommodation, I suppose?’
She moved her shoulders awkwardly, as if he had reminded her of something she would prefer to forget, and when she looked up, her grey eyes were almost defiant. ‘Well, yes. The jobs I take are always live-in.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘And how easy will that be?’
Her attempt to look nonchalant failed and for the first time Salvio saw a trace of vulnerability on her face.
‘Not very easy at this time of the year, I imagine.’
Salvio felt the flicker of a heavy pulse at his temple as another unwanted streak of conscience hit him and he recognised he couldn’t just abandon her to the wolves. He had bedded her and she had lost her job as a result of that—so it stood to reason he must take some of the responsibility. He nodded. ‘Very well. Tomorrow, I’ll have a word with Gina. See if we can’t find you something more permanent.’ He saw her face brighten and wondered if he had falsely raised her hopes. ‘Not with me, of course,’ he continued hastily. ‘That isn’t going to happen. The night we shared was many things, Molly, but it certainly didn’t lay down a suitable foundation for any kind of working relationship between us.’
Molly flinched. She had thought him kind and that his behaviour towards her in the past had been thoughtful. But he wasn’t kind, not really. He’d made it clear she couldn’t ever work for him, not now she had been his lover—so, in effect, wasn’t he patronising her just as much as Lady Avery had done? Before she thought she’d seen consideration in his face but that had been replaced by a flinty kind of calculation. Because Salvio De Gennaro could be utterly ruthless, she recognised—her heart sinking as she tried to imagine how he was going to react to her unwelcome news.
‘Do you understand what I’m saying, Molly?’ he continued remorselessly.
‘Of course I do,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t expecting to get a job with you. So please don’t worry about it, Salv—Signor De Gennaro,’ she amended, unable to hide her sudden flash of sarcasm. ‘I won’t bother you. You won’t even know I’m here.’
The look on his face told her he didn’t believe her and, despite her inexperience, Molly could understand why. Because how could they remain indifferent to each other when the atmosphere around them was still charged with that potent chemistry which had led to her downfall before? And wasn’t she longing for him to touch her again? To trace his fingertip along the edges of her trembling lips, before replacing them with his mouth and kissing her until she capitulated to his every need.
Well, that would be insane.
Molly swallowed as she picked another bauble from its soft nest of tissue paper and the Neapolitan turned away.
‘I need to get showered and changed before the party,’ he said roughly. ‘Just get on with your work, will you, Molly?’
SHE WISHED HE would stop staring at her.
Liar. Molly shivered as she picked up an empty wine glass and put it on her tray. Admit it. You like it when he stares at you. Even though his face looks all dark and savage, as if he hates himself for doing it.
And how much more savage will he look when he discovers the truth? she wondered.
It was the end of a long evening and only a few die-hard guests remained. Contrary to predictions the snow had stopped falling, allowing the chauffeur-driven cars to take the giggling London guests safely back to the capital. Vintage champagne had flowed, delicious food had been eaten and there hadn’t been a single crisis in the kitchen, much to Molly’s relief. A group of local singers had trudged through the snow and treated the partygoers to an emotional medley of Christmas carols, before being given mulled wine and hot mince pies and sent on their way with a huge donation to rebuild the roof of the village hall. And now Salvio was standing talking to a dark-suited man in the far corner of the huge drawing room—someone had whispered that he was a sheikh—but every time she looked up, Molly could see the hooded black eyes of the Neapolitan trained on her.
She hurried down to the kitchen where at least she was safe from that devastating gaze and the ongoing concern of how exactly she was going to break her momentous news. At least when you were helping stack clean plates and showing the hired help where to put all the silver cutlery, it was easy to forget your own problems, if only for a while. But at twenty past midnight the last of the staff departed and only the sheikh who had dominated Salvio’s company for much of the evening was left, the two men deep in conversation as they sat by the fireside.
Molly was in the basement kitchen drying the final crystal glass when she heard a deafening chatter outside and peered out to see a helicopter alighting on the snowy lawn. Moments later the sheikh, now swathed in a dark overcoat, his black head bent against the flattening wind, began to run towards it. She could see the glint of a royal crest on the side of the craft as the door closed and it began its swaying ascent into the sky. Her hands were shaking as she suddenly realised she was alone in the house with Salvio and she wondered what she should do. She put the