Modern Romance July 2016 Books 5-8. Кейт Хьюит
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Mortified, she tried to move away, but Luca’s arms were like steel bands around her. ‘Stay still,’ he commanded in a low voice that was as hard as iron.
Two staff members wheeled in a cart laden with two breakfast trays, and Luca eased up in bed, taking Hannah with him so they were both reclining against the pillows, the duvet pulled demurely across their laps. Hannah wished, bizarrely perhaps, that she were wearing the gorgeous lace negligee, revealing as it was. She felt ridiculous in her oversized T-shirt that had faded to an unappealing grey colour from too many washes. And her hair... She lifted her hands to the tangle around her face and Luca smiled at her, tucking a stray strand behind her ear.
‘Nothing like a little bedhead in the morning,’ he said with a teasing smile, and Hannah blinked, discomfited, until she realised he was putting on a show for the staff.
‘I’m glad you love me no matter what I look like,’ she replied sweetly. ‘Or what I wear.’
The staff handed them their trays and with murmured thanks Hannah sat up straighter, taking in the freshly squeezed orange juice, the carafe of coffee, toast and fresh fruit and the most delicious-looking omelette. She could definitely get used to this.
The members of staff left quietly and Hannah reached for a piece of toast. She was not going to look at Luca, and remember how it had felt to have his arms around her, to arch into him... What had possessed her to do that?
‘So what’s the plan for today?’ she asked, deciding that ignoring that whole brief interlude was the best way to go. Luca, it seemed, did not agree.
‘Just to be clear,’ he said flatly, ‘we’re going to keep this as play-acting, and nothing more.’
Hannah eyed him resentfully, trying to keep the hot tide of embarrassment at bay. ‘You’re the one who insisted we share a bed.’
‘You’re the one who rocked against me like a wanton,’ Luca snapped.
‘A wanton?’ Hannah pushed aside the breakfast tray, her appetite having vanished, and scrambled out of the bed. ‘What century do you live in?’
‘I mean it, Hannah—’
‘Trust me, I take the warning. And just like you, Luca Moretti, I am perfectly able to sleep in the same bed as someone without ravishing them!’ Caught between fury, mortification, and tears, she grabbed her clothes and slammed into the bathroom.
* * *
Luca sighed and closed his eyes as the slam of the bathroom door echoed through the room. He’d handled that about as badly as possible. Calling Hannah Stewart a wanton was like calling Andrew Tyson a saint. Absurd. Laughable, except there was nothing remotely funny about either situation.
He opened his eyes and raked a hand through his hair, wondering how best to do damage control. Honesty? The truth was, he’d been far more aroused and tempted by Hannah’s slender body than he’d any right to be. When she’d rocked into him he’d felt his precious control starting to disintegrate, and it had taken its last shreds to keep from shouting at the staff to leave them alone so he could bury himself deep in her willing body. He was the wanton, not Hannah.
He had no idea why his pretty enough PA affected him this way; perhaps it was simply the strangeness of the situation, or that his senses and emotions felt raw from facing Tyson again after so many years. He couldn’t deny it, though; he’d been fighting an unreasonable and most inconvenient attraction to her since this whole charade had begun.
He drank his coffee, musing on the unwelcome distraction of his surprisingly delectable PA. He needed to focus on the real reason he’d come to Santa Nicola. He couldn’t let anything distract him from his purpose. Having Hannah upset or embarrassed was just as difficult and distracting as having them both fighting—and flirting with—a sexual attraction he didn’t think either of them had expected. It was time to nip this in the bud.
Fifteen minutes later Hannah emerged from the bathroom, her hair damp, her face composed. She wore a pretty pink linen sundress that skimmed her breasts and hugged her slim waist. She didn’t so much as look at Luca.
‘I’m sorry,’ Luca said as he pushed his breakfast tray away. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘You do have a tendency towards bluntness,’ Hannah replied as she struggled to put on her pearl necklace. This time Luca didn’t offer to help.
‘I wasn’t being blunt,’ he said. ‘I was dissembling.’
She glanced at him and then quickly away again. ‘How so?’
‘I’m attracted to you,’ he stated flatly. ‘To my own surprise.’
‘I thought it was just the morning,’ she returned tartly, but he could see her cheeks pinken.
‘It was more than the morning,’ Luca admitted gruffly. ‘I was angry at myself, and my body’s reaction, rather than at you.’
‘It must be terribly irritating to be attracted to someone like me,’ Hannah agreed. Luca realised that underneath her embarrassment, she was blisteringly angry. ‘Someone with feelings and a normal bra size.’
‘Hannah,’ he warned through gritted teeth. The last thing he needed this morning was a big, messy row with the woman who was supposed to be his compliant, biddable faux fiancée.
‘Luca,’ Hannah returned mockingly. She whirled around, her colour high, her golden-brown eyes blazing. ‘How about you listen to me for a change? I didn’t ask to come to this island. I didn’t ask to pretend to be your fiancée. I didn’t ask to share your bed! In fact, at every step, I’ve asked for the opposite. I’ve wanted more space, not less. And then you have the audacity, the wretched nerve, to call me a wanton!’
‘I told you why—’
‘And you think that makes it better? You said it like you couldn’t even understand why you were attracted to someone like me. To my surprise. Well, thanks for that, Luca. Thanks very much.’ She turned away again, her hands shaking as she reached for her pearl earrings.
All right, he could see how what he’d said might have sounded insulting, but... ‘I didn’t mean it that way.’
‘Actually, I think you did. But never mind. I don’t really care.’ She put her earrings in, shaking her hair over her shoulders. ‘Let’s just get this day over with, shall we?’
Luca hesitated, wanting to defuse her anger, but sensing that she wasn’t in the mood to be placated. Wordlessly he headed into the bathroom to shower.
* * *
As soon as the door closed Hannah released a shaky breath and slumped onto the divan. She couldn’t take much more of this ping-ponging from one emotion to the next, from overwhelming desire to incredible rage. What was happening to her?
She knew the answer to that one. Luca Moretti was. She took a steadying breath, and then, taking advantage of Luca being in the shower, reached for her phone.
Diane answered on the first ring. ‘Hey, Mum,’ Hannah said, her voice sounding weary and just a little bit wobbly. ‘It’s me.’
‘Hannah. Are you all right?’
‘Why— Do I sound that bad?’ She tried for a laugh, pressing a hand to her forehead. It didn’t help her seesawing emotions that she’d got very little sleep last night.
‘You sound tired,’ Diane admitted cautiously. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Fine. Just an intense work weekend.’ Work being the word she could drop from that sentence. ‘Is Jamie awake yet?’
‘Yes, he’s just having his breakfast. I’ll put him on for you.’
Hannah closed her eyes, listening to the familiar sound of her mother’s murmur, her son’s excited answer. The squeak of a chair, and then the sound of him scrabbling for the