Mediterranean Tycoons: Tempting & Taken. Jacqueline Baird
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was a new experience for Kelly, having another woman to talk to, and suddenly she found herself telling Judy all about Gianni. ‘I met him here last week. He is gorgeous, tall, dark and handsome, and he works at the harbour and lives in the old town.’
‘Oh, no!’ Judy exclaimed. ‘You’ve fallen for one of the locals. For heaven’s sake, Kelly, you can do much better for yourself than some manual worker.’
Kelly stiffened at Judy’s derogatory comment. ‘You don’t understand; we are in love,’ she defended. For her it was true, and on Friday night when she had finally left Gianni she had been convinced he loved her too. He had arranged to telephone her on Monday and they were to meet next Friday at a small trattoria they had visited before.
‘Love!’ Judy laughed. ‘Take my advice, Kelly—if you must have a bit of rough, make sure you are protected.’
‘Thanks very much,’ Kelly drawled sarcastically, her anger rising at Judy’s summary dismissal of Gianni. But in her position as employee she could not really argue with Judy. If Judy had a fault she was a bit of a snob. Biting her lip to stop herself saying something she might regret, Kelly lifted her glass and took a long swallow of wine.
Judy had not even noticed the sarcasm in Kelly’s response. ‘My pleasure.’ She smiled briefly at Kelly, no longer interested, and, glancing at the slim gold Rolex on her wrist, she sighed, picked up the remote control and switched on the television.
So what if Gianni did have calluses on his hands and worked hard for a living? Did that make him any less a man? No, Kelly thought, a dreamy, reminiscent smile curving her full lips, a vivid mental image of his big naked bronzed body filling her mind. She could barely wait until Friday; she missed him so much.
‘I wonder where Carlo has got to…he is very late.’ Judy’s voice impinged on her musings, and at that moment the door opened and in walked Carlo Bertoni.
‘Oh, my God! What’s happened?’ Judy leapt to her feet and dashed to her husband’s side.
Kelly’s eyes widened like saucers at the picture her employer presented. One arm was in a sling, and a swath of bandages circled his head. His usually tanned face looked grey, and it was obvious he was in some pain.
Within minutes the whole story was revealed. He had been hit by the boom of his yacht, fallen and broken his arm. He had been to the hospital, had an X-ray and five stitches in his head, and his arm put in plaster. He insisted his injuries were not half as bad as the fact he would now miss the big race next week. Then Judy reminded him it was the last night of the open-air opera in Verona tomorrow night and they had VIP seats.
The next day Carlo Bertoni flatly refused to go to the opera. His head was aching and he insisted he would stay at home with Andrea, and Kelly should go in his place. Judy was not pleased but, as she would not miss it for the world because it was a big social occasion, she agreed.
Which was why Kelly was dressed in the pink chiffon dress and, in her matching beaded cardigan, was happily following Judy into the ancient arena at nine that night.
It was huge. Right in the centre of the floor in front of the orchestra pit, where the stage had been erected, was a square area roped off and filled with white chairs. Judy explained as they slid into their seats that these were the VIP seats. The grey chairs rising in row upon row beyond were numbered seats, and then the ancient stone slabs that rose in circle upon circle to the very top of the arena were the un-numbered seats.
With the starlit blackness of the night sky for a roof, the atmosphere was electric as everyone waited for the opera to start. Kelly’s head swivelled around in awed wonder at her surroundings; there was hardly a seat left except for a few in front of them. ‘This is incredible.’ She turned to Judy but her companion was watching the last few people arrive.
‘Now that is what I call incredible.’ Judy shot her a sidelong glance. ‘Isn’t he the most devastatingly attractive man you have ever seen?’
Following the direction of her employer’s gaze, Kelly blinked and jerked upright in her seat.
‘Count Gianfranco Maldini, the most eligible bachelor in Europe, possibly the world. Will you look at him, Kelly? The man has it all. Style, breeding, handsome as the devil, and filthy rich. He is enough to make a happily married woman drool.’
Kelly was looking, but she could not believe her eyes. The man walking to the seats in front of them was the epitome of sartorial elegance. A perfectly tailored dark suit fitted his broad-shouldered long-bodied frame to perfection, the brilliant white shirt that accompanied it showing exactly the right amount of cuff and the glint of a gold cuff-link beneath the jacket sleeve.
She blinked and blinked again. She shook her head. No, it couldn’t be… ‘Who did you say it was?’ She was totally confused. The man was the spitting image of Gianni, but with subtle differences. This man looked older; his features were the same, but the laughter that sparkled in Gianni’s eyes was not evident in this man’s cold, arrogant features.
Judy shot her an excited glance. ‘Count Gianfranco Maldini. The family estate is in Lombardy, but he has vast holdings all over the place. Carlo knows him and he is hoping to do a deal importing the wine from the Bardolino vineyard the Count owns into England.’
Kelly squeezed her eyes shut, willing the image of the man to go away. She opened her eyes again, and a dreadful fear made the blood drain from her face. The stunningly handsome man not five feet away from her even had the same crook in his nose as her Gianni, but it could not be…
‘What did you say his first name was?’ Kelly asked, still not prepared to believe it.
‘Gianfranco.’
‘But isn’t that two names?’ She was still denying the truth before her very eyes.
‘No. Think about it. The pope is called Gianpaulo; Giancarlo, Gianluca—they are all quite popular names. Especially in the kind of aristocratic family Gianfranco Maldini belongs to,’ Judy whispered to her in an aside, and then, to Kelly’s horror, Judy rose and called something in Italian to the man.
Nausea rose up Kelly’s throat like bile. She could not deny the evidence of her own eyes any longer. It was Gianni, her Gianni, but not as she had ever seen him. Tall and sophisticated, and with his unruly curls slicked back from his broad brow, he looked superb. Strikingly handsome, every inch the sophisticated aristocrat his title proved him to be.
The taste of bitter humiliation in her mouth, Kelly tried to huddle down in her seat, her heart squeezing in anguish. He had lied to her, made a complete fool of her, and with each second that passed she died a little more inside.
‘And this is Kelly McKenzie, my nanny. Kelly.’ Judy’s voice rose, and Kelly had no choice but to get to her feet and be introduced to Count Maldini.
‘Ah, Kelly.’ His dark eyes smiled down at her, and she just knew he was going to say he had met her already.
Pride alone made her jump in and stick out her hand. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Count Maldini.’ It was bad enough she had made a fool of herself over this man, but no way did she want her stupidity revealed to Judy Bertoni, or anyone else. Her hand was swallowed up in his and he gave her a quizzical look, before lifting her hand and pressing it to his mouth. She felt the electric sensation right down to her toes, and he knew, the devil, and his black eyes were laughing down at her in secret mirth at her charade. ‘How do you like our country?’ he asked politely.
She wrenched her hand from his. ‘The country is nice.’ She did not know how she got the words out. She was in shock, but her ordeal was not over, as with impeccable manners he introduced the two women who accompanied him.
His mother, a silver-haired lady who had to be over sixty but looked much younger, gave Kelly one brief glance down her elegant nose and murmured the appropriate response. The other woman was thirty-ish, beautiful and superbly dressed. She had one hand resting on the count’s sleeve, and the other she held out to Kelly. Apparently, she was his sister-in-law, Olivia Maldini.
‘This