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‘I don’t think that’s for me.’ She shook her head. ‘I’d be afraid of being swallowed whole and never finding my way to the surface.’
‘It’s easy. Come on, come in. It’s really shallow this end. Think of it as a giant bath.’
It was too beautiful to resist. Just like him.
‘I’m not going in that deep end.’ She tried not to feel self-conscious as she stripped, felt better as he swam closer, looking more wicked the more naked she became.
She stepped down the ladder. It was a giant bath—but tepid, neither too cold nor too warm.
‘You’re not a risk-taker?’ He reached out for her.
‘I haven’t been in a position to be able to take risks.’ She let him pull her through the water.
‘But you’re in a position to now.’
Yes. And she already was taking a huge risk.
The floor of the pool suddenly dropped away.
‘Hold onto me.’ He put her arms around his neck. Their bodies bumped, warm and wet, and she wound her legs round his waist. His legs worked, keeping them both afloat, moving them through the water.
‘Does nothing scare you?’ she asked. He seemed so strong, so sure of himself.
‘The things that scare me are the things that happen outside of my control but that impact on my life.’
‘What—like hurricanes?’ She felt his puff of laughter.
‘Hurricanes of the human kind.’
‘Like losing your mum?’
‘Yeah, I guess.’ No laughter this time.
‘What was boarding school like?’ She still couldn’t get over that one—how isolated he must have been.
‘Actually it wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t an archetypal horror. I had good teachers, stability—year in, year out, same place, same people. My father provided the money for a first-class education and all the extras I could want. Swimming, skiing, scuba. I studied hard but I had a good time too. More of a good time than you probably did. Was there no one else for you and Kate?’
‘Mum had a brother but he lived hours away and wasn’t able to help. We were OK. I had Kate.’ She looked down into the blue; it really was very deep beneath them. ‘You like going down there?’
‘I like the quiet. The weightlessness. Free of encumbrances.’
‘You’ve got an encumbrance now.’
‘You weigh nothing in the water, Emily.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll help you go below and then find the surface again. You’ll be swimming like a mermaid in no time.’
They were heading back towards the end of the pool and she swam away from him to the edge.
‘I might be a mermaid who plays in the shallows.’ She climbed up the ladder, chanced a look at him over her shoulder and burst out laughing.
He stood, the water lapping at his hips, his erection thrusting from the water like some sort of missile, and his face bore the expression of a satyr.
‘I’m thinking you’re more of a siren than a mermaid.’ He didn’t bother with the ladder, simply vaulted over the side and lunged for her. ‘You’re going to like the shower down here.’
Emily slept for longer than she’d ever slept in her life. When conscious at last, she lay quietly listening for sounds of movement, but he must have gone to work hours ago. She showered in the spacious en suite, standing for a long time under the hot, heavy jet of water, washing away the faint aches from Luca’s all-physical passion. Slowly she dressed, unsure of what she wanted to do today. She hadn’t had a holiday since she was a kid. And now she had the time to consider her options—to work out what her options even were. Stomach rumbling, she headed straight to the kitchen.
As she entered the room she could suddenly hear a noise nearby. The door to the walk-in pantry was shut, but the door beside it was open. Emily went through and looked at the stranger in the middle of the small room she’d hadn’t even known was there. She was a petite woman who looked as if she’d swallowed a beach ball—pregnant as anything.
‘You must be Emily.’ She spoke, a pretty Italian accent colouring her words. ‘I’m Micaela.’
The tiny brunette was drowning in sheets. Some complex ironing contraption in front of her and a wall of high thread count all round.
Emily nodded. Amazed at the scene, she took in the sound of the washing machine and the dryer beside it.
‘I can make my bed,’ Emily said hurriedly as she looked at the sheet mountain. ‘Please.’
Micaela smiled. ‘You are staying in—’
‘The room with that incredible view over the gardens.’ She wondered if the view from the floor above would be even more spectacular… Luca’s own personal space… what was it like?
Emily looked at the housekeeper again, worried. She was tiny and pregnant and shouldn’t be scrubbing the floors, or wrestling with the ironing or anything much, surely.
‘Can I help you with those?’ She automatically stepped in, taking one end of the sheet and helping to fold the smooth linen.
‘Don’t worry,’ Micaela assured her as they stacked the folded sheet on top of the others. ‘My husband usually helps and he does any heavy work. You’ve met him already. Ricardo. He drove you from the airport.’
Oh. That was her husband? So they both worked for Luca. And Micaela knew about the airport ride. Emily wondered what she made of it—wondered if it was normal for Luca to pick up strange women when overseas.
‘Luca thinks I should stop working altogether, but I like to keep busy. So—’ Micaela stepped out from behind the mass of white and led the way back to the kitchen ‘—what can I get you for lunch?’
‘Oh. Nothing.’ Emily was embarrassed on several levels—she wasn’t used to someone preparing food for her, and was it really lunchtime already? ‘I’ll make myself a sandwich later. And I promise I’ll clean up after.’
Micaela’s smile was almost friendly. ‘Well, if you need anything, please just let me know.’
‘Thank you,’ Emily murmured awkwardly. She drifted through a door and found herself in the formal lounge that Luca had gestured to last night. A gleaming black baby grand piano stood showcased in the corner. She was instantly drawn to it. Happiness flooded her—she hadn’t played properly in weeks. She ran a finger along the edge—not a speck of dust. She doubted that Luca played—it didn’t seem to fit his image somehow. But owning one that was so magnificent didn’t surprise her. Luca had nothing but the best.
Gingerly she sat at the piano seat, a little in awe, and experimented with a key here and there, then a chord. It was perfectly tuned. But she sensed this instrument hadn’t been played properly in a long time. She stretched her fingers out, feeling the pressure of the piano resisting her. She pushed harder on the keys and then softer to get the right tone. Her foot tentatively touched the pedals.
The sound she wanted started to come. And then she forgot her surroundings—simply sat and played as she hadn’t in years. Not the accompaniment to one of Kate’s songs—beautiful as they were—but a solo piece, just for her own pleasure.
A step sounded right behind her. Emily spun on the seat. Nearly fell off it as she saw the small boy only a nose away watching her. So much for thinking she had any sort of sixth sense. How long had he been standing there?
‘Hi,’ she said. He must be the housekeeper’s son and rather gorgeous he was too.
He said nothing in reply. His eyes darted to the piano behind her.
‘Want to hear some more?’
He didn’t answer, but he looked like a yes. Emily smiled. He was cute.
‘Come on, then.’ She turned back to the keyboard, not wanting to make him more self-conscious and run away. She launched straight into another piece—one that he might recognise. A few minutes later she felt his restlessness at her side. She glanced at him—was he over it already? Had enough? Itching to get away? But no, he was watching her fingers on the keys and she realised the restlessness was his own little fingers moving.
‘You want to have a go?’
There was a smile then.
At first she had palpitations over some kid’s sticky fingers bashing the keys. But it was built to be played—to be used, to be loved. And she could tell by the roundness of his eyes that this was something he’d wanted for a while.
Her smile grew as wide as his as she guided his fingers and they tapped out ‘Twinkle Twinkle’. He giggled. She understood exactly how he felt.
‘Marco.’
He jumped. So did Emily.
‘It’s OK.’ Emily turned quickly to speak to Micaela. She didn’t want him to get in trouble. But then she saw the indulgence in his mother’s eyes and knew there was no way this boy could ever do anything bad as far as she was concerned. She said something softly to him in Italian that had him running out of the room.
‘Thank you,’ Micaela said.
‘It’s nice to have someone who likes to listen,’ Emily said simply. ‘How old is he?’
‘Almost five. He’ll be starting school in a couple of weeks.’
Emily nodded. ‘He’s lovely.’ She felt braver now, able to talk. ‘When are you due?’
‘December.’ Micaela’s smile was different this time, full and unreserved. ‘Our own little Christmas miracle.’
By the time Luca got home—late—Emily’s need, like a fever, had her hot and jumpy. Passion was the only cure for the madness bubbling her blood—unfortunately, it was also the cause. She met him at the door and the look in his eye mirrored hers—ravenous. Melting against him, she savagely ran her fingers through his hair. They dropped to the floor, keeping the contact of the kiss as much as they could. Unashamedly she stretched out, spreading her legs, arching up as he pressed down on her, his hands forcing fabric aside. He thrust deep as she was still undoing the top button on his shirt, only just getting him naked enough for her to curl her nails into his skin as the spasms hit and she came.
‘Not enough,’ he growled, rocking harder into her. ‘I want it to last…’ But instead he groaned as she clamped tight around him, flexing her feminine muscles to trap and release him hard and fast and revelling as he finally collapsed.
Lying beneath him, she forced herself to ignore the burgeoning feelings that now followed so fast after the physical relief. She had to remember what they’d agreed. She had to keep it carefree.
‘So, honey—’ she put on a cooing tone ‘—did you have a good day?’
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_7ed9686e-bd1a-5596-a02c-cf3098a0c7f5)
‘PLAY the elephant one again.’
‘OK,’ Emily laughed. ‘But you have to do the singing.’
She and Marco were having a fine time at the piano. Giggling over Emily’s deliberately wrong notes and the game of starting over again.
‘What’s going on?’ Luca didn’t sound anywhere near as amused as they were.
Marco leapt off the seat but Emily refused to jump to attention. She slowly turned. What was he doing home in the middle of the day?
‘We’re playing the piano.’ Coolly she answered with the obvious.
‘Marco.’ Micaela was at the doorway in a blink and her son scarpered from the room. Emily saw the anxious glance the housekeeper sent Luca. She didn’t blame her. There was something in his silent appraisal that had her feeling uncomfortable too. But she wasn’t going to let it show. Luca might be the boss of Micaela, but he wasn’t the boss of her. She was his guest—wasn’t she? Not an employee to be told off for insubordination or overstepping the mark.
Micaela said something in Italian. He gave only a brief reply, a flash of teeth and then the woman stepped back. She sent a small smile in Emily’s direction, but Emily barely saw it, too busy trying to read the unreadable mask that was Luca’s face and growing all the more irritated with her failure.
Luca heard the door click and knew Micaela had headed to the kitchen. He stepped further into the lounge, unable to take his eyes off Emily, unable to stop the churning feeling inside.
For the forty-six thousandth time he asked himself what he was doing. Jerked his shoulders because he had no idea and it irritated him. He couldn’t have left her at that hostel, he’d been right to bring her here—a week or so, she’d get sorted and they’d burn themselves out. But he hadn’t had enough of her. If anything his desire was growing. Only two days into it and here he was at home in the middle of the day because he wanted to see her, wanted to talk to her, wanted to spend time with her.
With wary movements she turned a little to the side and gestured. ‘It’s a beautiful piano. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘No.’ She looked disconcerted at his bald reply and he forced himself to elaborate. ‘I used to sit by my mother when she played.’ It was one of the few happy memories he had of her before the sickness had struck.
‘Was this hers?’
‘No. My father got rid of it not long after her death. This is the one she should have had.’
‘Is that why you have it?’
‘I needed something to fill the space.’ He shrugged. ‘I didn’t know you played.’
‘I’ve accompanied Kate for years.’
Of course she had—literally, emotionally. Only now Kate no longer needed her. ‘Will you play for me?’ He wanted to sit where Marco had.
‘Maybe later.’ She closed the lid.
He was going to take her out to lunch. This was her first trip to London and so far she hadn’t exactly had the best tour of it. It wasn’t so much fun seeing the sights on your own. He didn’t bother when he travelled for work, just focused on the job. But he felt a whim to see Emily enjoy London; he wanted to see how beautiful she was as she explored it. Only now that idea went right out the window as he stared at her, sitting at his piano.
‘You were wearing that tee shirt at the Arena.’ Her eyes were that bright green. His mouth went dry, senses homed in on one thing only—her. The need was stronger than ever. He stepped closer, watching her reaction—he could see her breathing accelerate, see her breasts tighten and her mouth part.
Sì.
He took her face in both hands, caressed her high, smooth cheekbones with his thumbs before bending close. Sliding his fingers into her hair, he looked into her flushed features, at her gleaming, dilated eyes, and raw satisfaction kicked as she leant back towards him—seeking.
This was what he wanted. He scooped her up and carried her straight up to her room, hooking her door shut behind him with his foot.
As he set her down she mumbled beneath his mouth, ‘Micaela…Marco.’
‘They won’t hear us.’ And he made sure of it by simply placing his lips back over hers and keeping them there. Kissing and connecting deep. And all the while he refused to think, refused to analyse why it was that when he was sealed together with her like this, his very soul seemed to soar. He just wanted to fly.
Emily drew the sheet over her and watched as he stepped into the en suite bathroom and showered briefly before dressing. He looked a different man from the dark angel who had appeared before. Now his expression was lighter; he was smiling as he pulled his trousers back on.
‘Is that what you came home for?’
‘Actually, no.’ He grinned. ‘But there’s always tomorrow. And—’ a quick kiss on her lips ‘—I’ll be back tonight.’ He was out of the door before she had the chance to ask more.
Moments later she heard him speaking in Italian, heard the higher-pitched tones as Micaela answered. Emily winced. He’d still been doing up his belt as he’d left her room. It couldn’t have been more obvious that they’d had a tryst. That he was a satisfied man. And for the first time in their affair, a trickle of embarrassment crept in.
What had that been all about if not purely for a lunchtime quickie? Never mind that she’d revelled in it—loving the sense of closeness that had come with all the kissing. But it wasn’t real, was it, that closeness? That had just been to stop them shouting and making even more of an awkward situation with Micaela and her son in the rooms below. All it was to Luca was the sex. There was no hint of involvement with his life—no dates, no suggestion of going out to dinner, no plans to see or do anything…
Wasn’t she good enough for even a little romance? Couldn’t he at least play at it as he had that day in Verona—with his posh picnic and fine wine and saucy sweet talk? Or did he think he didn’t need to bother any more? That he knew she’d put out for him the minute he so much as looked at her?
