The Italian's Love-Child

скачать книгу бесплатно


This was interesting. So what had made her soften? The mention of sex or the fact that he was in a position of power? ‘I haven’t decided.’ His eyes sparked out pure provocation. ‘Why? Are you going to offer to show me round?’

‘Of course I’m not! You already know the Hamble, don’t you?’ she reminded him sweetly. ‘No, I just thought that maybe you might like to come into the studio one morning—I’m sure our viewers would be interested to hear what life as a bank-owner is like!’

The jet eyes iced over. So she was inviting him onto her show, was she? As if he were some second-rate soap star! ‘I don’t think so,’ he said coldly.

She had offended him when she had only meant to distance herself, and suddenly Eve knew that she had to get out of there. He didn’t live here. He owned a bank, for heaven’s sake—and he had the irresistibly attractive air of the seasoned seducer about him. Achievable goal, he most definitely was not!

‘Pity,’ she murmured. ‘Well, any time you change your mind, be sure and let me know.’ She pushed her chair back. ‘Lizzy, Michael—thank you for a delicious lunch. Kesi,—do I get a hug and a kiss?’ She enveloped her god-daughter, then took a deep breath. ‘I’ll say goodbye then, Luca.’

He rose to his feet and caught her hand, raising it slowly to his lips, his eyes capturing hers as he brushed his lips against her fingertips in a very continental kiss.

Eve’s heart leapt. It felt like the most romantic gesture she had ever experienced and she wondered if he was mocking her again, with this courtly, almost old-fashioned farewell. But that didn’t stop her reacting to it, wishing that she hadn’t said she would leave, wishing that she could stay, and…then what?

He’s passing through, she reminded herself and took her hand away, hoping that the smile on her face didn’t look too regretful.

‘Goodbye, everyone,’ she said, slightly unsteadily.

CHAPTER THREE (#u4e89638f-2cb8-5c9e-9ca6-2e212e8b0b6f)

ONCE outside, Eve felt a sense of relief as the cool air hit her heated cheeks. Her pulse was racing and her stomach felt as churned as if she had been riding a roller coaster at the fairground. Though maybe that was because she had only picked at the delicious lunch at Lizzy and Michael’s.

But deep down she knew that wasn’t true. It was simply a physical reaction to Luca, and in a way it was a great leveller. She wasn’t any different from any other woman and she defied any other woman not to react in that way, especially if he had been flirting with you. And he had, she was acutely aware of that. She might not be the most experienced cookie in the tin, but she wasn’t completely stupid.

She walked over the rain-slicked cobblestones towards her cottage, listening to the sound of the masts creaking in the wind and thinking how naked they looked without their sails. It wasn’t that she didn’t meet men—she did—she just rarely, no, never met men like that. Which wasn’t altogether surprising. Outrageously rich, sexy Italians weren’t exactly turning up in the quiet streets of Hamble in their hundreds—or even in the TV studio.

She would go home and do something hard and physical—something to bring her back down to earth and take her mind off him. What did her mother always used to say? That hard work left little room for neurotic thoughts!

She changed into her oldest clothes—paint-spattered old khaki trousers and an ancient, washed-out T-shirt with ‘Hello, Sailor!’ splashed across the front. Then she put on a pair of pink rubber gloves, filled up a bucket with hot, soapy water and got down on her hands and knees to wash the quarry tiles in the kitchen.

She had just wrung out the cloth for the last time when the doorbell rang, and she frowned.

Unexpected callers weren’t her favourite thing. She liked her own space, and her privacy she guarded jealously, but that came with the job. One of the reasons she had never moved away from the tiny village she had grown up in was because here everyone knew her as Eve. True, local television wasn’t on the same scale as national—she had never been pestered by the stalkers who sometimes threatened young female presenters—but she was still aware that if your face was on television then people felt a strange sense of ownership. As if they actually knew you, when of course they didn’t.

She opened the door and her breath dried her mouth to sawdust. For Luca was standing there, sea breeze ruffling the dark hair, his hands dug deep into the pockets of his jeans, stretching the faded fabric over the hard, muscular thighs.

‘Luca,’ she said. ‘This is a surprise.’

‘Is it?’

The question threw her. Helplessly she gestured to her paint-spattered clothes, the garish pink gloves, which she hastily peeled from her hands. ‘Well, as you can see—obviously I wouldn’t have dressed like this if I was expecting someone.’

The black eyes strayed and lingered on the message on her T-shirt and he expelled an instinctive little rush of breath. ‘And there was me, thinking that you had worn that especially for me,’ he murmured.

‘But you don’t sail much, any more, do you?’ she fired back, even though her breasts were tingling and tightening in response to his leisurely appraisal. ‘And strangely enough—the shop was right out of T-shirts bearing the legend: “Hello, Banker!”’ She wanted to tell him to stop staring at her like that and she wanted him to carry on doing it for ever.

He laughed, even though he had not been expecting to, but it was only a momentary relief. His body felt taut with tension and he ached in a way which was as surprising as it was unwelcome. He did not want to feel like some inexperienced youth, so aroused by a woman that he could barely walk. And yet, when she had left the lunch party, she had left a great, gaping hole behind.

‘Are you going to invite me inside?’ he asked softly.

She kept her face composed, only through a sheer effort of will. ‘For?’

There was a pause. ‘For coffee.’

It was another one of those defining moments in her life. She knew and he knew that coffee was not on top of his agenda, which made her wonder what was. No. That wasn’t true. She knew exactly what was on his mind; the flare of heat which darkened his high, aristocratic cheekbones gave it away, just as did the tell-tale glitter of his eyes.

She could say that she was busy. Which was true. That she needed a bath. Which was also true. And then what would he do?

‘I need a bath.’

‘Right now?’ he drawled. ‘This very second?’

‘Well, obviously not right now.’

He looked at her curiously. ‘What have you been doing?’

‘Scrubbing the kitchen floor,’ she answered and felt a sudden flare of triumph to see curiosity change to astonishment.

‘Scrubbing the kitchen floor?’ he echoed incredulously.

‘Of course. People do, you know.’

‘You don’t have a cleaner?’

‘A cleaner, yes—but not a full-time servant. And I’ve always liked hard, physical work—it concentrates the mind beautifully.’

The hard, physical work bit renewed the ache and Luca realised that Eve Peters would be no walkover. He decided to revise his strategy. ‘Well, then—will you have dinner with me tonight?’

She opened her mouth to say, Only if I’m in bed by nine, but, in light of the tension which seemed to be shimmering between them, she thought better of it. And why the hell was she automatically going to refuse? Had she let her career become so dominating that it threatened to kill off pleasure completely?

‘Dinner is tricky because of the hours I work, I’m afraid, unless it’s a very early dinner and, as we’ve only just finished lunch, I don’t imagine we’d be hungry enough for dinner.’ She opened the door wider. She was only doing this because he had once been kind to her, she told herself. And then smiled to herself as she thought what an utter waste of time self-delusion was. Why not just admit it? She didn’t want him to go.

‘So you’d better come in and I’ll make you some coffee instead.’

The innocent invitation caught him unawares and something erratic began to happen to his heart-rate even though he was registering—rather incredulously—that she had actually turned down his invitation to dinner.

Her eyes glittered him a warning. ‘But I don’t have long.’

‘Just throw me out when you want to,’ he drawled, in the arrogant manner of someone who had never been thrown out of anywhere in their lives.

He closed the door behind him with a certain sense of triumph, though he could never remember having to fight so hard to get a simple cup of coffee. ‘These houses were not built for tall men,’ he commented wryly as he followed her along a low, dark corridor through into the kitchen.

‘That’s why a woman of average height lives in it! And people were shorter in those days.’

The kitchen was clean and the room smelt fresh. An old-fashioned dresser was crammed with quirky pieces of coloured china and a jug of copper-coloured chrysanthemums glowed on the scrubbed table. From the French doors he could see the sea—grey and angry today and topped with white foam. ‘I love the Hamble,’ he said softly.

‘Yes, it’s gorgeous, isn’t it? The view is never the same twice, but then the sea is never constant.’ She studied him. ‘What’s it like, coming back here?’

He stared out at the water, remembering what it had been like when he had first sailed into this sleepy English harbour, young and free, unencumbered by responsibility. It had been a heady feeling.

‘It makes you realise how precious time is,’ he said slowly. ‘How quickly it passes.’ And then he shook himself, unwilling to reflect, to let her close to his innermost thoughts. ‘This house is…’ he searched for just the right description ‘…sweet.’

Eve smiled. ‘Thank you. It’s the old coastguard’s cottage. I’ve lived here all my life.’

‘It isn’t what I was expecting.’

She filled the kettle up. ‘And what was that?’

‘Something modern. Sleek. Not this.’ And today she was not what he expected, either. His pulse should not be pounding in this overpowering way. He tried telling himself that he liked his women to be smart and chic, not wearing baggy clothes with spots of paint all over them, and yet all he could think about was her slender body beneath the unflattering trousers, and his crazy fascination for the flirty pink varnish on the toes of her bare feet.

Eve made the coffee in silence, thinking that he seemed to fill the room with his presence and that never, in all her life, had she been so uncomfortably aware of a man. Maybe, subconsciously, she was unable to make the transition from starstruck adolescent to mature and independent woman. Maybe, as far as Luca was concerned, she was stuck in a timewarp, for ever doomed to be the inept waitress with a serious crush. Her heart was thundering so loudly in her ears that she wondered if he could hear it. ‘How do you like your coffee?’ she asked steadily.

‘As it comes.’

But the kettle boiling sounded deafeningly loud, almost as loud as her heart. She turned and looked at him. He was leaning against the counter, perfectly still, just watching her. And something in his eyes made her feel quite dizzy. ‘So?’ she questioned, in a voice which sounded a million miles away from the usual way she asked questions.

He smiled. ‘So why am I here?’

‘Well, yes.’

He let his gaze drift over her. ‘I couldn’t help myself,’ he said, with a shrug, as if admitting to a weakness that was alien to him.

Eve stared back at him. She tried telling herself that she wasn’t like this with men. She worked with men. Lots of them—some of them gorgeous, too. Yet there was something different about Luca—something powerful and impenetrable which didn’t stop him seeming gloriously accessible. Sensuality shimmered off him in almost tangible waves. He was making her feel vulnerable, and she didn’t want to be.

She could feel the slow burn of a flirtation which felt too intense, and yet not intense enough. Part of her was regretting ever having asked him into her house, where the walls seemed to be closing in on her, and yet there was some other, wild, unrecognisable part of her that wished that they could dispense with all the social niceties and she could just act completely out of character. Take him upstairs and have him make love to her, just once. That was what he wanted; she knew that.

But life wasn’t like that, and neither was she.

‘Explain yourself, Luca,’ she commanded softly.

There was only one possible way to do that and it wasn’t with words. He moved towards her and noticed that she mutely allowed him to, her eyes wide with a mixture of incredulity and excitement. As if she couldn’t quite believe what he was about to do. But she made no move to stop him, and he could not stop himself. He brushed his fingertips over the strong outline of her jaw with the intent preoccupation of someone who was learning by touch.

He felt her shudder, even as he shuddered, and then he caught her in his arms, his breath warming her face, his lips tantalisingly close to hers.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she gasped.

‘I am about to kiss you,’ he said silkily. ‘Surely you can recognise that, cara?’

‘You mustn’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because…because it’s inappropriate!’ she fielded desperately. ‘We hardly know each other!’

‘Have you never kissed a man who is nearly a stranger?’ he murmured. ‘Isn’t there something crazy and wonderful about doing that?’

Nearly a stranger. There was something so forbidding about that comment, and she tried to focus her mind on it, but all she could feel was the fierce heat of his body and it was remorselessly driving all rational thought from her head. She pushed her hand ineffectually at his chest. ‘That’s beside the point, and besides—how do you know I don’t have a boyfriend?’

He gave a low laugh. ‘You should not have boys in your life, Eve—there should be only men. And there is no one.’ He drifted a careless fingertip to trace the outline of her lips. ‘Even if there is, he is nothing to you. For you do not want him, cara. You want me.’

It was ruthless, almost cruel, but it was true. She did.

He read the invitation in her widened, darkened eyes and brought his mouth crushing down on hers, and as her own opened in sweet response he felt desire jackknife through him with its piercing, flooding weight.

‘Oh,’ she sighed helplessly. ‘Oh!’

He smiled against her lips, sensing capitulation, and Eve dissolved, her fingers flying up to his shoulders, her nails biting into his flesh as she felt her knees begin to buckle and threaten to give way. She could taste her breath mingling with his and her body melting against his as he pulled her hard against him.

Vainly, she fought for control, for some kind of sanity. ‘Luca, for God’s sake—’

He lifted his head and looked down at her, his dark eyes almost black as they burned into her. ‘What?’ he whispered.

‘This is crazy. Mad. I just don’t do this kind of thing!’

‘You just did,’ he pointed out arrogantly. ‘And you want to do it again.’

Yes, she did. She had given him the bait to play masterful and he had taken it and she liked it. Maybe too much. She wondered if he was masterful in bed and the hard, luminous brilliance in his dark eyes told her that, yes, he probably was. But would he give as well as take?

‘You do.’ He laughed as he felt her move restlessly against him. ‘Oh, yes, you do.’

It was a statement, not a question and she didn’t answer, just pressed her hips against his and she felt him jerk into hard life against her, heard the almost tortured little moan he made.

‘Signore doce in nel cielo!’ he groaned. He couldn’t remember the last time it had felt like this. And although he couldn’t work out why it should feel that way—and why with this woman—at that moment he didn’t care. Deliberately he circled his hips against her, so that she could feel the rock-hard cradle of him.

The tight band of wanting inside her snapped, exploded into a need so fervent that Eve was swept away by it. She ran her fingers through his hair while he kissed her, his lips moving from mouth to cheek, to neck and back to her mouth again, and she was transported into a whole new land. A place where nothing mattered other than the moment, and the moment was now.