The Italians: Luca, Marco and Alessandro: Between the Italian's Sheets / The Moretti Heir / Alessandro and the Cheery Nanny. Natalie AndersonЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      ‘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?

      And it was true. Damn it. She would. Because nothing on earth had ever felt as good as having Luca in her bed, in her arms and in her body.

      She waited in her room until she was sure Micaela and Marco would have left for the day. Then she walked—for hours along the river, trying to figure out how to fix the crack that was appearing in the holiday fling. She didn’t want it to end but she might have to reset the rules.

      Luca got home as soon as he could without officially declaring it a holiday. Who was he kidding? His brain had gone AWOL days ago. And after leaving her earlier, he had taken a detour. Another whim, another moment of madness. He’d wanted to find something for her. In his mind’s eye he’d seen her playing the piano, in that old worn shirt and thin skirt, her bare arms and naked fingers making such music. He’d never felt jealous of a four-year-old boy before but he’d have given anything to sit where Marco had been sitting and be the beneficiary of that beautiful smile and all that attention.

      He had the even stronger desire to take a few days off and take her on a jaunt—truly make it a holiday. But as that idea teased he clenched his teeth hard together; mentally he inked the line and underlined it again. Too damn dangerous. Already he was in a position he’d vowed never to let happen—he had a lover who’d lasted more than a few dates and, worse, she was staying in his own home. And while he was