The Italians: Luca, Marco and Alessandro: Between the Italian's Sheets / The Moretti Heir / Alessandro and the Cheery Nanny. Natalie AndersonЧитать онлайн книгу.
through on that.’
Giggling, she did a final fuss in the mirror for damage control.
‘It’s not funny.’ He turned his back on her and stalked to the door. She followed him down to the foyer, watching from a distance as he pressed a kiss on the woman’s cheek, shook the hand of the older man.
‘What’s that perfume you’re wearing, Luca? So lovely and floral.’ She was as stylish as to be expected. Slim, sophisticated and coyly sharp. ‘It really suits you.’
Pascal’s sharp eyes flew from Luca’s slightly forced smile to Emily’s own on-fire face. Emily saw him swap a smile of amusement with the woman and was confused. Surely if Pascal wanted Luca and her to get together he wouldn’t be looking so pleasantly surprised about Emily’s presence? And as for the unsubtle question mark hanging over her involvement with him…
But Luca was downplaying it. ‘Francine, Pascal, meet Emily. She’s a friend who’s just arrived from New Zealand.’
Unfortunately, the way he was avoiding her eyes pretty much denied the ‘friend’ status, but Pascal and Francine both smiled and said hello. Emily managed to murmur a similar response.
‘How’s Madeline?’ Luca asked.
‘Beautiful as ever,’ Pascal replied. ‘She sends her love.’
Luca nodded. ‘Come through. Micaela has been slaving all afternoon just for you.’
He sent Emily a look then. She refused to bite at it, after all, if she were Micaela, she’d slave too. They went straight to the intimate table in the dining room and caught up on news as their appetiser was served. It seemed Francine was soon heading off to a business school just outside Paris.
‘You were at Oxford, weren’t you, Luca?’ Francine asked.
‘For my undergraduate degree, yes, but post-graduate was Harvard.’
Of course. He was elite all over whereas Emily was…
Francine turned to her. ‘Where did you study, Emily?’
‘I didn’t,’ she answered, battling the inferior feeling and failing. ‘I left school and went straight into work. Retail.’
‘Retail?’ Francine-the-sophisticated delicately speared a piece of tomato with her fork.
Oh, God, this was a nightmare.
‘Yes, you know, a shop assistant. Standing on your feet for hours, dusting, displaying stock, that sort of thing.’
She sensed Luca’s posture tighten. What, shouldn’t she admit to her working-class history?
‘Oh.’ Francine brightened. ‘I like shopping. What was your speciality? Fashion? Perfume?’
‘Sadly no.’ Emily smiled sweetly. ‘At first it was the hardware department of a bargain outlet store. Cheap power tools, drill bits and gardening implements. Then I moved around departments—footwear, toys, furniture… and I worked in a CD and DVD store at night.’
There, she’d let them know it. She was nothing on their education, their sophistication, their elitism. But she was all about hard work, and prioritising and getting things done. She’d had to. Three loads of washing on before she left the house, making Kate’s lunch, leaving something for her father. Racing home to get the washing in off the line in her lunch break and get the next load out there, all the while having dinner slowly cooking in a crockpot. She’d had it all mastered. For years she’d done it all. And now, when she was finally free of it, she felt so empty and so vacant and so out of place.
Pascal was chuckling, but with a kindly twinkle. ‘A DVD store? You must know your movies.’
‘And music, yes.’
‘I love movies.’ Francine smiled. ‘What’s your favourite ever?’
Emily blinked. She hadn’t expected them to accept her bald recitation of her utter averageness—or actually be interested.
‘If you could have studied, what subject would it have been?’ Pascal asked, seeming to understand that it was because she hadn’t been able to, not because she had chosen not to.
Emily let a genuine smile out then and decided to sharpen up her act. She’d been verging on rude and that wasn’t her. Her defence mechanism was set unnecessarily on high. ‘Music and movies, I guess.’
They laughed and fractionally the atmosphere lightened. They discussed the current films on release—half of which Emily had seen on the plane over. She would have relaxed, settled into the swing of it, but for the ominously quiet presence on the other side of her. Each time she glanced in his direction she encountered the frown in his eyes, it made her too adrenalin-charged and aware to truly enjoy the conversation.
She forced attention onto the beautiful Francine—asking her about her upcoming MBA course and then about city life in London. Which shops were the best, which were the tourist spots she shouldn’t fail to see…
Francine’s coy look resurfaced at that. ‘Surely Luca is showing you the best on offer?’
She couldn’t have known the significance those words would have. The best. Emily turned to look at Luca then, staring him out as he lifted his glass and took more than a decent sip of wine.
‘He’s trying, I guess,’ Emily answered calmly, ‘but some things he just doesn’t have a clue about.’
His eyes flashed at hers and she felt his knee under the table, pressing hard into hers. A warning if ever there was one.
‘Don’t worry, Luca.’ Pascal laughed. ‘You can’t be brilliant at everything.’
She could feel his fire crackling. After that she resorted to not looking in his direction at all. She carried the conversation completely with Francine and Pascal while he sat, the almost-silent observer.
Micaela served dessert and Luca insisted she then head home.
‘I hope you like it.’ Micaela smiled as she said goodbye, but it seemed the smile was directed most pointedly at Emily.
Wondering why, Emily glanced into the bowl. It was the creamy confection that Luca had spooned into her that day in the Giardino.
Emily paused, spoon in hand. Not sure she wanted to taste it again for fear it wouldn’t be as sublime as it had been that day. Not wanting to ruin the memory.
‘Try it, Emily.’ It was the first time he’d addressed her directly all evening and she knew then that he’d ordered it specially.
Just as she lifted the spoon to her lips she felt his hand. Startled, she glanced at him. He held his spoon with his left hand, while it appeared his other rested on his knee beneath the table. But it was on her thigh that his fingers sat. And as she tasted the sweet his fingers slid over the material of her dress, up and down the length of her thigh. She sent him an agonised look but he had his head turned and was talking to Francine.
The pudding was divine—and so was the orgasmic fantasy of sharing it with Luca…on Luca…all over…
She put her spoon down, unable to eat anything more. Barely controlling the urge to part her legs and let his fingers slip all the way up. What was he trying to do to her?
At last the others finished and Emily was glad to be able to scoop up their empty dishes and take them into the kitchen. She insisted the others remain at the table. She needed a breather—not from the guests but from the intensity of Luca, from the pent-up passion she could feel in him and the response he was seeking from her. But as she placed the plates down she heard footsteps behind her in the kitchen and he whispered her name. She turned but he caught her, pulling her backwards into his embrace, lifting her back behind the door. His mouth was hot on the side of her neck—kissing and sucking. His hands were everywhere. She leant back against him, and like kerosene-drenched wood their passion ignited into an inferno.
‘Luca?’