The Mills & Boon Sparkling Christmas Collection. Kate HardyЧитать онлайн книгу.
stately room, the long table capable of seating at least ten people taking centre stage.
She stood quietly next to him but he could tell she was desperate to walk around the room, touch the old furnishings and feel the ambiance of the place. He stifled a smile as she took out her notepad and pen, using the cover of efficiency to hide that fact.
‘It’s a very big table. How would you like it set for this evening’s dinner? At one end, perhaps closest to the fireplace?’ She looked up at him and he felt as if he’d been caught out as his study of her had been blatant. For a moment her eyes searched his, questions lingering in hers, and a flush of heat coloured her cheeks, something he found quite endearing.
‘Sì, by the fire is good.’ He moved away from her and the temptation she represented, but he couldn’t stop watching her.
As she wrote down notes, he enjoyed the way her hand moved fluidly across the page. With her head bent, her blonde hair slid off her shoulder, forming a curtain of gold. He itched to reach out and push it back, wanting to see the concentration on her face, to feel it with the stroke of his hand across her skin.
She looked up at him suddenly, her eyes locking with his, and questions surfaced once again in the summer sky blue of hers. ‘And the champagne? Perhaps here would be best?’ She moved further away from him and he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d held onto. He had to stop this.
Her footsteps were muffled on the carpet as he watched her walk towards the ornate sideboard, stopping to make further notes. Then she moved to the tall windows, her air of professionalism momentarily forgotten as an almost childlike joy shone from her. ‘It’s snowing again.’
Thankful for the distraction, he crossed the room to join her. As he stood behind her he realised just how small and delicate she was and a powerful urge to protect her washed over him.
He looked down at her at the exact moment she turned to look up at him. The warm blue of her eyes, which instantly reminded him of the Mediterranean Sea, drew him closer to her. He could smell her perfume, dusky roses, as it weaved around him, invading every part of him. The urge to lower his head and feel her full lips against his was so strong that he could actually taste her.
‘I had better get started.’ She ducked away from him, leaving him looking out at the view. What had just happened? He’d nearly lost control, nearly allowed himself to imagine things that were no longer possible. He hadn’t been the same man after the accident and he had no right to want any woman, especially this bubbly blonde—not in any way.
He couldn’t risk hurting anyone else.
* * *
Tilly’s heart pounded so hard she was sure it must be echoing all around the old house. For a brief moment she’d seen raw desire in Xavier’s eyes and had been convinced he was about to kiss her. No, that couldn’t be possible. An attractive and successful man would only look past her, but she couldn’t shake the thought of him kissing her. Worse than that, she’d wanted him to. The heady longing that had engulfed her so rapidly still hummed inside her, shocking her with its intensity. She’d never felt anything like this before. Was this what Jason had wanted from her when in her innocence she’d thought she could keep him as a friend?
She almost groaned aloud. She didn’t want to think of Jason and what had happened last New Year’s Eve. She’d left London to avoid doing that. Now Xavier Moretti, with his dark and brooding attitude, which called to her on a level she hadn’t known existed, opened all those memories up again for further scrutiny.
‘I have made slight amendments to your menu requests,’ she said officiously, desperate to regain control. She took in a somewhat ragged breath, trying to find her normal well-balanced sense of what was right and wrong. And wanting this man to kiss her was wrong. Very wrong.
‘So long as it still remains mostly Italian, as I requested.’ He strode across the room and she moved back away from him until she stood against the ornately carved chair at the head of the dining table, its solidness grounding her.
‘I spent some of my early childhood in Tuscany with my grandmother. It’s where my love of food and cooking came from, so I can assure you your menu will remain true to Italy.’
He stopped and looked directly into her eyes, his brows raised in question. Or was that shock? ‘Your grandmother is Italian?’
‘Yes,’ she said, unashamedly proud of her heritage. ‘She named me Natalie because I was born on Christmas Eve. My mother, however, preferred Tilly so it was only ever Nonna who used my full name.’
‘Your surname is not Italian.’ His accent had become more pronounced, but his tone was firm and controlled.
‘No, my grandmother married an Englishman, which divided the family, and my father was the only child of that love match. Then he married my mother, an Englishwoman, and they moved to London.’ She began to explain, then realised he probably wasn’t interested and that she’d better concentrate on work, instead of divulging her family history.
He took a step towards her and instinctively she moved back, pressing herself more firmly against the back of the chair, wishing he would leave and give her space to think, room to breathe. The effect he was having on her was unlike anything she’d ever known.
‘In that case, I am looking forward to seeing your changes.’ His accented voice had a deep sensual undertone, which only intensified the flutter of attraction she was finding hard to ignore.
‘Thank you, I’m sure you will be more than pleased with them,’ Tilly rambled, still confused by the way her body reacted each time he spoke or looked at her from those sexy black eyes. It certainly wasn’t professional but it made her feel alive.
He continued in fluid Italian and she blinked in shock. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, as the usual sadness washed over her. ‘I don’t remember much of the language. Nonna died when I was only thirteen. My mother is English and although we did use Italian in the home, it wasn’t very often.’
Sometimes she thought she must remember all those conversations with Nonna, that deep inside her they were waiting to come out. She just wasn’t ready for that to happen yet, because that would mean going through all the heartache and loneliness she’d experienced since her father had died. She could see now that Jason had helped her even before their childhood friendship had moved towards engagement. He’d filled the large void in her life—until he’d found someone else.
Xavier shrugged in that sexy devil-may-care way he’d done as she’d stood in the courtyard and her heart rate began to accelerate once more. ‘It is sad, no? When you have Italian ancestors.’
‘Maybe one day I’ll take Italian classes, or even go to Italy,’ she said lightly, wanting to move on from this discussion. It made her think of Jason, their broken engagement and the vows she’d made to herself that day. That had been the beginning of her bucket list. Things to do since she was no longer part of a couple. So far she’d only ticked off one, to start up her business and to provide for herself. The remainder, including finding her father’s family, still called to her.
‘Sì, you should do that.’ He moved to the door and turned to look at her, his tall body framed by the dark wood surround. ‘You shouldn’t deny your past.’
‘My past?’ What did he know of her past? She’d always made sure her private life never crossed into her business. She didn’t want people knowing about Jason jilting her hours before their wedding. It left her feeling vulnerable and she’d had enough of other people’s pity.
‘Your Italian ancestry.’ He frowned and she realised her immediate leap to defensive mode had alerted him to something he hadn’t even been aware of.
‘Yes, you’re right,’ she said, and pushed her body away from the chair and walked towards him as he stood in the doorway. ‘I will go to Italy one day.’ It was on her bucket list after all.
He nodded his approval at what she hoped was a light-hearted comment and moved to leave the room. ‘I have work to do