The Italians: Luca, Marco and Alessandro. Natalie AndersonЧитать онлайн книгу.
question of the two professional singers.
‘Don’t worry, Kate,’ Luca drawled after her. ‘I’ll take care of Emily.’
Kate didn’t turn, simply sang back, ‘I know.’
Emily watched them depart, not trusting herself to meet his gaze too soon. He’d take care of her? At twenty-four she didn’t need taking care of, but she had the feeling he didn’t mean in the protective parental sense.
After a long silent moment he spoke—quietly but, oh, so clearly. ‘So, Emily, it’s just you and me.’
She inclined her head, silently applauding him. This was a man who would get what he wanted—every time. And in that moment she knew that if she was what he wanted, she was what he would get.
She was free. Her sister—her responsibility—was gone for the afternoon, she was on holiday in the most beautiful city and she wanted to explore everything.
‘I said I’d show you the best of Verona. Are you willing?’
She looked at him then. Raised a single eyebrow so they both knew she was. His broad smile made one of its appearances—boyish and fun and infectious. ‘Then let’s walk.’
She couldn’t hold back the answering smile, nor could she quell the shiver as he took her hand. His grip tightened and he flashed a whisker of a wink, before leading them towards a side street.
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘On a brief tour of some of the city’s highlights and then to lunch. Sound OK?’
‘Sounds fine.’
He stopped. ‘Don’t swamp me with your enthusiasm, Emily.’
‘No, that sounds great.’
‘Have you seen Casa de Giulietta?’
‘Yes.’ Supposedly Juliet’s balcony from Romeo and Juliet—aside from the fact that that story was fiction.
‘Of course you have. Did you leave a message?’
‘No.’ People left love notes and prayers on the wall.
‘No lover to leave a message for?’
How many times was he going to ask her that one? ‘Actually I’m not a fan of graffiti.’ She sidestepped with a grin and then narrowed her gaze at him. ‘Have you ever left a message there?’
‘I’m not romantic. What about Castelvecchio and San Zeno—been to those?’
‘Yes.’
‘Duomo?’
‘Yes.’
He frowned and stopped walking. ‘How long have you been in Verona?’
‘This is our fifth day. For the first two I took Kate on a route march around the city. I think I’ve seen most of the essentials.’
‘So that wasn’t your first opera at the Arena? They perform every other night.’
‘I know, but it was. We couldn’t afford to go twice. I just wanted to spend some time in Italy.’
‘Did you manage a day trip to Venice?’
‘Yes.’ She beamed. ‘It was wonderful.’
‘Right.’ He pulled on her hand and started walking quickly in the opposite direction from which they’d started.
‘Where are we going now?’
‘Straight to lunch.’
Excellent. Emily’s feeling of freedom grew as he led her across a bridge to the other side of the river and along a little farther until they reached some gates. Turning to her, his eyes sparkling with irresistibly sinful promise, he invited, ‘Come into the Giardino with me, Emily.’
GIARDINO GIUSTI. The beautiful Renaissance gardens had been designed centuries ago and were magnificent. The green upon green of the trees was a pleasant contrast to the grey and stone of the buildings in the centre of town. They wound their way through the formal topiary section. And although it was quieter and should have been cooler, all Emily felt was hotter and more attuned to the tiniest of sounds—the trickle of water, the hum of a bee, the shortness of her own breath…and the nearness of him.
He led her along a path, to where it seemed to be a little wilder, more shade, taller trees and a moist grotto not far in the distance. She looked at a shaded grassy bank.
‘Oh, look, someone’s having a picnic.’
‘Yes.’ He smiled that boyish smile. ‘We are.’
He walked up to the dark-suited man standing beside the spread. They spoke briefly and then the man walked away, down the path to the exit.
Luca gestured for her to come closer. ‘You’re hungry?’
As she stared she felt her insides light up. ‘And you say you’re not romantic, Luca?’ she gently mocked to cover the thrill.
‘It’s a simple picnic.’
There was nothing simple about it. A large, ruby-red blanket was spread, and scattered on top of it were round cushions in heavy, gilt fabric—deeper reds, threaded with gold. Another rug was folded on one corner—what, should they need more room or was it for them to hide beneath? Oh, Emily was tickled…and so tempted.
Beside the space upon which they were so clearly meant to recline stood a large basket. Luca had knelt beside it already and pulled out wine. As he poured into the crystal glasses Emily decided she’d entered paradise.
Unhesitatingly she sat on the rug, accepted the glass he gave her and looked across the view of the impeccably maintained garden, needing a moment to recapture her sanity before she tossed all caution aside.
‘This is incredible.’
‘The best of Italy.’ He smiled, as if he knew she’d already lost it. ‘Here for you.’
‘The basket doesn’t look big enough.’
‘I wasn’t referring to the basket.’
‘Very sure of your own worth, aren’t you?’
‘Down to the last euro, yes. But we’re not talking money now.’
‘No?’
‘We’re talking pleasure. And you can’t put a price on absolute pleasure.’
* * *
Luca couldn’t look away from her. Her expression of delight was so genuine, so pleased, it made him feel guilty. ‘I didn’t pick all this, or lay it out.’
She laughed. ‘I know. But it was your idea.’
It was. And now he felt even more guilty—he wanted to wine, dine and woo her. For one night only. And for all her fiery eyes and flirting she was more sweet than sophisticated. Really, he had no right to mess with her, not unless she wanted it too. Not unless she understood the rules. A one-off, holiday fling. ‘The hotel prepared the food.’
‘So I get the five-course feast.’
‘You do.’
‘How come you have connections at the opera?’
‘My company is a corporate sponsor.’
‘Your company?’
‘Mine.’ It was all his and it was all his life. He had spent almost the entire decade dedicated to it. Getting his education, the experience and growing the private finance firm into the extreme success it was. He had taken no help from his father. He didn’t need his uninterested parent throwing him nothing but pretty patterned paper.