The Correttis (Books 1-8). Кейт Хьюит

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      ‘Grown-ups accept their mistakes instead of running from them.’

      Hers haunted her.

      The threatening messages never ended.

      Her heart was pumping as she backed away from him. ‘Good luck with your future. I hope you manage to convince the board to trust you before you give in to the worst part of yourself and blow it completely.’

      ‘Ah, but that’s the difference between us, angelo mia.’ Reaching for the bottle of champagne again, he leaned his hips against the fountain, effortlessly sophisticated and insanely sexy. ‘I consider it to be the best part of myself. The fact that no one else appreciates it is their problem, not mine.’

      For a brief moment she felt a flash of envy that he was so indifferent to what people thought and then the urgency of her situation propelled her into action and she jammed her feet into her shoes, the movement parting the seam of her dress as far as the waist. Gripping it with her hand, she held the two sides together and hurried through the shadowed corridors of the maze, grateful for the high hedges that concealed her from prying eyes.

      If a photographer had been hiding in the maze, or even another guest—one of Luca’s disgruntled women—it would have looked awful and no amount of explaining would have worked.

      She would have ruined everything before she’d even started filming.

      The thought of how close she’d come to doing just that made her feel sick.

      Weak with relief that her reputation was still intact, she pulled her phone out of her bag and texted the designer one-handed.

      Ready to be sewn back into my dress. Meet me by the maze.

      Luca let her go, that exercise in self-restraint costing him dearly in terms of physical discomfort. He shifted slightly and decided he didn’t dare leave the maze until his hormones had settled down.

      Lifting the champagne to his lips, he paused as he spotted a woman approaching down another greenlined tunnel.

      ‘Luca, there you are!’

      Cursing under his breath, he lowered the bottle of champagne. ‘Paula!’

      ‘It’s Portia.’

      ‘That’s what I said. The maze distorts sound.’

      Her eyes were a little less warm than they’d been earlier. ‘Were you hiding from me?’

      ‘I didn’t trust myself around you,’ Luca said smoothly. With the taste of Taylor still on his lips, he felt no inclination to take her up on her less than subtle invitation. ‘Last night should not have happened. You’re a beautiful woman but I need to behave myself.’

      Her eyes narrowed and she stared down the path where Taylor had recently disappeared. ‘Really? So you’re telling me women are off the agenda today?’

      Something in her tone made Luca wonder if she’d seen Taylor but he decided that wasn’t possible. No one could have sneaked up on them without him noticing.

      ‘Sadly, yes. What we shared was very special—’ he pulled out one of his stock phrases ‘—but I can’t risk anything else at this point which is killing me because last night was one of the best of my life.’

      ‘All right. If that’s the way it has to be then so be it.’ She looked at him for a long moment, as if she were working something out. ‘You’re never going to forget me, Luca Corretti.’

      ‘Of course I’m not.’

      ‘And you’ll never again forget my name.’

      ‘It’s your own fault for being beautiful—I take one look at your face and my memory goes.’

      Three minutes, Luca thought idly, glancing to the place he’d last seen Taylor and missing the jealous glint in the woman’s eye. That was how long it would take him to forget her.

      Forty-eight hours later Taylor sat in the back of a limo as she was driven to the docklands for filming to begin. She’d spent the entire previous day locked in her hotel room checking every online newspaper and gossip column for pictures, terrified that her momentary lapse with Luca might have been captured on camera. When she realised she’d got away with it she’d been weak with relief.

      From now on she was going to keep well away from men like Luca Corretti.

      Never again would she do something that gave a man power over her.

      But even as she thought that, she knew that her response hadn’t been driven by stupidity but by a raw attraction so strong nothing could have prepared her for it.

      And it wasn’t just his physical appeal that had caused her downfall, it had been something else. Something layered beneath the surface of masculine perfection. An honesty that presented a stark contrast to the atmosphere of falseness that had hovered over the wedding. Yes, that was it. Luca Corretti embraced everything he was. He took what he wanted without explanation or apology and that was—she struggled to describe it—refreshing.

      She felt a twinge of envy and dismissed it instantly. She didn’t want to be like Luca, a slave to her emotions. Her life had been so much happier since she’d been in control.

      ‘We’ll be there in ten minutes, Miss Carmichael.’

      The voice of her driver came through the intercom and excitement buzzed through her. She couldn’t wait to be back on a film set. She was going to throw herself into her work and forget about her narrow escape. And forget about Luca.

      Blocking out disturbing memories of that kiss, Taylor leaned her head back against the seat, finally able to think back to the wedding and laugh. What a crazy day. She still couldn’t believe that Luca’s brother Matteo had run off with the bride before she’d made it as far as the altar. Bad behaviour was obviously in the DNA, but she was grateful for that because all the attention that had been focused on her had immediately switched to the Corretti family.

      She shook her head at the irony of it.

      And Santo Corretti had been worried about her causing a scandal.

      As the car approached the docklands area, she noticed the pack of photographers pressed against the security fence and her heart sank.

      There were so many of them, no doubt all waiting for her to screw up on her first day and give them a nice juicy headline.

      Was it going to be like this all the time?

      Her phone buzzed with a text and she checked it quickly, her heart rate doubling when she saw it was from Rafaele.

      New phone. New number. And still he had no trouble contacting her.

      She hesitated and then opened the text.

      Good luck today. Enjoy Sicily.

      Flinging the phone back in her bag, she rubbed her forehead with fingers that shook. She felt as if she’d been dipped in iced water. He wasn’t wishing her luck, he was telling her that he knew exactly what she was doing and where she was doing it.

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