The Correttis (Books 1-8). Кейт Хьюит

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      If she didn’t handle this well, she was off the film.

      He wouldn’t save her.

      And how could she handle it well? Thanks to Luca’s refusal to play along with her, there was nothing to handle. As soon as she told them there was no engagement, it would be over.

      The day was turning into a bad dream.

      She’d already ordered herself a taxi and in the meantime she was stalling, waiting for it to arrive. Once she told them the truth she’d be on her own. She had no illusions about that. She needed an escape route.

      And once she was safely away from here, she’d rethink her life. She didn’t have much choice, did she? Her past was a constant roadblock to her dream of being taken seriously as an actress. Maybe she should give up on film and work in theatre instead. Maybe she could fly to England and base herself there. They had Stratford on Avon and The Globe.

      Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she told herself that the first thing she was going to do when she was safely away from here was eat something. The second was to give that Portia woman Luca’s home address and all his personal details. They deserved each other.

      The loud roar of an engine made heads turn.

      Taylor’s heart beat faster. So this was it. ‘I have something to tell you—’

      But the journalists weren’t looking at her. They were staring at a red Ferrari hurtling towards them at a terrifying speed.

      At any other time the car would have made her drool, but right now the only car she was interested in was her taxi and this definitely wasn’t it.

      She felt a flash of panic. Already some of the journalists were turning back to her, waiting for her to finish her sentence. It was too late to back down. She was going to have to go ahead and tell them the truth about Luca. Santo Corretti would be so disgusted he’d leave her to it. She was going to have to elbow her way out of this mob alone and just hope the taxi showed up before she was ripped to pieces.

      The sports car showed no sign of slowing and she saw several journalists mutter to one another in alarm before taking a few precautionary steps backwards.

      Just when it appeared the driver was going to mow them down he hit the brakes, sending a cloud of dust rising upwards. And Taylor simply stared because there, seated behind the wheel, his eyes hidden by a pair of dark glasses that made him look insanely attractive, was Luca Corretti.

      A female journalist standing nearby reached into her bag for lipgloss and Taylor felt the anger start to boil inside her.

      This was all his fault.

      Not only had he created this whole situation with his careless lack of concern for other people, but he’d refused to go along with her plan to bail them both out. And now he had the nerve to turn up here to make sure she’d confessed to her crime in public.

      Her anger grew as he vaulted from the car and strolled towards the journalists with indolent grace. ‘So maybe I broke the speed limit just a little bit—’ playing to the crowd, he gave a wicked smile that held no trace of regret or apology ‘—but some things are worth rushing for and a beautiful woman is one of those.’

      Furious that he could be so relaxed when her life was in shreds, Taylor elbowed her way through the journalists, who retreated in fascination, their professional sensors telling them that they were about to witness something worth writing about.

      Taylor didn’t care. She was off the film anyway. How much worse could it get?

      ‘Luca Corretti, you are the most—’

      His hands cupped her face and his mouth covered hers. His kiss was hot, explicit and devastating, and when he finally lifted his dark head enough for her to speak, the only sound she was capable of was a moan. Because there was no way she was moaning in public, she stayed silent.

      ‘Sorry, tesoro, you were saying?’ Slumberous dark eyes looked down at her. ‘You wanted to tell me that you missed me, no? That I am the sexiest man in the world? The most clever? The most amusing?’ Sliding his arm around her shoulders, he turned to face the journalists, his smile disarming. ‘She is struck dumb.’

      A ripple of laughter spread across the crowd.

      Taylor was so shaken by that kiss, she couldn’t focus. All she wanted to do was lock her hands in that glossy dark hair, pull his head down to her and kiss him again. And again—

      ‘Luca—’

      ‘Mi dispiace…’ Turning towards her, he leaned his forehead against hers and smiled that smile that made women forget how to put one leg in front of the other to walk away. ‘Forgive me for not making it here on time. I am a rat. A total bastard. I don’t deserve you.’

      She stared at him, eyes locked with his, hypnotised by the sheer power of the chemistry. It wrapped itself around her like metal bands, holding her trapped.

      A sea of excited questions washed up against the wall of their own private sexual cocoon.

      ‘So it really is true?’ A female journalist thrust a microphone towards them. ‘Luca, you always said you weren’t the marrying kind. What’s changed?’

      Taylor wanted to ask the same question. ‘Yes,’ she muttered through clenched teeth, ‘do tell us what changed.’ But relief spread through her, taking with it her anger.

      He was going to play along. For now, she was safe and that was all that mattered. They could work out the detail later.

      His fingers stroked her face gently. ‘I realised there is nothing I want more than to be engaged to Taylor.’

      Another journalist stepped closer. ‘You’ve just broken a million women’s hearts.’

      ‘I’m only interested in one woman’s heart.’ He leaned closer to her, his mouth by her ear. ‘How long am I supposed to keep this up?’

      She went from wanting to punch him to wanting to laugh out loud and not just because she was relieved he’d decided to go along with her plan. She stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips along the dark shadow of his jaw. ‘Mess this up and I’ll sentence you to death by a thousand Portias.’

      ‘Portia?’ His tone was innocent. ‘I’ve never met anyone called Portia.’

      To the watching journalists it looked like a romantic exchange and she heard someone sigh wistfully.

      ‘All right, that’s enough romance for one day,’ Luca murmured under his breath, easing away from her and addressing the crowd. ‘All this attention is very distracting for my…fiancée.’

      Taylor wondered if she was the only one who noticed he stumbled over the word. ‘Yes. I need to get on with my job. So if there are no more questions—’

      ‘Tell us about the proposal. And why aren’t you wearing a ring?’

      Taylor froze. Deprived of sleep, her brain failed to think of a response but Luca pushed his hand into his pocket and there, dangling from his fingers and sparkling in the Sicilian sunshine, was a huge diamond ring.

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