Italian Attraction: The Italian Tycoon's Bride / An Italian Engagement / One Summer in Italy.... CATHERINE GEORGE

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СКАЧАТЬ was anyone else explaining to her how they felt, she would tell them to take a long cold shower and act their age. Perhaps that was the trouble? she thought in the next moment. She was twenty-eight years of age and she had never been bedded. Maybe that was what this was all about?

      She tore her gaze away from his and gulped at her wine. ‘Liliana’s a love, I can see that,’ she said when she came up for air. ‘And this does have the touch of heaven about it.’ She ate a mouthful of food and closed her eyes in appreciation. When she opened them again his face was an inch from hers and he wasn’t smiling any more.

      ‘Poor mixed up little girl,’ he said, very softly. ‘Forget him. He isn’t worth it.’

      She didn’t like to tell him he was on the wrong lines if he was talking about Jeff. She exhaled slowly. She wanted him to kiss her again, so badly it actually hurt. Which meant she had to be the most flighty female in the world, didn’t it? She had only been an ex-fiancée for a few weeks; it wasn’t even decent to start fancying another male so fast. And as she would have sworn on oath a week or two ago that it would take months, if not years, to get over Jeff, it was also a bit scary too. She swallowed hard. ‘Your carpaccio is getting cold.’

      This time his warm mouth just skimmed her lips before he settled back in his seat. ‘We will talk of other things,’ he declared firmly. ‘Your childhood. Tell me about that. Were you a happy child?’

      Actually, for most of the time she had been horrendously miserable. Her face must have told him something because his expression changed. ‘Not a good subject? Then that can wait. For now I will tell you about my childhood, sì? Which was happy. And later we will have coffee on the veranda where it is dark and easier to talk and you can tell me about your childhood.’

      She didn’t argue. She couldn’t. The dark and easier to talk bit had seen to that.

      By the time they walked out on to the veranda Maisie knew a lot more about Blaine Morosini, but nothing which told her about the man, only the child he had been. She knew he had swum every day with his friends as a child on Marina Piccola’s beach, which had involved a descent of two hundred steps; that he’d often gone out in a fishing boat with a pal whose father was a fisherman and that the fish they had caught had been baked over an open fire in a small bay only the locals knew about. He’d had his own chestnut mare, which had since died of old age, had learnt the piano and classical guitar and was a black belt in judo. Holidaying abroad with his parents meant he’d seen more countries than she’d had hot dinners, and he spoke several languages. He had been free and happy and had had everything a child could want. But he hadn’t mentioned Francesca who, according to Liliana, had been his childhood sweetheart and therefore part of his life at that time. Neither had he spoken of his years since leaving university, when he had taken over the family business.

      Maisie sat down in one of the big wicker chairs on the veranda, and once Liliana had bustled away after bringing the coffee she tried to relax. The shadows helped. Blaine had told Liliana not to switch the veranda and garden lights on so the warm darkness all around them was sympathetic to her nerves, which felt as tight as piano wire. She didn’t feel she could refuse to talk about her childhood after he had been so eloquent about his, but she intended to keep it short.

      With that in mind, she said, ‘You were very fortunate to be born here. I lived in London from the age of two when my parents moved there from Sheffield. They moved because of my father’s job but my mother never really liked London. It … it wasn’t a happy marriage. My father left when I was eight and went to America. I missed him very much.’

      ‘Do you still see him?’ Blaine asked softly.

      ‘He died when I was nine years old. An accident.’

      ‘And your mother?’

      ‘We don’t get on; we never have. I’m too much like my father, I think.’

      ‘Then your father must have been a warm and generous man.’

      She wished he wouldn’t say things like that. It probably meant nothing to him but it made her feel … odd. She shrugged. ‘He left us. That was hard to take. And when he went my mother got rid of our dog and two cats because my father had loved them. I loved them too but that didn’t seem to matter. I think from that time on I never felt the same about her again.’

      She hadn’t meant to say all that. Maisie reached for her coffee but, as she did so, Blaine’s hand closed over hers. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘You have had a tough deal.’

      Maisie’s throat tightened. He had said that as though he meant it. She knew she shouldn’t have agreed to come and sit in this warm perfumed velvety darkness and talk about things that were best left buried. She probably shouldn’t have agreed to come to Italy, if it came to that. Perhaps she was losing her mind? And he still hadn’t mentioned Francesca; all he’d done was to rave about his childhood. Not exactly fair, however you looked at it. Still, she couldn’t force him to come clean.

      She slid her hand from under his and this time managed to reach her cup and saucer. Taking a long gulp at the fragrant liquid, she found it was scalding hot and winced as she swallowed. Great, now she was minus the roof of her mouth as well as her mind.

      The dogs had been lying snoozing on the veranda when they had walked out of the house; now she felt Humphrey edge forward and position himself on her foot. Glad of the diversion, she bent forward and stroked the large silky ears. ‘Missing your mum?’ she said softly. ‘She’ll be back soon.’

      ‘I had better be going.’ Blaine finished his coffee and rose to his feet and Maisie stood up too. She wondered if he would try and kiss her again or suggest they go out somewhere over the next few days.

      He didn’t. ‘Goodnight, Maisie,’ he said quietly. ‘Any problems of any kind, phone me. Liliana has my home and work numbers.’

      She nodded briskly. ‘OK, but I’m sure everything will be just fine.’

      Did he expect her to walk through the house with him and wave him off? Or would that seem presumptuous?

      Liliana settled this in the next moment as she reappeared, saying, ‘You are not leaving already, Blaine? I came to see if you would like a liqueur with your coffee?’

      ‘I have an early start tomorrow morning.’ He took Liliana’s arm as he spoke and the two of them disappeared into the house, leaving Maisie standing on the veranda. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to follow them, but she didn’t. She sat down instead, pouring herself another coffee and drinking it slowly with Humphrey back on her foot as she heard them talking in Italian in the hall. After a while she heard a car start at the front of the house and a few moments later Liliana joined her.

      ‘Blaine has suggested he take me to see Guiseppe in a day or two if you feel confident to look after everything here for a few hours?’ Liliana said happily.

      ‘Of course, that’ll be fine.’

      ‘He is a good boy.’ Liliana didn’t seem to expect a comment from her as she bustled about clearing the tray and Maisie was glad of this because she couldn’t think of one.

      Later, up in her room, Maisie sat for a long time by the open window, her brow wrinkled and her thoughts going back and forth until she gave herself a headache. Why had he kissed her? And, more to the point, after he had why hadn’t he come back for more? Even more to the point than that though, why had she longed for a repeat performance with every cell of her body?

      Dangerous, СКАЧАТЬ