The Italian's Christmas Secret. Sharon Kendrick

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      She put on her bra, turned her knickers inside out and slithered Matteo’s grey sweater over her head. It was warm and very soft—it was just unfortunate that it only came to mid-thigh, no matter how hard she tugged at the hem. She stared into the mirror. And the problem with that was, what? Was she really naïve enough to think that the Italian tycoon would even notice what she was wearing? Why, judging from his attitude towards her up until now, she could probably waltz back in there completely naked and he wouldn’t even bat those devastatingly dark eyelashes.

      But about that Keira was wrong—just as she’d been wrong in making the detour via Dartmoor—because when she walked back into the bedroom Matteo Valenti turned around from where he had been standing gazing out of the window and, just like the weather outside, his face froze. It was extraordinary to witness, that unmistakable double take when he saw her, something which never normally happened when Keira walked into a room. His eyes narrowed and grew smoky and something in the atmosphere seemed to subtly shift, and change. She wasn’t used to it, but she wasn’t going to deny that it made her skin grow warm with pleasure. Unless, of course, she was totally misreading the situation. It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?

      ‘Is everything okay?’ she asked uncertainly.

      Matteo nodded in response, aware that a pulse had begun to hammer at his temple. He’d just finished a telephone conversation with his assistant and as a consequence he’d been miles away, staring out of the window at the desolate countryside and having the peculiar sensation of realising that nobody could get hold of him—a sensation which had brought with it a surprising wave of peace. He had watched his driver scuttle off towards the bathroom in her unflattering navy trouser suit, only now she had returned and...

      He stared and swallowed down the sudden lump which had risen in his throat. It was inexplicable. What the hell had she done to herself?

      Her short, dark hair was still drying and the heat of the shower must have been responsible for the rosy flush of her cheeks, against which her sapphire eyes looked huge and glittery. But it was his sweater which was responsible for inflicting a sudden sexual awakening he would have preferred to avoid. A plain cashmere sweater which looked like a completely different garment when worn by her. She was so small and petite that it pretty much swamped her, but it hinted at the narrow-hipped body beneath and the most perfect pair of legs he had ever seen. She looked...

      He shook his head slightly. She looked sexy, he thought resentfully as lust arrowed straight to his groin, where it hardened and stayed. She looked as if she wanted him to lay her down on the bed and start kissing her. As if she were tantalising him with the question of whether or not she was wearing any panties. He felt he was in a schoolboy’s fantasy, tempted to ask her to bend down to pick up some imaginary object from the carpet so he could see for himself if her bottom was bare. And then he glared because the situation was bad enough without having to endure countless hours of frustration, daydreaming about a woman he couldn’t have—even if he was the kind of man to indulge in a one-night stand, which he most emphatically wasn’t.

      ‘Sì, everything is wonderful. Fantastico,’ he added sarcastically. ‘I’ve just made a phone call to my assistant and asked her to make my apologies for tonight’s party. She asked if I was doing something nice instead and I told her that no, I was not. In fact, I was stuck on a snowy moor in the middle of nowhere.’

      ‘I’ve left you some hot water,’ she said stiffly, deciding to ignore his rant.

      ‘How will I be able to contain my excitement?’ he returned as he picked up the clothes he had selected from his case and slammed his way out of the room.

      But he’d calmed down a little by the time he returned, dressed down in jeans and a sweater, to find her stirring a pot of tea which jostled for space on a tray containing sandwiches and mince pies. She turned her face towards him with a questioning look.

      ‘Are you hungry?’ she said.

      It was difficult to return her gaze when all he wanted to do was focus on her legs and that still tantalising question of what she was or wasn’t wearing underneath his sweater. Matteo shrugged. ‘I guess.’

      ‘Would you like a sandwich?’

      ‘How can I refuse?’

      ‘It’s very kind of Mary to have gone to the trouble of making us some, especially when she’s trying to cook a big turkey dinner for eight people,’ she admonished quietly. ‘The least we can do is be grateful.’

      ‘I suppose so.’

      Keira tried to maintain her polite smile as she handed him a cup of tea and a cheese sandwich, telling herself that nothing would be gained by being rude herself. In fact, it would only make matters worse if they started sparring. She was the one in the wrong and the one whose job was on the line. If she kept answering him back, who was to say he wouldn’t ring up her boss and subject him to a blistering tirade about her incompetence? If she kept him sweet, mightn’t he be persuaded not to make a big deal out of the situation, maybe even to forget it had ever happened and put it down to experience? She needed this job because she loved it and things to love in Keira’s life happened too rarely for her to want to give them up without a fight.

      She noticed that he said nothing as he ate, his expression suggesting he was merely fuelling his impressive body rather than enjoying what was on offer—but Keira’s hunger had completely deserted her and that was a first. She normally had a healthy appetite, which often surprised people who commented on her tiny frame. But not today. Today food was the last thing on her mind. She broke off the rim of one of the mince pies and forced herself to chew on it and the sugar gave her a sudden rush, but all she could think about was how on earth they were going to get through the hours ahead, when there wasn’t even a radio in the room—let alone a TV. She watched the way the lamplight fell on her client’s face—the hardness of his features contrasting with the sensual curve of his lips—and found herself wondering what it might be like to be kissed by a man like him.

      Stop it, she urged herself furiously. Just stop it. You couldn’t even maintain the interest of that trainee mechanic you dated in the workshop—do you really fancy your chances with the Italian billionaire?

      A note of desperation tinged her voice as she struggled to think of something they could do which might distract her from all that brooding masculinity. ‘Shall I go downstairs and see if Mary has any board games we could play?’

      He put his empty cup down and his eyes narrowed. ‘Excuse me?’

      ‘You know.’ She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. ‘Cards, or Scrabble or Monopoly. Something,’ she added. ‘Because we can’t just spend the whole evening staring at each other and dreading the night ahead, can we?’

      He raised his dark eyebrows. ‘You’re dreading the night ahead, are you, Keira?’

      A shimmer of amusement had deepened his voice and Keira realised that, not only was it the first time he’d actually used her name, but that he’d said it as no one had ever said it before. She could feel colour flushing over her cheekbones and knew she had to stop coming over as some kind of unworldly idiot. ‘Well, aren’t you?’ she challenged. ‘Don’t tell me your heart didn’t sink when you realised we’d have to spend the night here.’

      Matteo considered her question. Up until a few moments ago he might have agreed with her, but there was something about the girl with the spiky black hair which was making him reconsider his original assessment. It was, he thought, a novel situation and he was a man whose appetites СКАЧАТЬ