The Italians: Luca, Marco and Alessandro. Natalie Anderson

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      Emily slept for longer than she’d ever slept in her life. When conscious at last, she lay quietly listening for sounds of movement, but he must have gone to work hours ago. She showered in the spacious en suite, standing for a long time under the hot, heavy jet of water, washing away the faint aches from Luca’s all-physical passion. Slowly she dressed, unsure of what she wanted to do today. She hadn’t had a holiday since she was a kid. And now she had the time to consider her options—to work out what her options even were. Stomach rumbling, she headed straight to the kitchen.

      As she entered the room she could suddenly hear a noise nearby. The door to the walk-in pantry was shut, but the door beside it was open. Emily went through and looked at the stranger in the middle of the small room she’d hadn’t even known was there. She was a petite woman who looked as if she’d swallowed a beach ball—pregnant as anything.

      ‘You must be Emily.’ She spoke, a pretty Italian accent colouring her words. ‘I’m Micaela.’

      The tiny brunette was drowning in sheets. Some complex ironing contraption in front of her and a wall of high thread count all round.

      Emily nodded. Amazed at the scene, she took in the sound of the washing machine and the dryer beside it.

      ‘I can make my bed,’ Emily said hurriedly as she looked at the sheet mountain. ‘Please.’

      Micaela smiled. ‘You are staying in—’

      ‘The room with that incredible view over the gardens.’ She wondered if the view from the floor above would be even more spectacular… Luca’s own personal space… what was it like?

      Emily looked at the housekeeper again, worried. She was tiny and pregnant and shouldn’t be scrubbing the floors, or wrestling with the ironing or anything much, surely.

      ‘Can I help you with those?’ She automatically stepped in, taking one end of the sheet and helping to fold the smooth linen.

      ‘Don’t worry,’ Micaela assured her as they stacked the folded sheet on top of the others. ‘My husband usually helps and he does any heavy work. You’ve met him already. Ricardo. He drove you from the airport.’

      Oh. That was her husband? So they both worked for Luca. And Micaela knew about the airport ride. Emily wondered what she made of it—wondered if it was normal for Luca to pick up strange women when overseas.

      ‘Luca thinks I should stop working altogether, but I like to keep busy. So—’ Micaela stepped out from behind the mass of white and led the way back to the kitchen ‘—what can I get you for lunch?’

      ‘Oh. Nothing.’ Emily was embarrassed on several levels—she wasn’t used to someone preparing food for her, and was it really lunchtime already? ‘I’ll make myself a sandwich later. And I promise I’ll clean up after.’

      Micaela’s smile was almost friendly. ‘Well, if you need anything, please just let me know.’

      ‘Thank you,’ Emily murmured awkwardly. She drifted through a door and found herself in the formal lounge that Luca had gestured to last night. A gleaming black baby grand piano stood showcased in the corner. She was instantly drawn to it. Happiness flooded her—she hadn’t played properly in weeks. She ran a finger along the edge—not a speck of dust. She doubted that Luca played—it didn’t seem to fit his image somehow. But owning one that was so magnificent didn’t surprise her. Luca had nothing but the best.

      Gingerly she sat at the piano seat, a little in awe, and experimented with a key here and there, then a chord. It was perfectly tuned. But she sensed this instrument hadn’t been played properly in a long time. She stretched her fingers out, feeling the pressure of the piano resisting her. She pushed harder on the keys and then softer to get the right tone. Her foot tentatively touched the pedals.

      The sound she wanted started to come. And then she forgot her surroundings—simply sat and played as she hadn’t in years. Not the accompaniment to one of Kate’s songs—beautiful as they were—but a solo piece, just for her own pleasure.

      A step sounded right behind her. Emily spun on the seat. Nearly fell off it as she saw the small boy only a nose away watching her. So much for thinking she had any sort of sixth sense. How long had he been standing there?

      ‘Hi,’ she said. He must be the housekeeper’s son and rather gorgeous he was too.

      He said nothing in reply. His eyes darted to the piano behind her.

      ‘Want to hear some more?’

      He didn’t answer, but he looked like a yes. Emily smiled. He was cute.

      ‘Come on, then.’ She turned back to the keyboard, not wanting to make him more self-conscious and run away. She launched straight into another piece—one that he might recognise. A few minutes later she felt his restlessness at her side. She glanced at him—was he over it already? Had enough? Itching to get away? But no, he was watching her fingers on the keys and she realised the restlessness was his own little fingers moving.

      ‘You want to have a go?’

      There was a smile then.

      At first she had palpitations over some kid’s sticky fingers bashing the keys. But it was built to be played—to be used, to be loved. And she could tell by the roundness of his eyes that this was something he’d wanted for a while.

      Her smile grew as wide as his as she guided his fingers and they tapped out ‘Twinkle Twinkle’. He giggled. She understood exactly how he felt.

      ‘Marco.’

      He jumped. So did Emily.

      ‘It’s OK.’ Emily turned quickly to speak to Micaela. She didn’t want him to get in trouble. But then she saw the indulgence in his mother’s eyes and knew there was no way this boy could ever do anything bad as far as she was concerned. She said something softly to him in Italian that had him running out of the room.

      ‘Thank you,’ Micaela said.

      ‘It’s nice to have someone who likes to listen,’ Emily said simply. ‘How old is he?’

      ‘Almost five. He’ll be starting school in a couple of weeks.’

      Emily nodded. ‘He’s lovely.’ She felt braver now, able to talk. ‘When are you due?’

      ‘December.’ Micaela’s smile was different this time, full and unreserved. ‘Our own little Christmas miracle.’

      By the time Luca got home—late—Emily’s need, like a fever, had her hot and jumpy. Passion was the only cure for the madness bubbling her blood—unfortunately, it was also the cause. She met him at the door and the look in his eye mirrored hers—ravenous. Melting against him, she savagely ran her fingers through his hair. They dropped to the floor, keeping the contact of the kiss as much as they could. Unashamedly she stretched out, spreading her legs, arching up as he pressed down on her, his hands forcing fabric aside. He thrust deep as she was still undoing the top button on his shirt, only just getting him naked enough for her to curl her nails into his skin as the spasms hit and she came.

      ‘Not enough,’ he growled, rocking harder into her. ‘I want it to last…’ But instead he groaned as she clamped tight around him, flexing her feminine СКАЧАТЬ