“The papers won’t be out yet. You’ve got a few hours to come up with something—something to tell your family.”

“I don’t need a few hours.” The haughty face softened then, an almost apologetic smile brushing over his lips. “Because I already have a solution.”

“Oh, no—absolutely no.”

“You would want for nothing.” He gave a devilish smile that had her insides doing somersaults. “Particularly in bed. Marry me, and I’ll sign the resort back over to your father. Marry me, and your parents will have the peace they crave.”

The Italian’s Marriage Bargain

Carol Marinelli

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Introduction

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

HE WAS beautiful.

Opening her eyes, trying to orientate herself to her surroundings, Felicity knew there should have been a million and one questions buzzing in her mind. Her hazel eyes slowly worked the room, searching for a landmark, a clue as to what exactly she was doing in this elegantly furnished room, in this vast bed and—perhaps more pointedly, as one heavy arm draped more tightly around her—the question should be begged, what on earth was she doing lying in Luca Santanno’s arms?

Santanno.

Just thinking that name sent an icy shiver down her spine, a fierce surge of hatred for a man she’d never even met, a man who with one stroke of his expensive pen had changed her family’s lives for ever.

But for an indulgent moment before sanity prevailed, before questions demanded answers and the inevitable world rushed in, Felicity gazed across the pillow at her bedfellow, allowing herself a stolen moment of appreciation, a decadent glimpse of a man so exquisitely featured, so picture-perfect it was hard to believe that someone so beautiful could cause so much pain.

Beautiful.

From the jet hair that fanned his chiselled face, the long lashes on full, heavy-lidded eyes, to the wide, sensual mouth, a splash of colour amidst the dark shadow of early-morning growth that dusted his strong, angular jaw, every part of him was exquisite.

An involuntary sigh so small it was barely there escaped Felicity’s lips as her eyes worked the length of him. He was tall. His olive-skinned feet, that should be encased in smart Italian shoes to match the dark suit trousers he wore, hung precariously close to the bottom of the bed, and his legs seemed to go on for ever. Felicity’s gaze avoided the bit in the middle and moved straight to the white cotton shirt he was wearing.

The dark mascara smudge marring the crisp cotton spoke for itself—she’d been crying.

Worse than that, she’d been crying in Luca’s arms.

The realisation truly appalled her. She never cried—never! Never lowered her guard like that. Raking her mind she tried to think of one exception, but none was forthcoming. Even when Joseph had died she’d kept a lid on her grief, refusing to go down that awful path, refusing to let out her pain. Her mind reeled in horror and she mentally fought to slam the window closed, to stop the images not only of last night but of the last few years from flying in, to return to the safe haven she had found, lying in the semi darkness with only beauty on her mind.

But images were starting to flood in—snapshots she didn’t want to see, pictures she would rather forget—and the pleasant awakening she had relished for such a brief moment was starting to disperse as cruel reality broke through.

‘Good morning.’ Even before he spoke Felicity knew his voice—heavily accented, the slow measured cadence making those two simple words strangely erotic. Dragging her attention upwards, she found herself staring directly into the bluest eyes she had ever seen, and she felt the heat of a blush spreading from her chest, up over her neck to her cheeks. She wished she had used those hazy moments earlier to fashion a response to the inevitable questions that would follow.

‘Good morning.’ Not the wittiest of answers, Felicity realised, and nowhere near as sexy with her mild Australian accent, but it was all the fog where her brain had once been could come up with. He was pulling his arm free from under her, stretching out lazily on the bed, not even bothering to smother a yawn that showed a long pink tongue and very white teeth, as relaxed and at ease with himself as if he woke up with strange women in his bed each and every morning.

He probably did, Felicity thought as those blue eyes landed on her again. With looks like that and… She glanced around the room again, just in case her eyes had been playing tricks, but they hadn’t; the heavy mahogany furnishings, the crystalware, the vast golden drapes all reeked of wealth and confirmed the fact that the man who lay beside her could have any woman he wanted—any woman at all.

And for a shameful, terrifying moment Felicity realised she didn’t even know if she’d already been added to what was undoubtedly a long list.

‘I expect you would like some coffee?’ He didn’t wait for her response, just picked up the telephone, reciting in Italian what seemed an inordinately complicated order for a simple coffee. Only then did it dawn on Felicity that they were actually in a hotel.

And not just any hotel, if she remembered rightly. She was staying at one of Luca Santanno’s luxury hotels.

The question was though, which one?

‘We are still in Australia, I assume?’ she asked as he hung up the telephone. ‘This isn’t the nightmare of the century and I’ve woken up in Italy?’

He laughed, actually laughed, and to Felicity’s surprise she found herself actually smiling back at him, strangely pleased at the response to her vague attempt at humour. ‘Yes, Felice, we are still in Australia. Your mystery tour stops here. I spoke in Italian then because Rico, who I was just talking to, is from my home town in Moserallo. There are a lot of Italians on my staff.’

‘To remind you of home?’

He laughed again. ‘No, my family has a lot of friends and a lot of…’ She waited as he paused, and the words that came out made Felicity smile even more. ‘…a lot of wild cats and dogs backpacking around the world, who all decide to look up Luca for a job.’

At least she was in the right country, but the room she and Matthew had was small—not that it had seemed so at the time, but compared to this…

Matthew!

With a whimper of horror Felicity pulled the counterpane tighter around her, waves of panic threatening to drown her as she began to realise the true horror of her situation.

‘I asked for some iced water also,’ Luca said, apparently oblivious to her sudden distress. ‘I expect you are thirsty.’

That was the understatement of the millennium. Her mouth felt as if someone had emptied a vacuum bag inside it, but even that was small fry compared to the heavy throbbing in her head the small movement had caused.

‘Thank you.’ Felicity sat up gingerly, pulling the heavy counterpane up and around her, acutely aware that all she was dressed in was some very small panties and a rather sheer bra. ‘Thank you,’ Felicity said again, clearing her throat with a small cough and wishing her mind would work, throw her some clue, some tiny snippet as to what on earth she was doing here.

‘Are you all right?’ He sounded concerned, his forehead furrowing as he looked at her closely. The colour drained away from her flushed round face as she sat up, blonde hair starting to escape from the French coil that had held it last night, petite hands moving up to her temples, which she massaged slowly, screwing her eyelids closed tightly.

‘Actually, no,’ Felicity said, taking a very deep breath and then exhaling out through her full lips, wishing the wretched room would stop moving for a moment so she could gather her thoughts. ‘In fact I don’t feel very well at all.’

‘I’m sure you don’t.’ The concern had gone from his voice, the sliver of sympathy she could have sworn she’d heard retracted so sharply Felicity opened her eyes abruptly.

‘Look, I’m so sorry—’ Felicity started, her mind racing, words spilling out of her mouth. ‘I really don’t know what’s happened. I’m staying here with…’ she hesitated, unsure what title to give Matthew ‘…my boyfriend; we were at the award ceremony…’

He was staring at her, one quizzical eyebrow raised, as she struggled to make an excuse and work out how the hell she could get out of here with even a shred of dignity, how she could get back to her and Matthew’s room and, more importantly, what possible excuse she could come up with to stop Matthew finding out where she had been…

‘I think I must have food poisoning, or the flu or something. I must have made a mistake and wandered into the wrong room…’ Her voice trailed off as his other eyebrow joined its partner in his hairline, and somewhere at about that point Felicity admitted defeat.

‘I’ve got a hangover, haven’t I?’ she mumbled, completely unable to meet his eyes, pleating the counterpane with her fingers.

‘I would suggest so.’ He gave a very small nod and she was positive, as his lip twitched slightly, that he was laughing at her, enjoying her utter humiliation. Felicity decided she had had enough. Coiling the counterpane tightly around her, ignoring the million hammers pounding in her head, she stood up. There was no point wasting her time with excuses. Whatever had happened, whatever awful mess she had got into last night, sitting here watching him enjoying her utter misery wasn’t going to solve anything.

‘I have to go.’ How Felicity wished she was one of those sophisticated women she had seen in the movies. How she wished she could manage a mystical smile and sashay off as she blew a kiss. But waking up in a strange man’s bedroom—in any man’s bedroom, come to that—was uncharted territory for her, and her usually confident demeanour, the slight air of aloofness she generally portrayed, didn’t seem to be surfacing this morning.

Tears were threatening now, but Felicity blinked them away. Whatever had possessed her to weep in Luca’s arms last night certainly wasn’t about to be repeated—and, sniffing none too graciously, she cast her eyes around the room in an attempt to find her clothes.

Skimming the room, she located her shoes and bag and hobbled over. The counterpane—wrapped way too tightly to merit a graceful manoeuvre but Felicity was past caring. She had to get back to Matthew, had to hope to that he was somehow as hungover as her and miraculously would not notice her creeping in at the crack of dawn.

‘If you’re looking for your dress, Housekeeping will bring it up shortly.’

It was all too much. With a small sob of frustration Felicity lowered herself onto the edge of the bed, resting her head in her hands. Her carefully pinned hair finally collapsed under the strain and unravelled in a blonde curtain around her shoulders tumbling across her face, and for a moment she took refuge under the golden curtain. For a second or two she welcomed its temporary veil as she tried to fathom how she, Felicity Conlon, meticulously organised, completely in control, could have made such an utter mess of things.

Last night had been planned down to the minutest detail. She had attacked it in the same careful way she tackled any job that needed to be done—determinedly pushing emotion aside, looking at every angle, checking and rechecking details until she was sure she had every possible scenario covered.

Last night had been business.

‘I didn’t just wander in here, did I?’ Felicity mumbled, undignified memories not just trickling now, but gushing in with horrible precision. ‘You carried me.’

‘I did.’

‘You were going to sleep on the sofa,’ Felicity ventured. ‘I didn’t want to go downstairs—’

‘To be with your boyfriend,’ Luca broke in, his lips curling somewhat around the word. ‘Right again. So I agreed you could stay here, in my bed, and said that I would sleep on the sofa.’

That much made sense. She’d got the four corners of last night’s jigsaw now, and was working on the bottom line, but the rest of it still lay in a higgledy piggledy pile in her cluttered mind.

‘So why did I…?’ He registered her nervous swallow, the dusting of pink on her far too pale cheeks and fought back a smile. ‘Why did I wake up in your arms? Why weren’t you on the sofa?’

‘You asked me to share the bed.’ Luca’s voice was slow and measured, every word a scorching indignity as she screwed her eyes more tightly closed. ‘I refused at first. Naturally I was concerned, given your…’ a small cough, another sting of shame ‘…given your inebriated state and your lack of attire.’

‘But you came over anyway.’ Her attempt to discredit him, to exert some control over this hopeless situation, was quickly and skilfully rebuffed.

‘You were insistent,’ he countered. ‘Most insistent.’

‘Oh.’

‘In fact you became quite hysterical. Rather than slapping you on the cheek, I lay down with you.’

‘Oh.’ He was speaking the truth. Ever if she’d doubted him for a moment, his words had set off a fresh cascade of memories. Luca begging her to be quiet; Luca pouring her water, standing like a protective parent and insisting she drank it; Luca pulling tissues out of a box, wiping away black mascara-laced tears… But through the murky depths of her despair a rather more disturbing image was taking shape. Luca taking her in his arms, holding her not gently, not tenderly, but firmly, clamping his arms around her, that beautiful methodical voice talking over her tears, on and on until…

Felicity took a shaky breath. She could almost feel the hand that had soothed her last night there on the back of her neck, working in small, ever-decreasing circles, massaging away the tension, the pain, working its way along her shoulders, soothing her as one might a child coming out of a nightmare.

But there had been nothing childlike about the response it had triggered, nothing innocent in the way her body had responded to the mastery of his touch. And, sitting there, dejected, embarrassed and utterly, utterly humiliated, Felicity knew there was one final question that really needed to be asked—one awful answer to complete her despair, one more nail to bang into the coffin before she made her way back to her own room and attempted to salvage something from the wreck that last night had turned out to be.

‘Did we…?’ Felicity swallowed, cleared her throat, looked him in the eye and squared her shoulders, ready to face the world—or, more importantly, her conscience. ‘Did we do anything?’

‘We talked,’ Luca clipped. ‘Or rather you talked and I listened.’

‘I’m sorry if I bored you.’ He didn’t reciprocate her tight smile, made no attempt to elaborate further, and it was left to Felicity to pursue this most shameful line of conversation. ‘So, if all we did was talk, how did I end up minus a dress?’

‘When we first came back to the room I ordered some strong coffee. I was hoping it would sober you up. It might have worked had you not spilled it. Your dress is down with Housekeeping.’ He put her out of her misery then, and if Felicity had looked up she’d have seen a surprisingly gentle smile soften his stern features. ‘We didn’t make love, if that’s what is concerning you; though since you choose to bring up the subject…’

‘I didn’t,’ Felicity argued, but of course Luca ignored her.

‘Since you bring up the subject,’ he repeated, his husky, deep voice halting her protests, ‘had we made love, you most certainly wouldn’t need to be reminded of the fact. When I make love to a woman I can assure you she has no trouble remembering the occasion!’

Shooting a glimpse from under her eyelashes, Felicity knew, as arrogant and presumptuous as his statement sounded, he was undoubtedly speaking the truth. There was nothing unforgettable about him—not a sliver of him could be labelled dispensable—and, however reluctantly, there and then Felicity had to admit that a night being made love to by a man as effortlessly sensual as Luca Santanno would be a night no woman could even pretend to forget.

‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’

Felicity swallowed hard. Still she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. ‘For not taking advantage.’

‘Believe me, it wasn’t difficult.’

Ouch!

‘So we definitely didn’t?’ Felicity checked unnecessarily, her cheeks positively flaming now.

‘We definitely didn’t. I happen to prefer my women conscious.’

Felicity chose to ignore that particular little gem and, blinking a couple of times, felt what was suspiciously like relief start to flood her veins.

Things were still salvageable!

Okay, staying out all night wasn’t going to go down particularly well with Matthew, and undoubtedly she’d have to omit to mention exactly whose bed she’d awoken in—after all, Luca was effectively Matthew’s business partner—but the fact she hadn’t slept with Luca offered at least a temporary reprieve. She would get her things and get the hell out, with hopefully no damage done.

Straightening her shoulders, she lifted her hair away from her eyes and flicked it back, forcing a tiny smile as she caught Luca still staring at her, even attempting to inject a flash of humour into this rather unusual situation.

‘Whoops!’

He didn’t smile back, just rolled over sideways, propping himself on his elbow, and resumed his blatant stare. ‘Whoops?’ he said in a very low, very sardonic drawl.

‘I’m sorry,’ Felicity ventured again, the watery voice now replaced by her more confident tones. ‘You see, I don’t normally drink—well, not spirits. The occasional glass of wine I enjoy…but as for spirits, well I don’t even like the taste. I just had a couple for courage, you know.’

He shook his head and Felicity gave a small shrug. ‘I’m sure someone like you doesn’t need any help in the courage department.’

‘I wasn’t aware you had been drinking.’ His words confused her, and she frowned as he continued, wondering if somewhere along the line she had misinterpreted him, if his English was really less fluent than it first appeared. ‘Just how much did you have last night?’

‘Two vodka and oranges.’ Felicity pulled a face. ‘And if this is what it does to me I’m glad that I don’t normally drink. How could people do this for pleasure?’ She was starting to ramble, the words spilling out from her mouth like a runaway train. She wished Luca would smile, look away, shrug, even—anything rather than stare at her with that slightly quizzical superior look.

‘You really think that two vodka and oranges could have that effect?’ he asked finally, but when Felicity opened her mouth to speak Luca got there first, his eyes never leaving her face, watching every flicker of reaction as his words reached her. ‘Do you still not realise that your drinks were being spiked?’

‘You spiked my drinks?’ Startled, she went to stand, but Luca let out a hiss of indignation, flicking one hand in a derisive Latin gesture and muttering something in Italian that Felicity assumed wasn’t particularly complimentary, as realisation with the help of a few extremely hazy recollections, finally dawned. ‘Matthew spiked them.’

The surge of anger that welled inside her didn’t bode very well for the pounding drums in her head, and Felicity screwed her eyes closed as she grappled with this latest vile flaw in Matthew’s personality.

Confirmation, if ever she needed it, of just how low Matthew would stoop to get what he wanted. The clanging gates of the prison door banged ever more loudly as she further realised the murky depths of his personality. Proof that the extreme lengths she was taking to curtail him were necessary.

Very necessary.

‘My staff alerted me to what was going on,’ Luca went on, but Felicity was only half listening—too busy concentrating on her awful predicament to concern herself with small details. ‘You will remember I was actually sitting at the next table to you?’

‘Mmm.’ She gave a small shrug, a vague shake of her head, but as her blush came back for an encore Felicity knew she wasn’t fooling him. The earlier part of the evening was still fairly fresh in her mind, and six-foot-four of Latin good looks at the next table certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed—even with a rather over-attentive Matthew at her side. The white-hot look that had passed between them when their eyes had met last night was scorched with aching clarity onto her mind, but she certainly wasn’t about to inflate Luca’s ego by admitting it.

‘You ordered the non-alcoholic summer berry beverage that was on the menu; in fact you ordered three of them.’

‘Yes, but like I said I had those wretched vodkas, and then there was wine with dinner…’

‘Well, what you actually got was a questionable version of a strawberry daiquiri—and, more pointedly, three of them. Your partner made his way to the bar each time you ordered and told the bar staff you’d changed your mind. He also made very sure that he got a different member of staff each time, and it wasn’t until he tried to change your order for the fourth time that one of the other staff overheard him.’

Felicity ran a hand through her hair, furious with Matthew, but more importantly furious with herself for not realising what was going on, for being so naive as to think that the illicit two drinks she’d partaken of earlier could have had such a huge effect. But her fury was starting to take a new direction now. It was all very well for Luca to take the high moral ground, all very well for him to dictate how his guests behaved, to dash in uninvited and play the proverbial knight in shining armour, but he didn’t know the circumstances—Luca didn’t realise just how significant last night had been for her and, more importantly, her father. She wished Luca had damned well stayed out of it and just let the night run its awful, inevitable course.

At least it would have been over and done with.

‘I will be having a few stern words with Matthew this morning. If this is the type of behaviour he indulges in then perhaps he should look for other employment!’

A small groan escaped her lips. ‘Please don’t,’ Felicity begged. It was essential Luca stayed out of it, imperative she persuaded him to leave well alone. ‘He really didn’t mean it. You know what Matthew can be like.’

‘I have no idea what Matthew is like. How can I when I have met him two, maybe three times?’ Luca shrugged dismissively but his features sharpened as he saw the question in Felicity’s eyes. ‘Has Matthew been saying any different?’

Oh, Matthew had been telling another story, all right. According to Matthew, he had a hotline to Luca—a hotline he was more than prepared to use if Felicity didn’t toe the line. But that wasn’t the issue here, Felicity realised. The issue here was damage control. She simply couldn’t risk upsetting Matthew, couldn’t risk her parents’ stab at, if not eternal happiness, at least some semblance of peace.

Luca just had to believe her.

‘Matthew and I—’ Felicity started, her blush deepening with each awkward word. ‘Well, we were going to…’ Her eyes shot up, pleading for Luca to put a halt to this, to raise his hand and say that he didn’t need details, that he’d got the message.

But Luca didn’t. Instead he stood there haughtily, his lips firmly closed, looking right at her, her obvious discomfort at the subject not bothering him in the least. Sinking her eyes to the ground, she settled for the less daunting sight of his feet as she mumbled what she hoped would be the conclusion to this embarrassing subject.

‘We were going to get engaged…’ Her voice was barely audible now, trailing off into a low whisper as she hopefully began to conclude this most difficult conversation. Casting a nervous glance up she saw the confusion in his eyes, listened as he took in a breath, opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind midway and closed it again. ‘That’s why I needed a drink. I was nervous,’ Felicity explained patiently.

But Luca, it would appear, was having trouble with his own jigsaw. Shaking his head, he opened his mouth again. Only this time the words that came out had none of his usual assured tones; instead he sounded utterly perplexed. ‘Why would you be nervous? Why would you be so daunted by something so nice?’

‘I just was.’ Felicity shrugged. She certainly wasn’t about to tell Luca the more personal details, tell him that Matthew had made his intentions very clear. There would be no more reluctant kisses on her doorstep, no more hiding behind her never ending excuses. Matthew was going to claim what he assumed was rightly his.

And there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it.

Deciding she’d already said way too much, she stood up and attempted a haughty flick of her hair. ‘Let’s just leave it there, shall we? Could you please ring Housekeeping and have my dress sent up? I’d really like to get dressed.’ She stood for what felt like a full minute, and when Luca made no attempt to reach for the telephone gave a shrug. ‘Fine, it that’s the way you want to play it then I’ll do it myself.’ Picking up the receiver, she ran a finger down the numbers before her, ignoring the holes being burnt into her bare shoulder as Luca blatantly stared. She didn’t have to justify herself to him. If he wanted to go around playing the hero, he’d better just look for another damsel in distress.

‘Okay, I can understand you might have been a little uptight,’ Lucas conceded, resuming their discussion as if the most recent part of their conversation hadn’t even taken place. Felicity hesitated momentarily, her hand poised over the number nine digit on the telephone. ‘But why would Matthew want to get you drunk? What sort of a man would want to propose to a woman when she wouldn’t even be able to remember it the next morning?’

She let out a low, hollow laugh, and Luca watched as her cream shoulders stiffened momentarily, her slender hand shaking slightly as it hovered over the telephone. He had to strain to catch the resigned and weary words, imaging those full lips pulled into a taut strained line. ‘A determined one.’

The defeat in her voice, the utter exhaustion, stirred something within him. Suddenly his feelings towards Matthew, the so-called man who had annoyed him last night, shifted from distaste to disgust, from scorn to a black churning fury. But not a trace of it was betrayed in his voice. He realised that one misplaced word would have her back on the defensive, would have her marching out of his room and out of his life.

He didn’t want her to go.

The realisation astounded him. Last night he had been concerned, as worried as he would have been at seeing any guest, any woman, being taken advantage of, being beguiled in such a way. But it was over now. He had done his moral duty, averted the problem. She was sober now, able to make her own calls. If she wanted her dress, wanted to go back to that snake’s room, then why shouldn’t she? What could it possibly matter to him what this woman did with her life?

But it did.

‘You’re not seriously considering going back to Matthew after what he did to you last night?’

‘Look,’ Felicity snapped, forcing a very standoffish smile as she turned briefly to face him. ‘Thank you for your concern. As misguided as it was, I’m sure you meant well, but the truth is I knew what I was doing last night and I certainly didn’t need your so-called help.’

‘I beg to differ.’

Felicity’s eyes widened, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise as his delicious Italian accent was replaced by a rather upper crust English accent.

‘That is my London manager’s favourite saying,’ Luca responded, noting her surprise, but the momentary lapse in proceedings didn’t last long. The onslaught continued in thick heavily accented tones that had Felicity scorching with shame right down to her toenails which she stared at in preference to the overbearing ogre that stood over her. ‘The only sensible thing you did last night was to beg me for help. Me!’ he shouted, cupping her chin with his fingers and forcing her eyes up to him. ‘Perhaps you would like me to refresh your memory?’

‘Perhaps not.’ Felicity cringed, but her humour was entirely wasted on him.

‘A colleague diverted Matthew’s attention while I took you to one side and told you that your drinks were being spiked. You, Miss Conlon, promptly burst into tears and begged me to get rid of him, begged me for help, left me with no choice but to bring you up here.’

‘You didn’t have to do it, though!’ Felicity interjected, brushing his hand away from her and facing him unaided now, but Luca hadn’t finished yet.

‘Believe me, I wish I hadn’t bothered! Had there been a spare room in the hotel it would have been yours. Do you not think I had better things to do last night than play babysitter to you? Not only did I have a ballroom of guests to take care of, I had the press about to run a story—Damn!’

Without pausing for breath, without further explanation, he marched across the room, flinging open the door, and with her face paling Felicity realised she had pushed him too far, that he was going to throw her out—and what was more, Felicity acknowledged, she completely deserved it. Luca Santanno had behaved like a complete gentleman last night and she in turn had been an utter bitch. If she’d had a tail it would have been between her legs as she attempted to walk wrapped in the counterpane.

‘Where are you going?’ He didn’t exactly haul her back in by the scruff of her neck, but it came pretty close. ‘Where the hell do you think you are going?’

‘Back to my room,’ Felicity yelped. ‘I thought you were asking me to leave.’

‘I was getting the paper; I was attempting to show you why last night I had better things to do than play nursemaid.’ Flicking through the paper, his face hardened, an expletive Felicity could only assume wasn’t particularly nice flying from his lips as he hurled the offending paper across the room before redirecting his fury back to her. ‘Is this the sort of man you deal with? Men who would throw you out into the corridor dressed in nothing but your underwear and a sheet? Is this how little you think of yourself?’ Taking a couple of deep ragged breaths, he relaxed his clenched fists, the taut lines of his features softening, his words coming more softly now. ‘Felice, this is surely no way to live?’

His fury she could almost handle—contempt too, come to that. After all, it was nothing she didn’t feel about herself. But when his voice softened, the word Felice, almost an endearment, it brought her dangerously close to tears, dangerously close to breaking down. Her teeth were nearly breaking through her bottom lip in an attempt to hold it all in.

‘I have to go,’ she choked, utterly unable to meet his eyes. ‘I’m going to ring Housekeeping to get my dress, borrow your bathroom for two minutes and then I’ll be right out of here.’

Pushing the digit, she listened for the ring tone, ready to pounce when her call was answered and get her dress back so she could get the hell out of here, away from Luca and his endless questions. Her life was messy enough right now without this forced introspection.

But Luca hadn’t finished yet. Hovering over her like some avenging angel, he held out his hand. ‘Shouldn’t an engagement be something special?’ he asked as something that felt suspiciously like a tear slid down her cheek. ‘Shouldn’t the night a man proposes be a memory to treasure long into the future? Not some sordid affair, sullied with alcohol and regret?’

‘You don’t understand,’ Felicity said through gritted teeth, wishing he would just stop, just leave her alone!

‘I understand this much: if I had been about to propose to you then I would have been ensuring you were having a good time, treating you as a woman deserves to be treated, not sedating you with alcohol. Whatever the reason for last night, it cannot be a good one.’

His hand was on her shoulder now, but she didn’t look at him. Reception had picked up, a voice somewhere in the distance was asking how she could help, but the only words she could really hear were Luca’s. His words had reached her, and for a second so small it was barely there Felicity imagined herself in Luca’s life, imagined being the lucky woman in his arms, imagined the bliss of being made love to by a man like that—those arms around her, that beautiful, expressive mouth exploring hers, his hands caressing her, that husky voice embalming her. The image of perfection only made last night seem even more sullied. The image of such wonder exacerbated the vileness of last night’s potential union, and the truth she had chosen to ignore came to the fore as Luca spoke more eloquently than her own conscience.

‘I understand you might not be…’ He faltered for a second, trying to summon the right word, and Felicity sat rigid, her mind racing with indecision.

She knew she should get back, had to finish what she’d started, but there was something about Luca, something about the surprising gentleness in his voice, his insight, his abhorrence of Matthew’s motives that held her there.

‘…comfortable.’ Now he had found the right word he spoke rapidly, determined to finish, to give her another option—anything rather than see her scuttling back to the excuse of a man downstairs. ‘I can see that my presence is making you feel awkward, but that will soon be taken care off. I am due to catch a flight to Rome soon. I will ring Reception, tell them to collect your property and bring it here. They can tell this Matthew you have gone home—ill, perhaps, like you said before. This will give you some space, some time. Please Felice, I know I don’t understand what has gone on, but surely you should think carefully before you go back to this man? Last night you were not just upset, you were distraught, and though I do not approve of Matthew’s methods maybe he did you a favour.’

‘How on earth did you work that one out?’ She gave a low, cynical laugh, but it died on her lips as he carried on talking, as Luca once again summed up her innermost feelings in his own direct way.

‘Last night you spoke the truth. Matthew’s bed is not the place you want to be.’

And when he held out his hand again it only took a moment’s hesitation before Felicity handed him the receiver, which he replaced in the cradle.

No matter the hell that followed, no matter the consequences, Luca was right.

Going back to Matthew simply wasn’t an option.

CHAPTER TWO

A LOUD knocking at the door heralded breakfast, but, clearly used to staff, Luca carried on talking unfazed, while Felicity, in turn, sat huddled on the edge of the bed, scuffing the floor with her bare foot and burning with shame, appalled at what the waiter must surely be thinking and silently, fruitlessly wishing that Luca would put him right, tell him she wasn’t yet another of his conquests, that his latest guest absolutely did not deserve to be the talk of the staffroom this morning, because, quite simply, nothing had happened.

Nothing had happened!

Of course Luca did no such thing. Instead he chattered away to Felicity as the table was laid, oblivious to her discomfort. ‘Have something to eat,’ he offered, but Felicity shook her head, determined not to accept anything from him. ‘A coffee, at least? Or perhaps you would like a shower first?’

If he offered a shower again, if he really insisted, Felicity decided she’d accept; but when Luca merely cocked his head and awaited her reply she finally gave a small reluctant nod. Though it galled her to accept any crumbs from Luca Santanno, the chance of a shower was just too good to pass up.

He dismissed the waiter with a flick of his wrist.

True to form, Felicity thought bitterly; he was as dismissive as Matthew to his workers, but as the waiter left she blinked in surprise when Luca called out thanks in his thick accent, then turned the smile back to her.

‘How about I make that call?’ He gestured to the bathroom. ‘There are robes and toiletries in there. Just help yourself and let me know if there is anything else you need.’

‘I’ll be fine.’

More than fine, Felicity thought, wandering into the bathroom, glimpsing the rows and rows of glass bottles that heralded a luxury suite—a rather far cry from her own toiletry bag, sitting forlornly in Matthew’s room.

With a jolt she looked down at her watch, a mental alarm bell ringing to say that it was time to take her Pill. But with a flood of utter relief she knew at that moment her decision had been made; she didn’t need to take the wretched thing, didn’t need to worry about it any more.

Now she had finally acknowledged that she couldn’t, wouldn’t sleep with Matthew, the sense of relief was a revelation in itself—an affirmation of the strain she had been under, the turmoil behind the cool façade she’d so determinedly portrayed, the secret agony behind each and every smile.

Eyeing her reflection in the mirror—the wayward hair, the black panda eyes and swollen lids that just about summed up her life—she barely registered a soft knocking at the bathroom door.

‘Felice, I’m sorry to disturb you.’ Luca stood back as she pulled the door open an inch. ‘I just need your surname. Reception want it for the computer.’

‘Conlon.’ She watched his eyebrows furrow slightly, his eyes narrowing as her surname registered.

‘Conlon?’ he repeated. ‘Why do I know that name? It is familiar, yes?’

‘Well, it is to me.’ The thin smile didn’t reach her eyes, and for the first time since their strange meeting Luca Santanno didn’t look quite the confident man she was rapidly becoming used to.

Snapping his fingers as he raked his mind, it finally registered. ‘Richard Conlon?’ Another snap of the fingers, another snippet of information. ‘He owned the Peninsula Golf Resort.’

‘Before you bought it for a pittance.’ The acrimony in her voice made his frown deepen. ‘I’m Richard Conlon’s daughter,’ Felicity explained, angry, rebuking eyes finally meeting his. ‘I’m the one attempting to pick up the pieces after you destroyed him.’

Luca didn’t need to snap his fingers now, details were coming in unaided. The underpriced resort he’d bought a year or so ago, the niggling guilt he’d chosen to ignore at kicking a man when he was down. Okay, Richard Conlon had brought it on himself, though he couldn’t remember all the details his new manager Matthew had given him. Gambling, or drinking, or a combination of both? But whatever had caused his hellish debts, whatever had forced his ruin, it had never sat quite right with Luca, and now, as he looked into the face of his predecessor’s daughter, the niggling guilt suddenly multiplied.

‘It was a business deal,’ Luca said, but his voice wasn’t quite so assured.

‘Sure,’ Felicity snapped.

‘I’m sorry for what happened, but it’s hardly my fault. Your father was a poor businessman. He got himself—’

‘My father,’ Felicity flared, unbridled anger making her voice tremble as she met her enemy. ‘My father was a wonderful businessman. He still is, come to that. The only reason the dump that the resort now is still survives is thanks to the hours my father puts in.’

‘He still works there?’ Luca answered his own question. ‘That’s right; I kept him on as a manager.’

‘Assistant manager,’ Felicity sneered. ‘Second in charge to the wonderful Matthew. A man who runs the resort by fear. A man who pumps the profits into his own pockets instead of maintaining the place. A man living off the good will my father nurtured when he was the owner.’

‘So why were you about to get engaged to him if he is so awful?’ Luca demanded. ‘Why did you walk in on his arm last night, half dressed and half drunk?’

His scorching words would under any other circumstances have hurt, would have lacerated her with shame, but in Felicity’s present mood they barely touched the surface. Months of unvented fury finally came to the fore, her words so laced with venom she could barely get them out. ‘Because your partner made it very clear that unless I slept with him, unless I came up with the goods, my father would be out of a job!’

‘He is blackmailing you?’

‘Yes.’ Her word was sharp, definite—such a contrast to the question in his voice. ‘Your partner is blackmailing me.’

‘Partner? Matthew is not my partner.’ An incredulous laugh was followed by a bewildered shake of his head, but it didn’t last for long. Luca Santanno was obviously far more on the ball than Felicity had realized. His expression darkened, those blue eyes narrowing as he let out a long hiss. ‘Is that what he has been saying?’ When Felicity didn’t answer immediately his voice became more demanding. ‘Is that how this Matthew operates? How he exerts his authority? By letting the staff think he is the owner?’

‘Co-owner,’ Felicity corrected.

‘Co-owner?’ he blasted the word out of his mouth, like two pistol shots, and Felicity flinched with each one. ‘He is not a co-owner. I am the owner! All the managers of my minor resorts have a five per cent holding; it is good for morale,’ Luca explained his voice still angry. ‘It ensures profit.’

‘Ah, yes, profit.’ Felicity found her voice, her hazel eyes flashing with distaste, meeting Luca’s full on. ‘There it is again! We’re all very familiar with your love for that particular word.’

‘Scusi?’ For the first time Luca’s English slipped, but he quickly corrected himself. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘Profit,’ Felicity sneered. There was no point holding back now, she was already in it up to her neck, but at least she could let this jumped-up, haughty, control freak know exactly what she thought of him and his methods—pay him back for the agony he had inflicted on her family. At least the final word in this whole sorry saga would be hers. ‘That’s the bottom line for you—and the top one, and the bit in the middle. Profit’s why you pay your staff a pittance, why they have to stay behind night after night for no extra pay, why a beautiful resort is barely a shadow of what it used to be.’

‘Barely a shadow?’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t understand!’ Felicity retorted. ‘The resort is on its last legs—finished, kaput, finito. Now do you get it? Oh, I’m sure it’s still returning a healthy profit. I’m sure on paper everything looks just fine. But the staff are leaving in droves and it’s only a matter of time before the clients follow.’

The silence that followed was awful. Felicity reeled, scarcely able to believe she had admitted the truth, least of all to Luca, and Luca in turn paled, the muscles in his face contorting in fury, his knuckles white as he dug his nails into his palms.

‘But what has all this to do with you? Why would you be…?’

‘Prepared to get engaged to him?’ Felicity finished as Luca’s voice trailed off. ‘You dare to ask why I would prostitute myself with a man like Matthew?’ She watched him flinch at her words and she enjoyed it—enjoyed watching the might that was Luca Santanno squirm. ‘Because I’m my father’s daughter. I see what needs to be done and I do it.’ When he didn’t respond she carried on, her small chin jutting defiantly, a stricken dignity in her strained voice. ‘My father isn’t the poor businessman you make out; he isn’t a gambler or a drinker who frittered his money away. My brother was dying…’ A tiny pause, a flicker of shadow darkening the gold of her eyes, the only indicator of the depth of her pain. ‘The money my father made from selling the resort bought Joseph some time.’

‘How much time?’

‘Six months. There was a treatment in America—it was never going to be a cure, but selling the resort turned a few agonising weeks into six precious months. It took him to Paris and Rome, gave us time to say all the things that needed to be said, to cram a lifetime of love into six wondrous months, and if he had his time over my father would do it all again.’

‘I still don’t understand.’

‘Death puts things into perspective, but it doesn’t stop the bills coming in.’ She was almost shouting again. ‘Your mortgage doesn’t disappear just because in the scheme of things it doesn’t really matter. My father has had to start again, now has to work for a pittance for the Santanno chain, has to watch his beloved resort dissolve into nothing. But he doesn’t complain. All my father wants is three more years of work. Three years to pay off his mortgage and get together some funds for his retirement—an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay. But then what would the great Santanno empire know about that? All you care about is profit.’

‘You are wrong.’ Luca waved in abrupt dismissal. ‘Yes, I care about profit, I am a businessman after all, but I also care about my staff, and in turn they reward me with absolute devotion. I do not need to check up on them, breathe down their necks while they work, for I know they are giving one hundred per cent.’

‘They’re giving one hundred percent,’ Felicity snarled, ‘because they’re terrified of losing their jobs.’

‘Rubbish.’ If she’d seen him angry before then Luca was livid now, a muscle pounding in his cheek, his blue eyes blazing. ‘My staff know I look after them. I ensure their birthdays are remembered, their loyalty is rewarded. Take Rico, the man I was speaking with this morning, it is his fortieth wedding anniversary next weekend. He will be staying in this very room with his wife, receiving the same service I demand for myself…’

‘With a ten per cent staff discount,’ Felicity bit back. ‘Matthew reluctantly does the same.’

‘There will be no discount,’ Luca sneered. ‘There will be no bill at all. Rico deserves it.’

For a moment she didn’t respond, absorbing his words, his vehement denial confusing her. He certainly didn’t sound like a man who mistreated his staff, didn’t sound like the ogre she had envisaged. Her initial abhorrence was shifting. The layers of the onion peeled back were revealing a man far removed from the malicious man she had built up in her mind. But suspicion still abounded. The simple facts spoke for themselves—she had seen first-hand the devastation his leadership caused.

‘This is Matthew’s fault.’ His voice was calmer now, but she could hear the hatred behind it, hear the venom behind each word. But his anger at Matthew brought only cold comfort; twelve months of pain were not eradicated that easily. ‘I would never treat my staff like that.’

‘But you have!’ Livid eyes glared at him. ‘Don’t you understand, Luca, that you’ve done just that? Matthew may just be your partner—or manager, or co-owner, or whatever it is he calls himself—but it’s your name on the headed paper, your signature on the cheques. You’re the one destroying my father!’

‘Sei pazza!’ His expletive needed no translation. The hands that had been clenched grabbed at her wrists, pulling her towards him, but the fury she had unleashed didn’t scare her, if anything it empowered her. She let her words sink in, gathered her shaking thoughts and took a deep cleansing breath before she continued, her voice calmer now, but still filled with unbridled hatred.

‘Matthew has been blackmailing me.’ She felt the hands around her wrists tighten, saw the fury burning in his eyes as she continued in low, steady tones, lacing each word with the contempt it deserved. ‘He won’t just sack my father; he’ll destroy him in the process. He’s made it very clear to me that he’ll accuse my father of embezzlement if things don’t go according to his sordid plans. He’s already ruined my father’s career, and now it would seem he’s happy to trash my father’s reputation if it will further his cause.’

‘Which is?’

The hands weren’t just tight around her wrists now, they were like two steel vices, and Felicity wriggled them free.

‘Matthew considers it his divine right to have a pretty blonde wife on his arm.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘And if that sounds conceited I make no apology.’

‘It is the truth,’ he said simply, his mind temporarily leaving the devastating news she had just imparted and focusing instead on the attractive woman in front of him. ‘You make it sound like a curse to be beautiful.’

‘I never said I was beautiful,’ Felicity corrected matter-of-factly. ‘But, yes, looking like a fragile teenager can have its disadvantages, both on the professional and private front.’ She stared at him boldly, her back rigid, her eyes defiant. ‘Would you take me seriously in the boardroom, Mr Santanno?’

Her question clearly confused him, but he answered her promptly. ‘I am not sexist. If your point was valid of course I would listen.’

He almost sounded as if he meant it, but Felicity tried and failed to bite back a scornful laugh.

‘You contradict yourself, Felice.’ Luca responded. ‘You demand to be taken seriously, despite your stunning looks, while on the other hand you are prepared to get engaged to a man who wants you only for a trophy. It doesn’t make sense.’

‘I thought I could do it.’ The scorn was gone from her voice. The directness of his observation was as loud as her own conscience. ‘I really thought I could treat this arrangement as a business deal.’

‘But in the end you couldn’t go through with it.’ It was a statement, not a question, but still she gave a tired nod.

‘I’m not a romantic, Luca. I don’t believe in the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I don’t think there’s a soul mate out there, waiting in the wings for me. Marrying Matthew wasn’t saying goodbye to some long-held cherished dream; it was a means to an end, a solution to a problem.’

‘For someone so young you have a very jaded view of marriage.’ He shook his head in bemusement. ‘What if he had wanted children? What if he—?’

‘No!’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘I would never have given him a baby.’

‘How can you be sure?’ Luca demanded. ‘How do you know he wouldn’t have upped the stakes, demanded a child?’

‘He could have demanded it till he was blue in the face, but that is the one thing I wouldn’t have given him—whatever the cost to my father.’

‘At least you thought that much through.’ His eyes raked her face, searching for a clue in the chameleon pools of her eyes, for insight into this fickle personality.

‘That’s one thing that wasn’t open to negotiation.’ For an age her words hung in the air. Escaping his hungry eyes, she stared down, taking in the dark strong hands entwined around her slender wrists. She could almost hear the question in his unspoken words, the expectation in each rapid short breath as he waited for her to elaborate. ‘I could never have had his child.’ She turned to go, but still he held her.

‘Tell me just one thing?’ he asked, and as she reluctantly turned to face him he stared into those amber eyes, so wary and fierce. She reminded him of a stray kitten his mother had brought home, hissing and spitting, yet utterly adorable. ‘How did you get to be so bitter, Felice?’

For a second she wavered, his harsh judgement searing through her. She wanted to scream at his injustice, to tell him he was wrong, but what possible purpose would that serve?

It was better that he thought her a hard-nosed madam, better just to walk away now.

‘Years of practice. Now…’ she gave a very thin, very strained smile ‘…if you’ll let me have my wrist back, please, I’d like to have that shower.’

Oh, the bliss of the water as it slid over her body, washing away the caked on make up, the sticky lacquered hair. She allowed the tears she had held back so fiercely to slip unnoticed down her cheeks as she stood trembling under the jets, trying to fathom what she had done, the huge ramifications of the Pandora’s box she had opened.

Wrapping herself in a soft white robe, she dragged a comb through her damp blonde hair. She was almost listless now, the unleashed emotions leaving her curiously drained. Staring in the mirror, she gazed at her reflection. The clear amber eyes stared back, for once unsure. The usually stiff upper lip was trembling as she attempted a mental plan of attack, a resolution to her problems.

She had really thought she could do it.

Really thought she could push emotion aside, ignore the awful implications of an empty engagement, do whatever it might take to buy her father some peace. But in the end she had failed him.

She pushed aside the internal ream of excuses that sprang to mind as forcibly as she pushed open the bathroom door.

There was no excuse.

Luca Santanno was right; it all came down to one simple truth: in the end she simply couldn’t have gone through with it.

‘I’m sorry.’

His words made her start, the sight of him pacing as she walked unannounced out of the bathroom unexpected.

‘I am so very sorry for what has happened to you, to your family. I take full responsibility.’

He wasn’t looking at her; the pacing had stopped now and he stood like a thundercloud, dark and brooding by the window.

‘It’s not your fault.’ The admission surprised even Felicity. For a year now even the name Luca Santanno had caused her internal abhorrence, a fierce surge of hatred just on hearing it; yet now, standing before him, hearing his words, feeling his guilt, the tide suddenly turned and she knew her hatred had been misdirected.

‘But it is my fault.’ Dragging a deep breath in, he clenched his fists in a strange salute by his sides. ‘You were right. It is my name on the notepaper; I am the one who writes the cheques.’ His fists tightened more, if that were possible. ‘And it is my name this Matthew has sullied. If the coffee is too cold, if the beds are not turned back, the pool too cool, it is my responsibility. Sure, I cannot be everywhere; I have to trust my senior staff. But when one of them…’ He turned then, his eyes fixing on her; sincerity laced with anger, pride laced with shame ‘For him to have treated you like this—’ He thumped his chest, balled his fist against his heart. ‘He is gone.’ The clenched fist opened and he flicked the air dismissively. ‘Gone. Dismiss him from your mind.’

‘It’s not quite that easy. Even if he’s exaggerated, Matthew still has—’

‘He is gone,’ Luca said, with such precision, such a sense of finality Felicity almost believed him.

Almost.

Somewhere along the way she’d given up believing in people. Right here, right now, Luca was probably telling the truth, and Felicity didn’t question it, didn’t doubt that his apology was genuine, his outrage sincere, that he had every intention of following through. But in a few hours he would be back in Rome, back in his world, a world far removed from hers, and his intentions, however well meant at the time, would fade into insignificance.

She’d seen it all before—too many times.

Promises meant nothing.

‘He’s got a contract,’ Felicity pointed out, her tone businesslike, addressing Luca as she would a client. ‘There are unfair dismissal laws in place.’

‘Would they have protected your father?’ Luca responded quickly, quelling her argument with a stroke of his tongue. ‘These are just minor details. My legal staff will take care of them.’ He flicked his hand again. ‘I promise you this, Felice…you will never have to see him again, never have to worry about that man forcing himself upon you, blackmailing you…’

‘It’s my father who is the concern here,’ Felicity pointed out. ‘I can take care of myself.’

‘No, Felice, clearly you cannot.’ He walked over to her, his eyes never leaving her face. ‘Last night anything could have happened to you.’

‘You’re overreacting.’ Her voice remained assured, but she felt rather than heard her conviction waver. Luca was right. Last night she had played a dangerous game, a stupid game, and her only saving grace had been the man who stood before her, the man who had rescued her. Her shift in feelings startled her, unnerved her, triggering a surge of adrenaline as she struggled with the impossibility of her emotions, praying for a voice of reason to descend.

She simply couldn’t be attracted to Luca Santanno.

Surely it was a primitive response he had triggered? She was mistaking gratitude for lust. It took a supreme effort to keep her breathing even, to slow down her rapidly accelerating heart-rate as she urged sanity to prevail. It was gratitude she was feeling, nothing else, and it would serve her well to remember the fact. Clearing her throat, she forced conviction into her words. ‘I knew what I was getting into.’

‘Perhaps.’ A muscle flickered in his cheek, but his voice remained soft—weary, even. ‘What if it hadn’t been my room you ended up in? What if another man…?’ The muscle was flickering rapidly now, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘What then?’

He searched her face, one hand moving up to her hair, stroking the soft blonde sheen, taking in the wide hazel eyes, so much softer without the sharp black kohl, the full rosebud mouth. The soft woman before him was such a contrast to the sophisticated beauty he had first laid eyes on, and it terrified him, truly terrified him what might have happened. The worst-case scenarios played over and over in his mind, kindling a surge of protectiveness, an immeasurable guilt for the pain he had caused.

‘But nothing did happen.’ Her voice was strangely high. She was trapped by his eyes, caught in the line of fire and, most surprisingly of all, with no desire to move. ‘I ended up here with you.’ A ghost of a smile trembled across her lips, but still she held his gaze. ‘And you said yourself it wasn’t difficult not to take advantage.’

‘I lied.’

The simple admission hung in the air between them. He was moving closer now, his hand still on her hair, and the other one was working its way around her slender waist. She had every opportunity to move, every chance to step backwards, to brush away his hand, but instead she stood there, trapped by her own inquisitiveness, overawed and overwhelmed by the feelings he ignited. She could almost taste the thrill of sexual excitement in the air, the tingling awareness of her skin. Every tiny hair, every pore, every cell was saturated by his presence, thrilled and terrified at the same time as his deep voice washed over her.

‘It took every ounce of restraint I could muster.’

It had. Closing his eyes for an instant, he remembered holding her, the bliss of her in his arms. He remembered comforting this delicious stranger, the protective feeling she had kindled, and later—when the crying had stopped, when she had curled herself up like a tiny kitten—feeling her hot breath on his hand, the swell of her breasts jutting against him, the tiny grumble as he had tried to move away, one infinitely smooth leg coiling over him, the scent of her, the feel of her. It had taken a super human effort just to lie there, not to respond to the subtle caress of her body. But now, seeing her without make-up, so young, so innocent, he felt the protective feelings that had smouldered, ignite now in a puff. The inevitable sexual awareness of a man and woman sharing a bed magnified. The groomed, sophisticated woman he had first encountered was gone, and in her place was a softer, gentler and infinitely more desirable version.

She could feel the heat of his palm radiating through her robe, pressing into the small of her back, and hazy, half-forgotten memories of the haven she had found last night emerged. The subliminal messages her body had unwittingly sent were more direct now. Her pink tongue bobbed out in a tiny flick to moisten her lips as her pupils dilated, partially eclipsing the golden rays of her amber stare, totality occurring seconds later as the force of his lips against hers obscured everything other than what was here and now.

He made her feel safe.

For the first time in so very long here was a man she could lean on, a man who maybe, just maybe, could make things better. Even if it was only transitory she welcomed the safe haven of his arms, the bliss of oblivion his touch generated. The chance to escape from the world for a while and concentrate on the responses he so easily triggered.

Responses Felicity hadn’t known she was capable of.

As his cool tongue slipped between her softly parted lips, as their breath mingled, there was no question in her mind of holding back, no hope of restraint. She felt as if she were falling, freefalling, her body at the elements’ mercy. But there was no fear, just a delicious feeling of abandonment, of freedom, of escape from the chains that had bound her for so long now. She kissed him back, her tongue moving with his, tasting him, and pressed her body against his as he scooped her up into his arms and carried her effortlessly across the room. She revelled in the strength of the arms that held her, the eyes that adored her.

At the bedside he paused momentarily, those sapphire eyes questioning, his voice thick with lust but laced with concern.

‘You are sure?’

Reason almost stepped in then, sanity almost prevailing. She had never been intimate with a man, but her virginity wasn’t borne of fear, nor some hidden desire to wait for the man of her dreams to come along. Relationships had taken a back seat to exams, to her brother’s ill health, but now here she was, on the brink of discovery, and reason could go to hell. The need to feel him, to be adored by him, to be made love to by him, was overwhelming her. All she wanted was for Luca to lie her down on the bed they had shared, to make her feel every bit the woman she was, to instigate her into the pleasures of her body.

Oh, she was sure.

More sure than she had ever been in her life!

‘Make love to me, Luca.’

The desire in her voice was all the confirmation Luca needed, and he laid her down, his breath coming in heavy gasps as her robe fell open, exposing her body. Her breasts spilled out from the soft white fabric and with a low murmur of approval he knelt over her, capturing one glorious swollen nipple in his lips, tracing the pink of the areola with his tongue as she tore at the buttons on his shirt, wrestled with the zipper of his trousers. She needed his skin against hers, to feel him, see him, all of him, and he registered her need, reluctantly leaving the soft sweetness of her breasts to free himself from the last remnants of his clothes. Turning his attention to her robe, he freed her from this final constraint so there were no barriers between them.

She held him in her hands, marvelling at the strength, and a tiny pocket of fear welled in her throat as he laid her back, slowly parting her legs. The weight of his body above hers was a precursor to the power of his erection. It would hurt, she knew it would hurt, yet she welcomed the pain, welcomed the sting of the first sharp thrust inside her, crying out as he moved deeper, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist, wanting more, more of him, for him to take her higher, deeper.

She could feel herself contract around him, a tight, intimate vice that held him, and the first ripples of her orgasm caught her unaware. The distant pulsing gained in momentum, a flush of heat surged up her breasts, stinging her cheeks, her neck, her ears, then rushed like a mass exodus to her groin. The flickering pulse was more insistent now, each throb a contraction that spasmed her body, feet arching, buttocks lifting. He slipped his hands underneath her, bucking into her, and she dragged him in, each contraction pulling him higher, further inside her, and as he let out a low, guttural groan her body instinctively knew how to respond, moving of its own accord now, drinking from him, sucking him dry, drawing every last precious drop from him, tightening around him as they rode the delicious waves together.

And after, as she lay in his arms, her hair spilling out across his chest, the tempest that had raged was calm. Her body was still tingling from its delicious awakening, and a sigh of contentment whispered from her lips as she revelled in a rare moment of peace and contentment.

Revelled in the solace she had found in his arms.

CHAPTER THREE

‘WHAT are you smiling at?’

Closing her eyes for a decadent moment, she basked in the mastery of his touch, scarcely able to believe that one lazy hand gently brushing along the curve of her waist could render her so helpless. Lying beside him, it was easy to smile, easy to know that what had happened was good and right and perfect.

Such a relief to have no regrets.

‘How do you know that I’m smiling?’ she asked, her smile broadening as her words whispered along the soft ebony mat of his chest.

‘I can feel it.’

He probably could, Felicity mused. She felt like an open book, lying in his arms, every page deliciously exposed. He seemed to know what she was thinking, feeling, needing, before she even knew it herself. Their lovemaking had been an utter revelation. Somehow he had known, instinctively known what her body unwittingly craved; every touch had been a masterpiece in itself, every delicious stroke an answer to an unvoiced prayer.

‘So tell me,’ Luca persisted, ‘why are you smiling?’

‘I can’t believe that just an hour ago my one dread was that this had happened, that I might have slept with you, and just look at me now!’

‘I am looking.’ In one fluid motion he turned, gently flipping her onto her back, those expressive eyes making love to her all over again, scorching her as he dragged them the length of her body. ‘No regrets?’ he checked, his voice confident, only the tiniest movement of his Adam’s apple indicating that her answer really mattered to him.

‘Maybe later.’ Felicity gave a small laugh. ‘Maybe when I’m back at uni on Monday, or at my parents’ for dinner tonight I’ll have a major panic attack and scarcely be able to believe that I ended up in bed with you. But for the moment I’m just going to enjoy it.’

‘You are a student?’ She heard the gasp of surprise in his voice. ‘Just how old are you?’

‘I’m a mature student.’ Felicity laughed at his discomfort. ‘I know I might look young, but you don’t have to worry about that. I’m actually an accountant.’

‘Really?’ A smile played on his lips and as he lowered his head just a touch, locating the hollow of her stomach with such precision, such skill Felicity found she was holding her breath, holding onto the bedhead for stability as he worked his way upwards. ‘I thought accountants were supposed to be serious…’

‘Boring, even,’ Felicity said, the second word coming out on a gasp as his tongue found her nipples. ‘It’s a myth, but I’ll admit to being serious. My career is important to me.’

‘It sounds as if you take great pride in your work?’

‘I do.’ Felicity squeaked as his hand started to stroke the soft marshmallow of her thighs. ‘That’s why I’m studying at the moment.’ She was trying to concentrate, trying somehow to explain to this wedge of hot flesh pressing against her that she was taking a year off to complete a Masters in Business Administration.

‘Why would you bother?’

His question confused her, irritated her, even, and she pushed his hand away, determined to answer him without distraction.

‘Qualifications are important.’

Luca merely shrugged, his hand creeping on a steady march back, determined to finish what he had started, but Felicity was equally determined to have her say.

‘Not everyone has the world handed to them on a silver plate, Luca. An MBA might seem irrelevant to you, but it’s going to open up a whole new world for me.’

‘Perhaps,’ Luca conceded, dousing her indignation with one devilish smile, ‘but the only world I want to open up is this one.’

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