Confessions of His Christmas Housekeeper by Sharon Kendrick

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘LEAVETHAT.’

Louise’s hand stilled as she was reaching for a porcelain bowl which contained the remains of some griddled aubergine. They had just eaten the most surreal Christmas Eve dinner imaginable—fortunately punctuated by several different courses, which meant she’d been able to keep jumping up from the table to bring in yet another dish. To her relief, this had kept conversation to a minimum and she had been about to clear the table when Giacomo’s terse command suggested he had other ideas.

‘I was about to fetch dessert.’

‘I said leave it,’ he growled. ‘I don’t want dessert. Do you?’

Keep it light and professional, she told herself. It was safer that way. Because she felt conflicted, slipping back into housekeeper mode when she was dressed like a rich man’s wife.

She was finding it difficult to control her thoughts—and her feelings. She needed to protect herself—mostly from her own stupid desires—because she was way more vulnerable around Giacomo Volterra than she’d thought.

‘Not particularly,’ she said, shrugging her shoulders in an attempt to adopt a convincing air of nonchalance. ‘But it’s slightly annoying to think I’ve spent all afternoon making struffoli and you’re not even going to try it.’

‘You’ve made struffoli?’

‘Of course I haven’t! I know it’s what Italians traditionally eat on Christmas Eve but that would have taken me all day, and then some—and as you can see, I’ve been busy with other things.’ She hesitated. ‘I’ve... I’ve actually prepared you an orange.’

He stilled. ‘Why an orange?’

Her mouth dried as she remembered what he’d once told her. ‘You said it was the only thing you used to like about Christmas in the orphanage. The one time of the year when you could be guaranteed a piece of fresh fruit all to yourself. You used to take for ever, peeling it and slicing it to make it last, and all the other boys would be jealous, because they’d finished theirs. You said it was the most delicious thing you’d ever eaten and no fancy dessert you’d been served in the world’s finest restaurants had ever come close to that taste.’

He sat back in his chair, his expression indecipherable in the flickering candlelight, though the note in his voice was one of surprise. ‘I told you all that?’

‘You talked about a lot of things in the early days, Giacomo. Less so as time went on.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Shall I go and fetch it—make sure you get your vitamin C for the day? I’ve fanned it out on the plate so it looks as pretty as a picture.’

But he shook his head impatiently. ‘No. Let’s go and sit by the fire. I want to talk to you and we may as well be comfortable.’

‘Okay,’ she said, trying to inject a brightness she wasn’t really feeling. ‘But I really do have masses to do, so let’s try and keep it brief, shall we?’

His scowl indicated he wasn’t used to working against the clock where women were concerned and Louise got up from the table to sink into the squashy depths of the sofa. Instinctively, she pressed her knees primly together as Giacomo put her wine glass down on a nearby table and sat down beside her.

‘Tell me about our wedding,’ he began, without preamble.

She nodded. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Who was there?’

‘Nobody connected to either of us. It was very small. We got two witnesses off the street.’

‘Why?’ His brow darkened. ‘Was it supposed to be a secret?’

Louise felt a pain so intense that she nearly blurted it out then. But he had told her explicitly that he didn’t want an information dump. They didn’t have to talk about the baby. Not now. Maybe not ever. She was just acceding to his wishes, she told herself woodenly. It wasn’t a question of cowardice. ‘It was discreet, rather than secret. You said if the press got wind of it, they would be all over it like a rash and it was better not to make a big announcement. You told me you were afraid your lifestyle might overwhelm me and you didn’t want to throw me in at the deep end, so you would introduce me to Milanese society gradually, but that never really happened and I thought...’

‘What?’ he prompted as her words tailed off. ‘What did you think, Louise?’

His words were so soft and unusually probing that she found herself opening up to him in a way she’d never done before. ‘I th-thought you were ashamed of me,’ she said, not quite able to iron out the sudden wobble in her voice. ‘You said yourself the other day that I wasn’t what you were expecting. I was a very ordinary woman you had plucked from obscurity and you were a global superstar billionaire. Maybe we were a mismatch—our worlds were so far apart.’

‘But you knew that where I started in life was very different from the place where I ended up,’ he argued. ‘My mother died when I was eleven and I never knew my father. You can’t get a much more basic beginning than a boy who left the orphanage and started working in a metal factory at the age of fourteen.’

‘But you saw potential in that factory and exploited it, Giacomo,’ she argued. ‘You told me about all the poor older people in your neighbourhood who couldn’t afford glasses and how you persuaded your boss to let you make some in your spare time. Nobody could have foreseen how that simple act would take off. That you would find that magical gap in the market which every entrepreneur seeks, or that you’d end up owning so many global brands which rake in an absolute fortune. Not many orphaned boys of fourteen do that,’ she added drily.

He smiled. ‘True.’

Louise put her glass down on the table beside her, reminding herself to beware of the power of that arrogantly sexy smile. ‘Would you like to see a photo? Of our wedding?’

‘You have one?’

‘On my phone.’ In a way it was a relief to be able to move away from the distraction of his closeness, though what she really wanted to do was snuggle up and get even closer. She rose and went to where she’d left it on the mantelpiece, aware of standing on unfamiliarly high heels as she flicked through the album and found what she was looking for. She walked back over to the sofa, glancing down at the raven gleam of his hair and the broad set of his shoulders, which were covered in the softest silk. Her fingers weren’t quite steady as she handed him the phone and sank down next to him again. ‘Here.’

He took it from her and studied it in silence for a long moment. What did he make of it? she wondered. She hadn’t allowed herself to look at it for a long time—telling herself it was a pointless exercise to keep rehashing the past if she wanted to move on. She had tried to convince herself that it was a single shot of a couple who should never have been married. But now, all she could see was a radiant happiness and excitement on the faces of the newly-weds, certainly on hers—and very possibly on his. He looked younger and more carefree—even though it wasn’t really that long ago. Could he see that, too, or did he think it was just the camera playing tricks? A captured moment, frozen in time, allowing for many different interpretations, depending on who was looking at it.

‘Your parents?’ he questioned suddenly. ‘Why weren’t they there?’

‘Because they died when I was a child,’ she explained softly, before being bold enough to add, ‘Actually, our parentless state was one of the few things we had in common.’

His jaw tightened. ‘So you don’t have any relatives?’

‘Just the one. My aunt, who brought me up after they died.’

‘But she wasn’t there to see you get married?’

‘No, though I didn’t actually invite her. As I said, it wasn’t that kind of wedding. And anyway...’ Louise gave a short laugh ‘...she isn’t really into celebrations.’

Because Aunt Maeve was one of life’s disapprovers. She had disapproved of her younger sister, Louise’s mother, and of the man she had married—and by default of the frightened little girl who had been turned over to her care after the tragic drowning of her parents. She had done her best for her niece, but her actions had been inspired by duty rather than love. Maybe that was where she had gone so wrong, Louise thought. Because if you were unfamiliar with the concept of love, mightn’t you go looking for it in all the wrong places?

Giacomo had done the same as her aunt, she recognised suddenly. He had married her out of duty, because she had been carrying his child. Love had never really entered the equation, even though she’d been desperate to believe in it at the time.

‘Did I ever meet her?’ he questioned.

Louise picked up her glass of Bardolino and took a sip of the rich red wine. ‘Once.’

‘Did she like me?’

She looked him straight in the eye, a reluctant smile playing around her lips. ‘I believe that’s what they call a loaded question. Do you really want me to answer?’

‘Of course.’ He shrugged and gave the flicker of a responding smile. ‘My skin, as I believe you say, is thick.’

‘She said she could see exactly why I had fallen for you...’

‘But?’

She put her glass down and when she glanced up, she had to steel herself against the ravaged beauty of his face. ‘She said it would never last. She said we were too different and our worlds were miles apart. And she was right.’

‘Was she always so negative?’

‘Always.’

‘And what happened to your parents?’ he questioned. ‘Tell me about them.’

‘My mother was a dancer—’

‘Ah. That would explain your legs.’

She wanted to remonstrate with him for an interruption which was making her body spring to instant life, and she wanted to purr with pleasure all at the same time. She shot him a warning look. ‘Do you want the story, or not?’

‘Yes.’

‘My father was an actor. Both small-time. Both only moderately talented in a notoriously competitive field, which meant, of course, that they never got much work. They ended up working on cruise ships—my dad as a croupier and my mum in the chorus line. Apparently, they liked it. It meant they could see the world and convince themselves they’d made a success in their chosen careers—and it meant they had zero responsibilities. They weren’t into responsibility.’ She sighed. ‘And then one day I came along and threw a spanner in the works, because having a child didn’t really fit into the life they had, or the life they had planned.’

‘So what happened?’

She shrugged. ‘I only know what my aunt told me. She said my mum left the ship to look after me, only she wasn’t really happy. She spent her whole time fretting about my dad and wondering what he was doing when she wasn’t there. And then one time when he was home on leave, they went drinking in Southampton to celebrate. It was a foul night and for some reason, they decided to go for a walk along the water. They must have fallen in, and drowned, though they didn’t find their bodies for several days.’ She swallowed. ‘A terrible death and yet a very mundane death, all at the same time.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

She thought he was about to reach out his hand to take hers and, in an attempt to stop him, Louise picked up her wine glass again, though she didn’t drink from it. She didn’t think she could take being comforted or cajoled by that soft note of compassion in his voice right now. It might make her start imagining all the things she liked about him and wanted from him—and she was never going to get them.

‘It meant my aunt got custody of me,’ she continued staunchly. ‘Something I don’t think she was prepared or equipped for. She was quite strict and religious and a bit of a slavedriver. In return for my board and lodgings, I did most of the housework. She said she would support me until I was sixteen and after that, I was on my own.’

It had been a joyless upbringing but she must have inherited something of her parents’ acting ability because she had always hidden behind a cheery expression. That had been one of the things which had made her such a popular choice as a waitress. It had been a loveless upbringing, too—which might go some way to explaining why she’d fallen head over heels for the first and only man she’d had sex with. ‘I did very well at school because I worked hard, but I didn’t go to college. I left school at sixteen as planned,’ she finished flatly, easing her feet out of her high-heeled shoes almost without thinking about it. ‘But I discovered that I had cultivated exactly the kind of skills which the world of catering was crying out for. I could cook and clean and serve someone a cup of tea without spilling it.’

‘Did I know any of this?’ he demanded.

She nodded. ‘Some of it. Not all—and not in quite so much detail. Like I said, we didn’t really go in for a lot of conversation and you had a rather short attention span in those days.’

Giacomo sucked in a sharp breath as he heard the sadness in her voice, which she was trying very hard to hide, and somehow that affected him in a way he wasn’t expecting. ‘Was I a terrible husband?’ he questioned suddenly.

There was silence for a moment as she met his gaze with a look of mockery. ‘That’s not a fair question, Giacomo. You told me you wanted me to be objective. How is going over your perceived faults going to help get your memory back?’

It was prevarication, yes—but in a way, this was exactly what he wanted to hear. Giacomo could think of things he’d much rather do than analyse his suitability as a husband, especially when she was looking at him like that. The tremble of her lips and the darkening of her eyes felt too much like temptation. Way too much for him to resist. Because when a man was presented with such alluring invitation written in her extraordinary eyes, what else was he going to do but act on it?

‘I know one thing which might.’ He put his hands on her arms and still she looked at him that way. As if she needed this as much as he did. And hadn’t he resisted the urge to kiss her earlier, even though he’d known that she’d wanted him to?

Why had he done that?

To test his resolve and demonstrate his steely control? To prove he could do without what he most wanted—which was sex? Or to show Louise that she must expect nothing from him, other than a generous pay cheque and a speedy divorce? Either way it didn’t matter because she was here now and they both knew where the boundaries lay—and if they crossed them, so what? It was only ever going to be temporary.

But Giacomo couldn’t stem his low moan of hunger as he pulled her into his arms to kiss her and instantly she opened her lips to greet him. He felt the wild beat of anticipation, because how good was it to enjoy the slick lace of their tongues and hear her sigh of pleasure when he slipped his inside her mouth? He was ready to feast on her. To touch and smell her. He wanted to be inside her. Thrusting long and deep and hard and then spilling his seed until he was empty and dry. But for now, this kiss would have to do.

His arms snaked around her back as if he were afraid she might just disappear—as if what was happening was as unreliable as his memory and he needed to cling to whatever was available to him—and suddenly she felt very available. She was so tiny. So pliable. He could feel the soft weight of her breasts pressing against him and the rocky thrust of her nipples, and suddenly he knew exactly what they would look like. Small and rosy—with bullet-like little tips. It was a revelation. It wasn’t the memory he had been seeking but it was the one he got. A sensual trigger to his already overheated blood.

Hot fire raged through him. He could have ripped the clothes from her body, knowing she would be wet and ready for him. He could have pushed her down and entered her from behind and she would have given nothing but an appreciative moan as she tilted her bottom to accommodate him. Because on some subliminal level he recognised that intimacy with her had always been different than with anyone else. He thought of the way he had looked in that snatched wedding photo and had seen someone he hadn’t recognised. It had come as a shock to see how relaxed and almost happy he’d appeared in that picture and he wondered if his amnesia was making him unduly nostalgic. Or was he just refusing to confront the reality of what life with Louise had really been like?

He got some intimation then of her power over him. Of her ability to dissolve him, or perhaps to destroy him, by making his legendary control slip away.

Wasn’t that too high a price to pay for the fleeting pleasures of sex?

Warnings flashed like fireworks in his mind, telling him to go about this in a more measured way, but he was too eaten up by desire to heed them. Hungrily, she kissed him back as he reached behind to unzip her dress—and he, who had never fumbled in his life, was suddenly behaving like a novice, his fingers were shaking so much. The velvet parted as he slid down the zip and the flesh of her back felt smooth and soft beneath his fingers. Like a ripe nectarine. He tugged the bodice down and tore his mouth away from hers to observe the delicious vision she presented. Those heaving globes—their creamy weight straining against a black bra which appeared to be at least one size too small. She was staring up at him, her eyes dark and liquid with lust, strands of glossy hair tumbling down around her face. She looked like a study in decadence. She looked like the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

‘Not here,’ he bit out.

Her breathing was unsteady as she gasped out her response. ‘Aren’t you making a bit of an assumption?’

‘No games, Louise,’ he warned her. ‘Not tonight. Do you want this as much as I do?’

‘Of...of course I do,’ she said unsteadily, before shooting an anxious glance at the debris-covered dining table. ‘But, look... I’ve still got all the clearing up to do.’

He didn’t even bother to answer her absurd statement, just scooped her up in his arms and carried her towards the staircase, filled with a sense of masterful possession.

‘Where are you taking me?’

He stared down at her face where her eyes looked so wide and dark. ‘You know damned well where I’m taking you. You can change your mind any time you like,’ he ground out. ‘But tell me in this moment that you don’t want to go to bed with me, Louise, and I will call you a liar.’