Confessions of His Christmas Housekeeper by Sharon Kendrick
CHAPTER NINE
THESHOWERNEXTto the servant’s bedroom didn’t provide what Louise was looking for—which was a powerful stream of water to wash away the scent and memories of what had happened the night before. The cubicle wasn’t the largest in the world, but she made the best of it before sliding into her uniform, because that seemed the best way of putting in place the barriers which she and her estranged husband had torn down in some style last night.
She went in search of Giacomo, who she found in—of all places—the kitchen. A kitchen she barely recognised with its gleaming and tidy surfaces. She blinked. Where was all the debris from last night’s meal? The unwashed pots and jugs and measuring spoons. The bag of flour and sticky egg whisk? All the stuff she’d neglected to clear up because Giacomo had carried her up to his bed, leaving chaos behind?
In the coffee-scented warmth, he was standing with his back to her—black hair curling over the back of a soft sweater, close-cut jeans emphasising his narrow hips and the powerful shanks of his thighs. A shaft of longing arrowed through her. Now why had she suddenly started remembering the hair-roughened flesh of his lower belly and the way she had trickled her fingers down over the rippled flesh to find the hard nudge of his erection, before clamping her mouth round it? Communication was going to be difficult enough this morning without indulging in distracting erotic recall, and throwing a rapidly emerging desire into the mix. She wondered whether either of them would have the nerve to confront the elephant which was preparing to charge into the room. Did they ignore the fact that last night they had indulged in a blissful kind of nearly-there sex, or pretend it had never happened?
‘So. Have I left it long enough?’ he drawled, still with his back to her.
The unexpected question startled Louise out of her introspection. ‘Long enough for...what?’
He turned round and she almost wished he hadn’t, because it was easier to address him impartially when he wasn’t observing her—less so when those black eyes were piercing through her and making her skin shiver in response. He had obviously showered and changed but he hadn’t bothered shaving and the dark shadow around his chiselled jaw added an extra layer of danger and intimacy, which Louise could have done without.
‘For you to study me and work out what we’re going to say about what happened last night.’
‘I suppose this morning-after scene is hugely familiar to you.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Unless you’re a mind-reader, or something?’
‘It’s a big no to the first part of your statement and a possible yes to the second—certainly where you are concerned.’ He threw her a look of cool challenge. ‘So I’m right?’
‘Of course you are.’ Louise sighed. They had agreed to be honest. They had been extremely close last night. What was the point of being coy? ‘None of that stuff last night was supposed to happen—’
‘Stuff?’ he echoed, a faint smile playing around the edges of his lips.
‘That’s right,’ she continued stolidly. ‘And inevitably, it’s going to feel a bit...awkward.’
‘Sit down.’ He indicated a machine which resembled a small spacecraft. ‘And I’ll make you some coffee.’
‘That’s supposed to be my job.’ But she sat down anyway, because her knees had started feeling weak when he looked at her that way. ‘What are you even doing in here? It’s like finding a lion in a tearoom. Are you responsible for the incredibly tidy state of the kitchen?’
‘What else did you think had happened to it?’ His gaze was mocking. ‘That a fleet of unseen servants stole in while we were sleeping? And now you’re blushing, which is both unexpected and very charming. I think I’d better make you some breakfast, don’t you?’
‘Breakfast?’
‘You know? The meal you eat first thing in the morning, or in this case...’ he gave a swift glance at the gold timepiece which gleamed at his wrist ‘...nearly midday, so I guess we’ll have to call it brunch.’
Louise blinked in astonishment, aware that she still hadn’t looked at her phone—and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that. ‘Did I really sleep that long?’
‘It seems so.’
‘Where—?’
His dark eyebrows shot up. ‘Did I sleep?’
‘You’re mind-reading again, Giacomo. Much more of that and we’ll have to buy you a crystal ball and hire you out for summer fetes.’
He smiled. ‘I slept in the room next door, because I got the distinct feeling you wanted to be on your own.’
She wanted to tell him not to smile like that and certainly not to be so thoughtful. To tell him that was the kind of considerate gesture which made a woman read far too much into a situation and she was in danger of doing exactly that.
So stop flirting with him.
Stop wishing he’d put that wretched coffee capsule down and come over here and kiss her with the same hungry passion he’d displayed last night. Because somehow, despite her determination to dismiss what had happened as a big mistake, she couldn’t bear to think that their single sexual encounter might have proved conclusive. Had that perfunctory display of mutual pleasure extinguished all his desire for her—and if that were the case, wasn’t it a good thing they would soon be heading for the divorce courts? ‘You were right, I did,’ she mumbled. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’ The machine made a couple of steaming emissions and he pushed a cup of coffee towards her, followed by a small jug. ‘No sugar, am I right?’
She added a splash of milk. ‘You’re remembering other stuff?’
‘Little things, here and there.’ He poured a coffee for himself and dropped a sugar cube into the inky brew. ‘As you said the other day—inconsequential things which mean nothing but which, when taken as a whole, begin to form a solid picture.’
Louise sipped her coffee—which was very good—unable to shake off her fears about his memory returning and not just because she knew some of the things which were lying in wait for him. Things which had the potential to hurt her all over again and take her back to that helpless, hopeless place she’d dreaded returning to. Should she tell him? Blurt it all out and replace this precarious sense of ease with the most heartbreaking memory of all? But how could she do that—and on Christmas Day when, for a brief moment, he seemed almost...contented? She took another sip of coffee. No. She would wait until he remembered—which he had insisted on doing from the outset.
Coward, mocked a voice in her head, but she pushed the thought away as she watched him making toast, realising that they’d never shared this kind of domestic intimacy when they’d been married.
‘Eggs?’ he questioned.
‘Great.’ Louise put her cup down. ‘Though I wasn’t aware that you actually knew how to cook.’
‘Alpha men don’t cook?’ he challenged. ‘Is that what you’re implying?’
‘Something like that. You always had servants when we were together.’
He looked up from breaking a fifth egg into a bowl, but now his voice was edged with a hint of steel. ‘You think that a boy from the orphanage doesn’t learn how to fend for himself?’
‘I don’t know.’ She hesitated. ‘I only know the bare facts. You never used to want to talk about it. You just said it was a big, grim place and the best thing about it was the day you were able to leave.’
Giacomo nodded as he beat the eggs and added them to the butter which was sizzling in the pan, acknowledging that what she said was true. Because keeping things to himself had been his default mechanism. The less people knew, the less hold or influence they would have over him. And isolation was power. It was all he had really ever known. Why deviate from a path which had guided him so successfully throughout his life? ‘And nothing about that has changed,’ he said coldly. ‘Why would I want to talk about an experience which is best forgotten?’
Giacomo saw the unmistakable disappointment which clouded her eyes as he pushed a plate of eggs towards her, but she quickly turned her head as she reached for the toast. She looked very different this morning—almost unrecognisable from the temptress of last night in her scarlet dress, high heels and the star necklace. He had been surprised and a little disappointed when she had appeared in uniform, because it suggested she was eager to put the relationship firmly back on a professional footing. And hadn’t he revelled in the distinctly unprofessional outcome which had ended their evening?
Yet he thought how beautiful she looked, sitting at the wooden table in her pink shirt, with her glossy dark hair piled up in that very sexy updo. Her cheeks were rosy and so were her lips as she munched hungrily on a piece of toast and she gave the appearance of a woman who had been thoroughly ravished, though of course, she hadn’t—not quite. He wondered how she would react if he told her that he hadn’t gone straight off to one of the other rooms last night. That he’d lain there for a while, watching as she slept, unwilling to walk away from the unusual sense of warmth which had stolen over his skin as he had watched the rising and falling of her magnificent breasts.
He had known that if he had reached for her—in those soft early hours dominated by the senses rather than by reason—then she would have been back in his arms. Her lips would have reached blindly for his in the darkness and who knew what might have happened? Actually, he knew very well what would have happened—the chemistry between them was way too powerful to resist a scenario like that.
But he didn’t want to possess her like that, by default. He wanted her telling him she wanted him. He wanted her alert and hungry, not half drugged by sleep. His mouth hardened. Was sex the way to fire up his memory? A gut-deep feeling inside him suggested that everything would come flooding back the moment he entered her. Or was that simply his body’s way of justifying his urgent need to possess her again?
The ache in his groin was distracting and he ate his brunch mechanically while Louise focussed her attention on her eggs—taking an extraordinarily long time about it, as if she found eating easier than talking. But when she could legitimately dawdle no longer and had pushed her plate away, he sat back in his chair and studied her.
‘Shall we go for a walk?’ he questioned. ‘In the snow?’
Startled, she glanced out of the window, as if she had just been reminded of the white world which lay beyond the window.
‘What...now?’
‘Why not?’
‘I’ll give you one very good reason.’ She indicated the untidy breakfast table between them. ‘There’s this to sort out. And more.’
‘Forget it,’ he growled.
‘I can’t forget it, Giacomo. You’re paying me to be your housekeeper and it would be a dereliction of duty for me to just waltz off and leave the place looking a tip, like I did last night.’ She pursed her lips together with a look of self-censure. ‘Don’t they say that once is a mistake, but twice is a pattern?’
‘So you think last night was a mistake, do you, Louise?’
Her cheeks went very pink and it was a moment or two before she nodded. ‘I’m certain of it.’
‘But you enjoyed it.’
She looked at him with appeal in her eyes. ‘Of course I did. But that doesn’t make it right.’
But he hardened his heart against the plea for understanding in her eyes, because he wanted this. He wanted it very badly. And so did she, if she was being honest. ‘If you want to talk about duty, that’s fine,’ he said coolly. ‘But as your employer, I really ought to be the one to decide how you spend your time. And right now, I want you to come walking in the snow with me.’
‘So it’s an order, rather than a suggestion?’
‘If that makes it more acceptable for you, sì.’
Had she always been so cautious around him? he wondered. Had those extraordinary eyes always grown wary, as if everything he said needed to be examined for possible damage limitation? He frowned. Had he been a difficult man to live with? And if that was the case, maybe he should cut her some slack.
But to his surprise, she smiled and nodded her agreement and once again, Giacomo was unprepared for the impact of that smile. It was like the sun flickering through the dense mist of a morning fog and making everything grow clear. He felt the stab of pain somewhere deep inside him and he didn’t like it. Because he recognised that this was emotional pain and it was too like the stuff he’d grown up with. Hadn’t he spent his life avoiding feeling that way again?
Running away, taunted a voice in his head, but he pushed it away with a finality born of grinding habit.
‘Okay,’ she agreed. ‘In that case, I’ll go and get changed into something more suitable.’
She was back ten minutes later, wearing jeans and the fur-trimmed anorak, her shiny hair loose and spilling down over her shoulders.
He shot her a questioning look. ‘Wasn’t there something else you could have worn?’
‘Of course there was,’ she answered coolly. ‘A cashmere coat which probably cost the equivalent of a year’s wages and a very rakish wide-brimmed hat. Very billionaire’s wife. But that’s not me, is it, Giacomo? Not any more. This is me. Take it or leave it.’
Yet despite a fierce defence which was bordering on defiance, Louise wasn’t as sure of herself as she sounded. Should she admit that she’d been tempted to dress up as Signora Volterra one more time, because the beautiful garments had been beckoning to her and it was Christmas Day? Until she reminded herself that she wasn’t Giacomo’s wife any more. And if she indulged in any kind of masquerade, that would only make her feel even more confused than she already did. Wouldn’t it blur the boundaries between them even more?
Because right now she wasn’t sure who she was as she stepped out into the snowy grounds, with Giacomo by her side. It was as if she’d morphed into a hybrid of the woman she’d been before and the woman she was now. She felt curiously alive—in a way she hadn’t done since she’d left the marriage. But that was just sex. It must be. And already she was in trouble. Dreading the completion of her time here, when Giacomo would fly back to Milan and she would drive her little car through the snow to Stanwell and they would wave goodbye—this time for ever.
How long would it take her to forget him this time?
They crunched their way through the thick snow, which was made luminously bright by the pale sun. At least the wintry scene was beautiful enough to momentarily distract her from Giacomo’s dark, Italianate beauty—but she could only look at snow-covered trees and vast sweeps of white for so long before her attention began to stray... She risked a peep at his profile, thinking how indomitable he looked against the brilliant landscape, and it suddenly dawned on her what a fool she had been to agree to his insane proposition. Why had she come here at all? Had she really imagined she would be immune to his spellbinding magnetism? That she could allow her emotions to be compromised and then to walk away unscathed?
‘It’s gorgeous,’ she breathed, trying to drag her thoughts back from the precipice of regret. Trying to sound like a normal person who happened to be walking around the beautiful snowy countryside on Christmas Day.
‘Isn’t it?’ he agreed softly.
But he was looking at her—not his vast estate—and she wished he wouldn’t, because that smoky slant of his eyes wasn’t helping the sudden rocketing of her pulse.
‘Why don’t we walk down to the lake?’ she suggested, with a briskness which suddenly felt imperative.
But the lake had gone. It had disappeared beneath a thick coating of white, only adding to Louise’s feelings of disconnection as they trudged back through the snow towards the ancient house. It was as if everything about the landscape was different, but underneath the surface it was all exactly the same. Like them, she thought grimly. Just like them.
‘We walked like this once before on Christmas Day, didn’t we?’ Giacomo questioned suddenly.
‘Yes.’ Her steps slowed. ‘Yes, we did.’
‘I was holding your hand,’ he said slowly.
She felt vulnerable. She wanted to tell him to stop doing this, but she couldn’t, of course she couldn’t—because this was why she was here. And his words took Louise right back there. He hadn’t wanted to let go of her and she’d felt protected and cherished as he’d wrapped his big palm around her gloved fingers. Safe and protected and very loved. Wasn’t it stupid how a little thing like that could make her feel as if it were some big deal? As if hand-holding was somehow more significant than hot sex.
‘Right, again. You were.’
‘And I built you a snowman.’
Silently, she nodded. It hardly seemed credible now, but he had done just that. And naturally, being Giacomo, he had created the biggest and most magnificent snowman in the entire history of the world, or so she’d thought at the time. Though, to be honest, if he’d just slammed two pieces of coal into the front of an icy mound, she probably would have cooed ecstatically over it. ‘Yes, you did. You spent about an hour doing it while I was in the house, and then you covered up my eyes and led me out here to see it. It was pretty amazing.’
There was a pause. ‘Shall I build you another one?’
And the crazy thing was that his unexpected question made her want to melt. Was that because it mimicked the tenderness he’d shown before, such a long time ago? Part of her wanted to say, yes, please—but common sense stopped her just in time. Because any minute now and she would start imagining that they were in one of those cheesy Christmas films—the type which had picturesque flakes of snow tumbling from the sky and he would brush one from her cheek before slowly bending his head to kiss her. And they didn’t do those kind of kisses. Not any more. The only kisses they shared were of the pre-sex variety.
‘I’ve outgrown snowmen,’ she said repressively, relieved when they reached the house, rapidly removing her anorak and shaking the snow off her boots as Giacomo shut the door behind them.
‘Excuse me. I need to find my phone,’ she said quickly, and as she walked into the dining room she was overcome by another wave of surprise. Because Giacomo must have cleared away in here, too—and lit the fire. The room was deliciously warm and the light from the flames was reflected in the baubles on the Christmas tree, making them seem brighter than the midday sun.
Her phone was still on the table beside the sofa and Louise had just slid it into the back pocket of her jeans when she turned and saw Giacomo standing in the doorway, watching her. She felt something potent and inevitable flow between them. A powerful force which could not be halted by logic or reason. Something imperceptible shifted and changed as he walked across the room towards her. He was standing in front of her now but his eyes were narrowed as they surveyed her, as if he were trying to focus on something he couldn’t quite see.
‘Louise?’ he said, in a low voice.
It was one of those one-word questions with the potential to convey a multitude of meaning, but Louise knew exactly what it was he was asking. For a moment she couldn’t speak, she was so overcome with an emotion she didn’t dare define. ‘Yes,’ she whispered back. ‘Yes.’
It was assent and desire tied up in one soft word and Giacomo felt his blood roar in his veins as he bent his head to kiss her. It felt like for ever since he had tasted the pleasure of her lips, which of course was a complete distortion because it was only a few short hours ago. Yet it felt as if last night had just whetted his appetite—or maybe reminded him of all the things he’d been missing, because his desire for her right now felt off the scale.
He skated his hands over her body, his palms lingering fractionally on the pert thrust of her breasts, and she gave a breathless little moan in response. He cupped one heavy globe, feeling it peak as it strained towards him against the softness of her sweater. He felt her squirm and knew he had to get her horizontal as quickly as possible, yet the hardness at his groin was already so intense that he didn’t trust himself to take her upstairs as he’d managed to do last night. He wanted her now. Here. In front of the flickering fire which was bathing the room in sunset colours. They’d made love here before, he realised. More than once.
Hunger flared through him as he eased her down onto the silken rug and sank down beside her, peeling off her sweater so that her lace-clad breasts burst free. He unclipped her bra and gave himself over to the highly pleasurable activity of licking the soft and abundant flesh until she was moaning with what sounded like a mixture of frustration and encouragement. And that was when he unzipped her jeans, tracing the tremble of his fingertips over the faint swell of her stomach.
‘Help me,’ he said urgently.
Louise thought she’d never known the man she married sound quite so helpless and she lifted her bottom to assist him with the removal of her jeans. She wondered if he’d noticed that she’d gone back to her Louise Greening underwear rather than the decadent lingerie she’d worn last night. But he didn’t seem at all bothered as he hooked his fingers into the sides of her sensible panties and slid them down over her knees before flinging them aside so that they landed in a heap at the base of the dining table. She closed her eyes and briefly wondered what her boss at Posh Catering might have to say about that.
‘Oh...’ She quivered as he pushed her thighs apart and she thought—prayed—he was going to strum her badly aching bud with his finger. But no. He was bending his head towards her, his mouth finding the most private part of her—kissing and exploring the quivering molten core before delving his tongue into her wet heat.
He took his time. He inflicted his own brand of exquisite torture. The tip of his tongue teased her and tantalised her until she was squirming and moaning for mercy and, eventually, he complied with a low laugh. Had she imagined that note of triumph as she began to pulse around his lips, her body shuddering helplessly as she gripped onto his shoulders? And if she hadn’t, what was she going to do about it?
For a while she lay there as she got her breath back, her head buried in his neck, where she couldn’t seem to stop fluttering countless kisses against his warm flesh. And once her pulse had stopped its crazy drumming, she pulled away and reached for the bulky ridge of his erection, which was outlined by his denim jeans.
‘Louise?’ he said unsteadily.
‘Your turn, I think,’ she said, her voice demure as she carefully eased his zip down over his hardness. ‘Lie back.’
She knew he was watching her, as if he were surprised by her cool assertion as she took his rigid shaft into her mouth. She tried to tease him as he had teased her, but it seemed he was too close to the edge to tolerate any such game-playing and the rough sound he made was less a plea and more of a command. She held on to his hips and almost at once she felt him tense, as he shuddered his seed into her waiting mouth.
Eventually she moved to lie beside him and as the silence around them grew, Louise could feel herself being tugged between past and present—like a little boat bobbing around on choppy waters. She badly wanted to make love with him properly. There was nothing she wanted more than to be joined with Giacomo Volterra again, but she was still so scared of doing that, for so many different reasons. Her pulse picked up speed. What a dangerous game she was playing...
After a while he pushed a strand of hair away from her flushed face and stared down at her.
‘You’re very good at that,’ he observed.
She shrugged. ‘You were the one who taught me everything I know.’
He traced the shape of her lips with his finger. ‘Has there been anyone else?’ he asked suddenly.
She saw something very primeval in his eyes as she shook her head. ‘Of course not. I made my vows to you, and we’re still married.’
‘And that’s why there’s been nobody else?’ he demanded. ‘Because of the vows you made on your wedding day?’
‘There’s a reason why I gave my virginity to you, Giacomo,’ she said quietly. ‘Nobody had ever made me feel like that before. And that reason hasn’t gone away.’
The slow smile he gave indicated his satisfaction with her answer, though on some level she noted she wasn’t confident enough to ask him the same question.
‘It strikes me as a little ironic,’ he murmured, still stroking her hair, ‘that we’re now in a situation of extended foreplay which never happened the first time around.’
‘And does that irritate you?’
‘It frustrates me but it doesn’t irritate me.’ There was silence for a moment. ‘Nothing about you irritates me,’ he said, at last.
His smoky words were probably nothing other than the lazy commendation offered by a sexually satisfied man, but right now it felt too much like a compliment for comfort. It made her remember all the hopes and dreams she’d woven last time they’d been here. It reminded Louise that she needed to extract herself from his arms before she started building baseless fantasies of the happy-ever-after variety. She closed her eyes, her actions contradicting her intentions, because her limbs felt as heavy as lead. ‘Better move.’
‘Not yet.’ His finger tiptoed a path from neck to instantly peaking nipple as if to demonstrate how instantly he could arouse her. ‘I have a proposition to put to you.’
Her dreamy bubble of contentment was dissolved by the sudden gritty note of resolve in his voice. She opened her eyes. ‘What?’
‘You were only supposed to be here for three days, weren’t you?’ he said slowly.
‘That’s what’s written in my contract. What of it?’
‘I’m just thinking that three days might not be long enough.’
She kept her voice neutral. ‘Long enough for what?’
‘Parts of my memory have returned, sì, but much of it is still missing.’ He skated his hand over the naked curve of her hip. ‘Meanwhile, you and I seem to have forged a kind of truce, cara.’
She didn’t like that term. A truce suggested a temporary lull in an ongoing battle.
But wasn’t that exactly what divorce was all about?
She wriggled away from the distraction of his fingers. ‘Where exactly are you going with this, Giacomo?’
‘I need to return to Milan. There are things I can’t get out of. And also, that was where we spent some of those lost months, which could act as a prompt for the parts of my memory which still haven’t returned.’ His eyes burned. ‘Which is why I think we should revert to Plan A.’
