The Italian Tycoon's Bride Page 7

  This wonderful crazy feeling might not last, she thought as she walked down towards the paddock, the dogs sniffing and bounding and tumbling each other over. But it was enough that she had felt it today because now she knew she would feel it again. Her life wasn’t over because Jeff didn’t want her—far from it. She had got herself into a tangle of maudlin self-pity in England; she had needed a complete change of scene to break the cycle.

  As the two horses came ambling over to her when she reached the fence of the paddock, their large expressive eyes fixed on the apples in her hands, she laughed out loud. ‘Cupboard loves.’ She let their velvet nuzzles nose the food out of her hands.

  She would thank Blaine when she saw him next, she decided as the horses crunched their titbits. She would tell him it had been the right decision for her to come here, that she was grateful to him for suggesting it.

  She pictured the long lean length of him in her mind as she stood on the bottom rung of the fence, her hair wafting about her face in the hot breeze. The striking, almost luminescent black-lashed eyes, the firm hard mouth, chiselled cheekbones, strong jaw. His body was superb but aggressively masculine, virile, unyielding. He would make love all night and still want more. The core of her sexuality stirred, shocking her as an aching thrill of pleasure took hold.

  Colour flooded her cheeks and she jumped down from the fence, amazed at herself. Blaine Morosini wasn’t her type, not at all, so why did she feel as though he had just caressed her in the most intimate place? It was ridiculous, nonsensical, but true nonetheless. She had never felt like this before, even when Jeff was kissing her and touching her, so how could Blaine produce such sensual feelings when he wasn’t even here?

  Rebound. She seized the word and held on to it like a lifeline. That was all this was. For some reason her body had reacted to Blaine from the first time she had seen him; it was a relief to admit it to herself at last. He was so very different, the opposite in fact, to the sort of male she usually liked and so, hurt and upset as she had been over Jeff, she had swung to the opposite end of the scale. Classic rebound scenario. Didn’t mean a thing. And she had known a man like Blaine couldn’t possibly be interested in someone like her so her subconscious had told her she was safe.

  ‘Whew.’ She sighed loudly. What a relief. She wasn’t going round the bend after all. Her body was going a bit haywire, admittedly, but she could control that. She wasn’t a nymphomaniac, far from it. She dared to bet there weren’t too many twenty-eight-year-old virgins around these days.

  A whine at her feet brought her eyes down to Humphrey, who clearly thought he was due a bit of attention. She smiled, kneeling down and fussing the little animal, who promptly rolled over on his back in submissive adoration. ‘You’re more lucky than you know,’ she murmured, rubbing the jumbo size ears which felt like velvet. ‘No complicated relationships or muddled thoughts for you. You see, you like, you conquer. If the lady is willing, of course. If not, you sail off looking for the next lucky female. No broken heart or hurt feelings. Totally sensible.’

  Humphrey seemed to laugh at her, tongue lolling and eyes bright. She fussed him a little more and then stood up and together, the rest of the dogs following, they walked back towards the house.

  Chapter 5

  The following day was a peaceful one. Maisie mucked out the stables and, once they were fresh and sweet-smelling, exercised Iorwerth, the stallion. Before she had left, Jenny had told her the name was Welsh and meant Lord of worth; Iola, the mare’s name, being the feminine diminutive. ‘My father was Welsh,’ Jenny had explained when Maisie had asked how the names had come to be chosen. ‘Although his parents immigrated to America when he was only four years old, he was careful not to lose knowledge of the language, and all the horses on our ranch had Welsh names. I suppose I just carried on the tradition here.’

  Italian, American, Welsh—Blaine certainly had a cocktail of blood flowing in his veins, Maisie thought as she walked back to the house after taking the dogs for another long walk in the afternoon. Perhaps that was why he was so…unusual? The word mocked her with its meekness.

  She felt sticky and hot as she ladled out the dog and cat food into the respective bowls, which she then placed on the veranda at the back of the house. It was the only place in the whole of the villa that Liliana allowed the animals to eat and drink, but as Maisie stood watching the rows of dishes—red ones for the dogs and white for the cats, with Leonardo, the Labrador, having his own special black one because he was on a prescribed diet for diabetes—and the little heads all avidly eating, she reflected that they didn’t do too badly. Plenty of good food, canine and feline company, lovely surroundings, all their needs catered for—if she came back as an animal she’d love it to be a cat or a dog under Jenny’s care!

  After washing the bowls thoroughly she put them away and went upstairs to her room to shower and change before dinner. Dumping her jeans and shirt—which still smelt vaguely of horse—in the linen basket in a corner of her bathroom, she stepped under the cool cleansing flow of water in the shower. It was heavenly. Although she had used lashings of sun-lotion and had been careful not to burn, her skin had felt hot and irritated by the end of the day. The velvet-soft water was just what she needed. After standing for some minutes just letting the water take all the aches and pains of a physically tiring day out of her limbs, she washed her hair before wrapping a bath sheet round her and walking through to the bedroom.

  She creamed her face and body, noticing the slight golden tint to her skin with some delight, and then dried her hair, letting it fall in soft waves about her shoulders. She had insisted she wanted to eat with Liliana in the kitchen while Jenny was away and now she slipped on a light linen shift dress without bothering with any make-up or jewellery. No need to dress up, she told herself as she yawned at her reflection in the mirror. She was so tired that she doubted she’d last till pudding anyway.

  As she walked downstairs she noticed Liliana exiting the formal dining room, however. ‘Liliana?’ She frowned at the housekeeper. ‘I thought I was eating in the kitchen with you?’

  ‘My fault, I’m afraid.’ As Blaine appeared in the doorway of the sitting room, a glass of wine in his hand, Maisie felt her heart actually jump. ‘I said we’d all sit in the kitchen but Liliana wouldn’t have it, neither will she join us. Stubborn.’ His eyes left Maisie as he smiled at the little housekeeper, and Maisie used the time to compose herself and catch her breath. By the time she joined him in the hall she hoped the hot flood of colour she knew had stained her cheeks bright red had died down somewhat.

  ‘I didn’t know you were eating here tonight,’ she managed quite casually as she followed him into the sitting room, accepting the glass of red wine he handed her in the next moment with a nod of thanks.

  ‘Neither did I.’ He smiled and her heart did that funny little hop thing again. ‘I came by mainly to reassure Liliana that my father is definitely holding his own and she insisted I stay for dinner. I think she feels I don’t cook for myself well enough.’

  He came by to reassure Liliana. Maisie took a big sip of wine, hoping it would begin to soothe her frazzled nerve-endings by the time she had to sit facing him over the dining table. The two of them. By themselves. ‘And do you?’ she said as the wine warmed the little cold bit in her stomach his words about Liliana had caused. ‘Cook for yourself, I mean?’

  ‘Of course; I’m Italian.’ He sat down on one of the sofas, one knee over the other and one arm along the back of the seat as he surveyed her with laughing eyes. ‘We’re all wonderful chefs from birth; didn’t you know?’

  She tried to enter into the spirit of the thing but it was hard because he looked so darn fanciable. Now she had acknowledged this strange effect he had on her, it seemed to have multiplied alarmingly and she had goose-pimples on her goose-pimples. ‘Do you even do barbecues?’ she asked, smiling back. And then hoped he didn’t think she was poking fun at poor Roberto.

  ‘Now and again, but I prefer to think of them as
meals eaten alfresco rather than your English version of taking a piece of unprepared meat and cooking it until it resembles coal.’

  ‘Excuse me!’ She couldn’t work out if he was teasing her or not but she wasn’t going to let him get away with that. ‘I know loads of English people who marinate their meat beforehand and produce wonderful results.’

  ‘This is good.’ He nodded gravely. ‘You are restoring my faith in the nation’s culinary expertise after my experience at Roberto’s.’

  ‘Ah, but Roberto is Italian,’ Maisie pointed out triumphantly. ‘So, if you’re basing your judgement of our barbecues on him, that’s flawed reasoning. It should be me that’s saying I have my doubts about Italian barbecues, surely? Not that I think Jackie’s father is a bad cook, far from it,’ she added hastily. ‘He’s great, as it happens.’

  ‘But not at the English barbecue.’ His face was unsmiling but the greeny-blue eyes were wicked.

  ‘Not at any barbecue,’ she corrected severely, trying to ignore how sexy he looked and how the fluttering action in the pit of her stomach was gathering steam.

  ‘Right. Point taken.’

  ‘Anyway, how is your father, exactly?’ said Maisie. ‘You mentioned it was a bigger operation than expected.’

  Blaine nodded. ‘He was lucky they brought the operation forward,’ he said quietly. ‘Too many years of rich eating and no exercise had clogged up his veins, arteries, valves.’ He shook his head. ‘I’d been telling him for years to get checked out. Hell, he has enough money to get the best medical care for the rest of his life and not worry about it. To cut a long story short, the blood circulation to and from the heart had clogged up to the point where it had almost stopped. He could have had a major heart attack at any moment. But perhaps this was meant to reunite my father and Roberto? Who knows? Certainly, hearing them talk before the operation, I realised for the first time my father was as much to blame for the quarrel as Roberto. More so, probably.’

  Maisie nodded, relieved he had come to that conclusion.

  ‘And you? Can you manage the animals without assistance?’

  ‘There’s not really anything to manage. To be honest, I feel an absolute fraud that I’m being paid for this. I would much prefer we forget about that. Your mother has paid for my tickets and everything’s settled in England; this is like a holiday to me.’

  He frowned. ‘We had an arrangement, did we not?’

  ‘But that was before I came here, before I met your mother and everything. I don’t want any more money.’

  The beautiful eyes had narrowed on her face and Maisie was finding it extremely uncomfortable. If she had known he was going to be here she would have made a little effort—put on some mascara at least. It didn’t help that he was as immaculately turned out as usual and looked good enough to eat. He was wearing a thin pale coffee-coloured shirt today and she could see a dark shadow over his chest denoting black body hair. It did something peculiar to her own body she could well have done without with that piercing gaze fixed on her.

  ‘You are a very unusual young woman. I thought this when we first met, but on further acquaintance I find you more so.’

  His voice had been soft but Maisie stared at him warily. Unusual as in nice, or unusual as in weird? she wanted to ask. She didn’t, though—he might give the wrong answer.

  ‘And you do not realise this, do you? You do not understand your own worth. This, of course, is part of your charm but also your undoing, I feel.’

  Maisie’s train of thought had become so tangled she didn’t know what to say. She stared at him dumbly as he stood up and came to kneel in front of her, his eyes on a level with her wide brown ones.

  ‘It is this quality in you that draws weak characters like this Jeff person to your strength. Do you know what I mean?’

  Maisie shook her head. At this moment she wasn’t even sure who Jeff was, not with Blaine so close she could smell that delicious aftershave again, and, very faintly, hospitals.

  Blaine smiled, a sexy quirk of his slightly uneven mouth. It was a fabulous mouth, Maisie thought feverishly. Magnificent. It was coming closer…

  She gave herself up to the utterly mindless thrill of his kiss. His mouth was firm and warm and he kissed her slowly and deeply, taking his time. It was the sort of kiss she had dreamed about when she was a spotty schoolgirl, before she had grown up and realised you couldn’t believe everything you read in lurid novels under the bedclothes by the light of a torch.

  It didn’t last long enough. When he drew away and rose to his feet Maisie almost cried out in protest, before, that was, she realised he must have heard Liliana’s heels clicking on the wooden floor of the hall. The next second the housekeeper’s head popped round the sitting room door. ‘Dinner is ready,’ she said brightly, her face portraying the fact that whatever reassurance Blaine had given her about his father had worked. ‘And it is your favourite,’ she added to Blaine. ‘You must have known I was making carpaccio tonight, sì?’

  ‘Liliana, I always live in the hope you are making carpaccio,’ Blaine said lazily.

  Maisie stared at him. He was quite unaffected by a kiss that had rocked her down to her toes. How could he just stand there like that, all relaxed and smiling?

  When he offered her his hand in the next moment she ignored it, standing up and preceding him out of the room as she said to Liliana, ‘I hope you’ve saved enough for yourself?’

  Liliana made a very Italian sound, midway between a clicking of the tongue and a grunt in the back of her throat. ‘Sì, sì,’ she said, clearly impatient. ‘Now come and eat.’

  Blaine had brought the bottle of wine through with him but, although he poured her another glass, Maisie noticed he only helped himself to the jug of water on the table. She felt acutely ill at ease as she sat at the vast dining table, which Liliana had laid with two places, one at the head facing the door and the other to its left. She would have much preferred the less formal breakfast room but she knew Liliana would have been horrified if she had even suggested such a thing. The Italian housekeeper was traditional to her last breath. But the heavy silver cutlery, fine linen napkins and beautifully set table complete with a small bowl of fresh flowers all added to her embarrassment. This felt too much like a date.

  The carpaccio—a dish of paper-thin slices of fillet steak garnished with fresh egg mayonnaise and finely slivered parmesan—was delicious, as were the accompanying vegetables, but Maisie was finding it difficult to eat. She was acutely aware of Liliana standing at Blaine’s elbow, watching him with a benign smile on her face as he took his first couple of mouthfuls.

  ‘Excellent.’ He smacked his lips as he turned to the little housekeeper. ‘No one makes carpaccio like you, Liliana. You truly have the touch of an angel.’

  Liliana smiled a satisfied smile, practically purring like a cat as she left the room.

  ‘A little over the top, don’t you think? The touch of an angel?’ Maisie didn’t know why she was being bitchy, but his complete refusal to be stirred by that mind-boggling kiss had something to do with it.

  Blaine paused in his eating, taking a sip of the iced water before he said quietly, ‘When Liliana first came to work for my parents in the months before I was born she was recovering from a mental breakdown. It was the result of watching her husband and six children die in a fire caused by the atrocious electrical wiring in the slums where they lived in Naples. It took a long while for her to become the woman you see now, and beneath the black mourning clothes she wears my mother informs me she is heavily scarred from her attempts to rescue her family from the flames. She was returning from her night cleaning job when the accident happened. She has always been completely devoted to my parents and to me. Angel is not too high a praise, I think.’

  Maisie swallowed the lump in her throat; she had never felt such a worm in the whole of her life. ‘I’m sorry.’ She blinked hard. ‘I always did have a big mouth.’

  Blaine gave the flicker of a smile. ‘It is a beautiful mouth
and just the right size,’ he said softly, his eyes touching her in such a way that she felt weak.

  She stared at him. She didn’t understand what was happening to her and if it was anyone else explaining to her how they felt, she would tell them to take a long cold shower and act their age. Perhaps that was the trouble? she thought in the next moment. She was twenty-eight years of age and she had never been bedded. Maybe that was what this was all about?

  She tore her gaze away from his and gulped at her wine. ‘Liliana’s a love, I can see that,’ she said when she came up for air. ‘And this does have the touch of heaven about it.’ She ate a mouthful of food and closed her eyes in appreciation. When she opened them again his face was an inch from hers and he wasn’t smiling any more.

  ‘Poor mixed up little girl,’ he said, very softly. ‘Forget him. He isn’t worth it.’

  She didn’t like to tell him he was on the wrong lines if he was talking about Jeff. She exhaled slowly. She wanted him to kiss her again, so badly it actually hurt. Which meant she had to be the most flighty female in the world, didn’t it? She had only been an ex-fiancée for a few weeks; it wasn’t even decent to start fancying another male so fast. And as she would have sworn on oath a week or two ago that it would take months, if not years, to get over Jeff, it was also a bit scary too. She swallowed hard. ‘Your carpaccio is getting cold.’

  This time his warm mouth just skimmed her lips before he settled back in his seat. ‘We will talk of other things,’ he declared firmly. ‘Your childhood. Tell me about that. Were you a happy child?’

  Actually, for most of the time she had been horrendously miserable. Her face must have told him something because his expression changed. ‘Not a good subject? Then that can wait. For now I will tell you about my childhood, sì? Which was happy. And later we will have coffee on the veranda where it is dark and easier to talk and you can tell me about your childhood.’