The Italian's Love-Child

‘I did.’

‘But you didn’t sleep.’

Her eyes widened, for

one crazy moment imagining that he had witnessed her fretful night. ‘Yes, yes, I did,’ she denied automatically.

‘Liar,’ he murmured as without warning he lifted his hand to lightly touch the delicate skin beneath her eyes. ‘This gives you away. Dark shadows, like the blue of an iris, so dark against your pale skin.’

The invasion of her personal space was both unexpected and inappropriate and yet his touch made her tremble, the innocent contact feeling as highly charged as any intimate caress. She wanted to tell him to stop it, to ask him what the hell he thought he was playing at, but she was mesmerised by him, lulled by the deep, honeyed Italian accent. She felt like a weak, tiny kitten, confronted by the blazing strength of a lion. And Italians were tactile, she told herself—that was all.

‘I’m not wearing any make-up,’ she said, as if that explained everything, bizarrely missing the contact as he moved his hand away.

‘I know you’re not.’ And her scrubbed, pure face intrigued him, too. She must be very assured not to wear any cosmetics, and self-assurance was a potent sexual weapon in itself. ‘I didn’t sleep myself, if it makes any difference.’

‘Should I be interested?’

‘Maybe you should, since it was for exactly the same reason as you.’

She pulled herself together. Pretend he’s one of those men who plague you, she thought. One of those boring, vacuous men who are attracted to you simply because you’re beamed into their homes every morning.

‘Lumpy mattress?’ she guessed. ‘Or simply indigestion after a late night and too much party food?’

He laughed. ‘No.’

And then she found herself saying, ‘Perhaps there were rather more enjoyable reasons for your lack of sleep.’

‘Such as?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. The blonde woman you were talking to seemed very attentive. Maybe she kept you awake.’

‘And does that make you jealous, tesora?’

Eve stared at him. Her heart was thumping in her chest. Yes. Yes, it did. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous.’

He smiled. ‘I slept alone.’

‘You have my commiserations.’

‘Did you?’ he drawled.

‘Are you in the habit of asking people you don’t know their most intimate secrets?’

‘I asked you a straight question.’ He paused. ‘Unlike you, who merely hinted at it.’

‘Who you sleep with doesn’t interest me in the slightest and I’m certainly not going to tell you my bedtime secrets!’ she bit back angrily, and wished that she could have disappeared in a puff of smoke as Lizzy chose just that moment to walk back into the room, carrying a bottle of champagne and four glasses.

‘Wow!’ she exclaimed, her eyes widening like saucers. ‘Shall I walk right out and then walk back in again?’

Luca took the bottle from her and began to remove the foil. ‘Eve and I were just discovering that we like to get straight to the heart of the matter, weren’t we, Eve?’

Eve glared at him, feeling the heat in her cheeks. What could she say? What possible explanation could she give to her friend for the conversation they had been having? None. She couldn’t even work it out for herself.

‘Well, that’s what she does for a living, of course,’ giggled Lizzy.

He poured the champagne and handed both women a glass, his eyes lingering with amusement on the furious look Eve was directing at him. ‘And what exactly is that?’ he questioned idly.

‘Go on, guess!’ put in Lizzy mischievously.