The Sicilian's Unexpected Duty

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked. ‘Any nausea?’

‘So far so good,’ she confirmed.

‘That is good.’ Not trusting the casual tone to his voice, she looked at him and found him holding a paper bag aloft. He winked. ‘Just in case.’

Despite herself, she laughed, the action loosening a little of the angst in her chest.

He moved closer to her and pointed out of the window. ‘Through those gardens is the Musée de Montmartre. It is reputed to be the oldest house in Montmartre.’

‘Didn’t Renoir live in it?’ she asked, wholly aware of his thigh now pressed against hers.

‘Not quite—there is a mansion behind it that he lived in for a while. Maurice Utrillo lived there though.’

As they snaked their way through the cobbled streets, he pointed out more features of interest, his words breathing life into the ancient buildings, especially from the Impressionist era. He knew so much about the district, had such lively knowledge, his heavy Sicilian accent so lyrical it was a joy to listen to him.

Cara hid her disappointment when the driver came to a stop in a narrow street lined by a terrace of whitewashed five-storey homes, cafés and shops. She could have happily continued with their tour.

To her surprise, they went into a packed poky café that smelt strongly of coffee, body odour and illicit cigarettes. Pepe greeted the staff personally with his usual enthusiasm, shaking hands and kissing cheeks, before leading her through the back and out into a small courtyard.

‘Ladies first,’ he said, waving his hand at a flimsy-looking iron staircase that led all the way to the top floor. ‘Don’t worry,’ he added, clearly reading her mind. ‘I assure you it is safe.’

‘Aren’t there indoor stairs?’ She was in no way mollified by his assurance.

‘There are, but as you have seen, the café is busy, and if all tonight’s guests were to use them, we would get in the way of the staff.’

‘So why go through the front entrance? Why not get your driver to drop us off at the back?’

‘Because the staff would be most put out if they knew I had been here and hadn’t dropped in to say hello.’

‘You do have a high opinion of yourself,’ she muttered.

His smile dropped a wattage before the teeth flashed. ‘Forgive my modesty but I am a good employer.’

Her brow knotted.

‘I own the building,’ he clarified.

‘I thought you owned vineyards.’

‘I do. Didn’t you know variety is the spice of life?’

She sniffed pointedly, and hugged her wrap closer around her chest, wishing she had worn the thick designer coat Pepe had bought her. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t turned it into a high-tech hotel.’

He pulled a face. ‘And rip it of its charm? This street is old-style Montmartre, unaffected and barely known by the tourists that have infected much of the rest of this glorious place. I intend to keep it that way.’

‘You own the entire street?’

He inclined his head in affirmation then looked back to the iron stairs. ‘Shall we?’

‘I don’t know...’

‘Do you suffer from vertigo?’

‘No.’

‘Then where’s your sense of adventure?’

‘I’ve never had one.’

‘Liar. You spent a year travelling Europe with Grace, so don’t tell me you have no sense of adventure.’

‘I’m pregnant.’

‘Are pregnant women not able to climb stairs?’

‘Don’t be silly.’

His features softened. ‘Cara, I promise I would never allow anything to happen to you or your baby. This staircase is only a couple of years old—I oversaw its construction myself. I’ll be right behind you—I promise you’ll be safe.’

Much as she knew she must be a fool to believe him, she found herself putting a foot onto the bottom step, half expecting the whole thing to come crashing down on them.

It was a lot sturdier than she anticipated. And, she had to admit, knowing he would be there to catch her if she should trip was...comforting. Pepe’s strength and assurance were more than a little comforting.

‘Which floor are we going to?’ she asked, turning her head to look at him.

The grin that spread across his face made her stomach flip over. ‘You and I, cucciola mia, are going all the way.’

Her cheeks burning at the suggestion in his tone, she climbed up, slowly at first until she became aware that Pepe, being a couple of paces behind her, had an excellent view of her derrière. Yep, knowing he had a face full of her backside certainly acted as rocket fuel and she reached the top in no time.