Lynne Graham's Brides of L'Amour Bundle

Hilary went pink and picked up her glass of wine with a nervous hand. ‘Your release from hospital, I expect.’

‘I’ve come up with a safe conversational topic,’ Roel informed her. ‘Tell me about your family.’

Truth to tell, Hilary could not see a problem with discussing her own background with him. ‘There’s not much in the way of family to talk about—’

‘Your parents?’ Having repeated that demand for information, Roel lounged back in his chair with a daunting air of expectancy.

‘They’re dead…in a car crash in France when I was sixteen,’ Hilary explained heavily. ‘My sister, Emma, was eleven.’

Roel frowned. ‘Who took charge of you?’

‘We lived with my father’s cousin.’ Hilary saw no reason to burden him with the reality of what an unhappy and short-lived arrangement that had turned out to be. ‘Emma’s at boarding-school now.’

‘Here in Switzerland?’

Hilary stiffened. ‘No. In England.’

‘No other relatives?’

‘None. My gran mostly raised me,’ she volunteered. ‘She was Italian and when I was a child she lived with us and that was how

I communicated with her.’

‘Yet you don’t speak Italian now with me?’ Roel censured in the same language but his incisive dark eyes were forgiving because she had established a link between their backgrounds that he respected.

She winced. ‘No way. I understand much more than I can speak—’

‘Time that that changed,’ Roel decreed without hesitation.

‘No.’ Hilary continued to answer him in English, her chin at a stubborn angle, remembered humiliation in her gaze. ‘You once laughed yourself sick at my Italian!’ she condemned. ‘You said I sounded like a hill-billy because some of the words I used were out of date.’

‘I was teasing you, cara.’ Amusement and satisfaction combined in Roel’s response for she had forgotten her embargo on talking about the past.

Her face shadowed. No, he had not been teasing her; he had been annoyed with her for having sufficient grasp of Italian to follow what he had arrogantly deemed to be a confidential conversation. ‘We had a bit of an argument,’ she admitted stiffly, ‘but I don’t want to discuss it.’

It was better to stay silent than risk giving him the wrong impression, Hilary decided uneasily. She concentrated on eating instead and the food was delicious. Umberto refreshed her wineglass on at least three occasions. She refused coffee and announced that she was going to bed early because she was tired.

‘It is barely eight o’clock,’ Roel pointed out gently.

‘I never stay up late,’ Hilary told him woodenly and stood up.

Roel thrust back his chair and rose. As she passed by he closed a hand over hers. ‘One question you must answer—’

‘No…don’t say that to me,’ Hilary muttered in alarm.

Diamond-hard dark eyes sought hers and brooked no denial. ‘Whose idea was it that we use separate bedrooms?’

Her mouth ran dry. ‘Yours…’ she told him, recognising that that was the only sensible reply that she could give.

A scorching smile slashed Roel’s handsome mouth. Her heart hammered in response like a bird trapped inside a cage. He released his hold and she stepped back from him on knees that felt wobbly.

‘Goodnight,’ she muttered hurriedly and fled.

Ten minutes later, her teeth brushed and her face bare of cosmetics, she switched out the light and leapt into her comfortable bed with an appreciative sigh. But her adrenalin was still on too high a charge to allow her to relax into sleep and her restless thoughts strayed back to the past and her initial meetings with Roel.

She had fallen in love with a guy who never even took her out on a date. About once a month he had returned to the salon where she worked. In the aftermath of his first visit, for his limo and the size of that tip had been noticed, the most senior stylist had insisted on taking Hilary’s place. To Hilary’s surprise and delight, Roel himself had objected to the change of personnel and had asked specifically for her.

‘Did you remember my name?’ Hilary questioned.