The Italian's Christmas Housekeeper

The look on his face told her he didn’t believe her and, despite her inexperience, Molly could understand why. Because how could they remain indifferent to each other when the atmosphere around them was still charged with that potent chemistry which had led to her downfall before? And wasn’t she longing for him to touch her again? To trace his fingertip along the edges of her trembling lips, before replacing them with his mouth and kissing her until she capitulated to his every need.

Well, that would be insane.

Molly swallowed as she picked another bauble from its soft nest of tissue paper and the Neapolitan turned away.

‘I need to get showered and changed before the party,’ he said roughly. ‘Just get on with your work, will you, Molly?’

CHAPTER SIX

SHE WISHED HE would stop staring at her.

Liar. Molly shivered as she picked up an empty wine glass and put it on her tray. Admit it. You like it when he stares at you. Even though his face looks all dark and savage, as if he hates himself for doing it.

And how much more savage will he look when he discovers the truth? she wondered.

It was the end of a long evening and only a few die-hard guests remained. Contrary to predictions the snow had stopped falling, allowing the chauffeur-driven cars to take the giggling London guests safely back to the capital. Vintage champagne had flowed, delicious food had been eaten and there hadn’t been a single crisis in the kitchen, much to Molly’s relief. A group of local singers had trudged through the snow and treated the partygoers to an emotional medley of Christmas carols, before being given mulled wine and hot mince pies and sent on their way with a huge donation to rebuild the roof of the village hall. And now Salvio was standing talking to a dark-suited man in the far corner of the huge drawing room—someone had whispered that he was a sheikh—but every time she looked up, Molly could see the hooded black eyes of the Neapolitan trained on her.

She hurried down to the kitchen where at least she was safe from that devastating gaze and the ongoing concern of how exactly she was going to break her momentous news. At least when you were helping stack clean plates and showing the hired help where to put all the silver cutlery, it was easy to forget your own problems, if only for a while. But at twenty past midnight the last of the staff departed and only the sheikh who had dominated Salvio’s company for much of the evening was left, the two men deep in conversation as they sat by the fireside.

Molly was in the basement kitchen drying the final crystal glass when she heard a deafening chatter outside and peered out to see a helicopter alighting on the snowy lawn. Moments later the sheikh, now swathed in a dark overcoat, his black head bent against the flattening wind, began to run towards it. She could see the glint of a royal crest on the side of the craft as the door closed and it began its swaying ascent into the sky. Her hands were shaking as she suddenly realised she was alone in the house with Salvio and she wondered what she should do. She put the glass down. She should behave as she normally would in these circumstances—even if this felt anything like normal.

Taking off her damp apron and smoothing down her black dress, she went upstairs to find Salvio still sitting beside the fire, his stance fixed and unmoving as he gazed into the flickering flames. His long legs were stretched out before him and the rugged perfection of his profile looked coppery in the firelight. Never had he seemed more devastating or more remote and never had she felt so humble and disconnected. How crazy was it that this man had briefly been her lover and would soon be the father of her child?

Molly cleared her throat. ‘Excuse me.’

He looked up then, his eyes narrowing as if he couldn’t quite remember who she was, or why she was here.

‘Sì, what is it?’ he questioned abruptly.

‘I didn’t mean to disturb you, but I wondered if there was anything else you’d like?’

Salvio felt his heart slam hard against his chest. If it had been any other former lover asking that question, it would have been coated in innuendo. But Molly’s words weren’t delivered suggestively, or provocatively. Her big grey eyes weren’t slanting out an unspoken invitation. She simply looked anxious to please, which only reinforced the differences between them. Once again he cursed his hot-headedness in taking the curvy housekeeper to his bed.

Even though he could understand exactly why he’d done it.

He’d spent this evening watching her, despite his best intentions. He’d told himself she was strictly off-limits and he should concentrate on his guests, but it had been Molly’s wide-hipped sway which had captured his gaze and Molly’s determined face as she had scurried around with trays of drinks and food which had captivated his imagination. He had seen the natural sparkle of her grey eyes and had remembered the healthy glow of her cheeks when she had romped enthusiastically in his arms. But her face was pale now, he noted. Deathly pale—as if all the colour had been leeched from it.

‘No, I don’t think there is,’ he said slowly, forcing himself to treat her as he would any other member of staff. ‘Thank you for all your hard work tonight, Molly. The party went very well. Even the Sheikh of Razrastan stayed far longer than he intended.’

‘You’re very welcome,’ she said.

‘I’m sure we can think about a generous bonus for you.’

‘There’s no need for that,’ she said stiffly.

‘I think I’ll be the judge of that.’ He gave her a benign smile. ‘And I haven’t forgotten my promise to try to find you some work. Or, rather, to ask Gina to help.’ His words were tantamount to dismissal but she didn’t move. Salvio saw the faint criss-crossing of a frown over the smooth expanse of her brow and something—he never knew what it was—compelled him to ask a question he usually avoided like the plague. ‘Is everything okay?’

Her hands began twisting at the plain fabric of her work dress and he could see the indecision which made her frown deepen.

‘Y-yes.’

‘You don’t sound very sure.’

‘I wasn’t going to tell you until tomorrow,’ she said, her knuckles whitening.

Instinct made Salvio sit upright,

his body tensing. ‘Tell me what?’ he questioned dangerously.