The Italian's Christmas Secret

She shook her head. ‘No. Well, we did pass a little B&B just a while back. You know, one of those places which offer bed and breakfast for the night.’

‘I’m in the hotel trade,’ he said silkily. ‘And I’m perfectly aware of what a B&B is. How far was it?’

She shrugged. ‘Less than a mile, I’d guess—though it wouldn’t be easy to reach in this kind of conditions.’

‘No kidding?’ Matteo eyed the virtual white-out which was taking place outside the window and his heart thundered as he acknowledged the real danger of their situation. Because suddenly this was about more than just missing his flight or disappointing a woman who had been eager to make him her lover; this was about survival. Venturing outside in this kind of conditions would be challenging—and dangerous—and the alternative was to hunker down in the car for the night and wait for help to arrive tomorrow. Presumably she would have blankets in the boot and they could continue to run the heater. His lips curved into a grim smile. And wasn’t the traditional method of generating heat to huddle two bodies together? But he gave the idea no more than a few seconds’ thought before dismissing it—and not just because she didn’t look as if she had enough flesh on her bones to provide any degree of comfort. No. To take the risk of staying put while the snow came down this fast would be nothing short of madness, for there was no guarantee anyone would find them in the morning.

He ran his gaze over her uniform of navy blue trousers and the sturdy jacket which matched her cap. The material curved over the faint swell of her breasts and brushed against her thighs and was hardly what you would call practical—certainly not appropriate to face the elements at their worst. He sighed. Which meant he would have to give her his overcoat and freeze to death himself. ‘I don’t suppose you have any warmer clothes with you?’

For a few seconds, she seemed to brighten. ‘I’ve got an anorak in the boot.’

‘An anorak?’

‘It’s a waterproof jacket. With a hood.’ She removed her peaked chauffeur’s cap and raked her fingers through her short dark hair and Matteo felt inexplicably irritated by the brief smile which had lightened her pale face.

Was she expecting praise for having had the foresight to pack a coat? he wondered acidly.

‘Just get it and put it on,’ he bit out. ‘And then let’s get the hell out of here.’

CHAPTER TWO

KEIRA HAD TO work hard to keep up with Matteo as he battled his way through the deep snow because his powerful body moved much faster than hers, despite the fact that he’d insisted on bringing his suitcase with him. Thick, icy flakes were flying into her eyes and mouth and at times she wondered if she was imagining the small lighted building in the distance—like some bizarre, winter version of an oasis.

Despite putting on the big pair of leather gloves he’d insisted she borrow, her fingers felt like sticks of ice and she gave a little cry of relief when at last they reached the little house. Thank heavens she hadn’t imagined it because she didn’t like to think about Matteo Valenti’s reaction if she’d brought him here on a wild goose chase. He might have insisted on her borrowing his gloves, but even that had been done with a terse impatience. She saw his unsmiling look as he kicked a pile of snow

away from the wooden gate and pushed it open, and she stumbled after him up the path to stand beneath the flashing red and gold lights of the illuminated sign overhead. She was shivering with cold by the time he’d jammed his finger on the doorbell and they heard some tinkly little tune playing in the distance.

‘Wh-what if...wh-what if nobody’s in?’ she questioned from between teeth which wouldn’t seem to stop chattering.

‘The light’s on,’ he said impatiently. ‘Of course somebody’s in.’

‘They m-might have gone away for Christmas and left the lights on a timer to deter burglars.’

‘You really think burglars are going to be enticed by a place like this?’ he demanded.

But their bad-tempered interchange was brought to a swift halt by the sound of a lumbering movement from within the house and the door was pulled open by a plump, middle-aged woman wearing a flowery apron which was smeared with flour.

‘Well, bless my soul!’ she said, opening the door wider as she peered out into the gloom. ‘You’re not carol singers, are you?’

‘We are not,’ answered Matteo grimly. ‘I’m afraid our car has got snowed in a little way down the road.’

‘Oh, you poor things! What a night to be outside! Come in, come in!’

Keira felt like bursting into tears of gratitude as Matteo’s palm positioned itself in the small of her back and propelled her inside the bright little hallway. During the seemingly endless journey here, she’d been convinced they weren’t going to make it, and that their two frozen figures would be discovered the next day, or the day after that. And hadn’t she been unable to stop herself from wondering whether anyone would have actually cared if she died?

But now they were standing dripping in a small hallway which had boughs of holly and strands of glittery tinsel draped absolutely everywhere. A green plastic tree was decked with flashing rainbow lights and from a central light hung a huge bunch of mistletoe. Keira’s eyes were drawn in fascination to the row of small, fluffy snowmen waddling in a perfectly symmetrical line along a shelf—her attention only distracted by the realisation that puddles of water were growing on the stone tiles beneath their feet. Years of being told to respect property—especially when it wasn’t your own—made Keira concentrate on the mess they were making, rather than the glaringly obvious fact that she and her bad-tempered Italian client were gate-crashing someone else’s Christmas.

‘Oh, my goodness—look at the floor!’ she said, aware of the faint look of incredulity which Matteo Valenti was slanting in her direction. ‘We’re ruining your floor.’

‘Don’t you worry about that, my dear,’ said the woman in her warm West Country accent. ‘We get walkers coming in here all the time—that’ll soon clean up.’

‘We’d like to use your phone if that’s okay,’ said Matteo, and Keira watched as the woman looked at him, her mouth opening and closing comically as if she’d only just realised that she had six feet three inches of brooding masculine gorgeousness in her house, with melting snow sliding down over his black cashmere coat.

‘And why would you want to do that, dear?’ questioned the woman mildly.

Matteo did his best not to flinch at the overfamiliar response, even though he despised endearments from complete strangers. Actually, he despised endearments generally. Didn’t they say that you always mistrusted what you weren’t used to? Suppressing a frustrated flicker of anger at having found himself in this intolerable situation, he decided he needed to own it. Better to calmly spell out their needs, since his driver seemed incapable of doing anything with any degree of competence. ‘Our car has become imbedded in the snow just down the road a little,’ he said, directing an accusing glare at the woman who was currently pulling off her bulky waterproof jacket and shaking her short dark hair. ‘We should never have taken this route, given the weather. However, what’s done is done and we can’t do anything about that now. We just need to get out of here, as quickly as possible, and I’d like to arrange that immediately.’

The woman nodded, her bright smile remaining unfaltering. ‘I don’t think that’s going to be possible, dear. You won’t get a rescue truck to dig you out—not tonight. Why, nothing’s going to get through—not in these conditions!’