Happy Mother's Day! (2 page)

Gianluca’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like being described as
sweet!
Sweet was for those men who had manicures and were in touch with their feelings. He thought, not for the first time, how you would never know what was going on her in head—not from that unruffled face she always presented. Was she deliberately mysterious, he wondered, or was that simply a mask she wore for work? And what happened when the mask was removed? ‘And business is good?’ he enquired softly.

Should she tell him that business was booming? That his name had brought in a whole stack of new contracts? ‘Oh, I can’t complain. I have plenty to keep me busy,’ she said softly, automatically tugging at the dark hem of her neatly tailored skirt, so that it covered the inch of knee it had been revealing.

Gianluca watched the unnecessary movement. The skirt was hardly indecent—didn’t she realise that a man liked to look at a woman’s legs? She was always like the schoolmarm, he thought impatiently. Even last night she had been wearing some stiff-looking gown—appropriate and yet glaringly dull.

Gianluca had never met a woman like Aisling Armstrong before. Was that why he found her strangely fascinating?

Women rarely intrigued him; their reaction to him was predictable. They wanted him. They wanted his wealth and his lips and his lean, hard body. They wanted a shiny gold band on their finger and they wanted his babies. When Gianluca was around, they pulled out all the stops to make him aware of them, with their tight skirts and their lowcut tops and hair tumbling down over bare shoulders while their lips pouted in provocative invitation. But not this one, it seemed.

‘And that is what pleases you?’ he mused, meeting her brisk reply with a lazy question in his eyes. ‘Mmm? To keep busy all the time? How is it you say—like the hamster on the wheel?’

She wondered if he realised the effect he was having on her—how being in the crossfire of that stare was making her feel as weak as a hamster! Aisling gave him a tight smile. ‘It’s a question of necessity, Gianluca. I’m sure you know more than anyone that success doesn’t come without a price-tag of hard work.’

‘Ah, but the trick is in recognising when to take time off, surely?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Tell me, when did you last take some time off?’

‘I don’t really think that’s—’

‘When?’ he persisted.

‘I don’t remember.’

‘You don’t remember? Then it has been too long.’ Gianluca turned his head to glance out of the floor-to-ceiling windows which filled one end of the large, contemporary office at the top of the magnificent building which was situated right in the heart of the Rome. ‘It is such a beautiful day,’ he mused, and waved his hand with careless pride.
‘See how magnificent the city looks when she is bathed in sunshine. Alive and carefree—like a young girl in love.’

Aisling’s expression didn’t change. ‘Yes. I suppose that’s one way of describing it.’

Black brows were elevated. ‘You are planning to stay on, perhaps?’

‘No. Just until tomorrow. We’re flying out first thing.’ She wished he would stop looking at her that way—as if she were a specimen in a laboratory that he was just about to dissect.

‘Really? That’s a pity.’ He ran a thoughtful finger over the hard line of his jaw, which already held just a trace of new growth, and stared at her pale face and her set features with something approaching frustration. ‘Doesn’t Italy tempt you, Aisling?’ he demanded. ‘Doesn’t the successful conclusion of a lucrative contract make you want to take a holiday once in a while—to throw caution to the winds and to drink in the beauty of this country? To celebrate.’

‘But I have a business to run. Other clients like you, Gianluca—who’ll be wanting my attention.’

‘Surely none
quite
like me, cara?’ he mocked.

To her mortification, his teasing made her composure slip and Aisling felt the hint of colour creep into her cheeks. Some rebel part of her wanted to stand up and say:
There, you’ve made me blush like a schoolgirl—are you satisfied now?
Except she was certain that she wouldn’t be able to cope with his answer.

‘No,’ she agreed, deadpan. ‘Perhaps none
quite
like you.’

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he saw the brief rosepink tinge to her cheeks but he made no comment on it. So she
could
react to a little flirting. Maybe the uptight Aisling
Armstrong wasn’t simply the robotic, efficient working machine she appeared to be. ‘I can’t decide whether or not that’s a compliment.’

‘Can’t you? Well, I know how much you enjoy problemsolving, Gianluca—so I’ll leave you to work it out for yourself.’

Gianluca’s responding smile was glittering. Ah, sì, she was clever—it was why he had employed her in the first place and why her business was doing so well. But wasn’t she aware that her frosty attitude was challenging, and that a man with success exuding from every pore of his being found the idea of such a challenge irresistible?

Didn’t she realise that if a woman put a wall up, then a man would just want to tear it down with his bare hands? Did he want to do that? He felt the beat of desire as he pushed a plate of tiny
amaretti di saronno
biscuits towards her, but she shook her head. ‘What are you doing later?’ he asked.

Warning bells rang loud in her ears and, coffee-cup in hand, Aisling stilled. ‘Later?’

‘Yes, later,’ he echoed sardonically. ‘Tonight.
When you’ve finished working,’
he added sarcastically.

‘I thought I’d take Jason out for dinner.’

Jason? For a moment, he frowned—until he remembered the gangling male assistant she had brought with her, and made a dismissive little gesture with his hand. ‘Why not come to a party with me instead?’

Aisling frowned. ‘But we went to a party last night.’

Her obvious disquiet might have amused him for novelty value alone, if the accompanying look of horror on her face hadn’t been so insulting! ‘That was work,’ he murmured. ‘Tonight is not. Tonight is for us to be—
carefree … to let your hair down a little.’ His glance strayed to the severe hairstyle. ‘Literally, perhaps?’

It was an unexpected invitation and for one unscheduled moment Aisling allowed herself the briefest glimpse of a romantic fantasy of imagining just where he might take her and all the delicious possibilities of where such an evening could lead.

Until reality intruded like a cold shower and she put the delicate coffee-cup down with a clatter. ‘I can’t,’ she said unconvincingly. ‘This is Jason’s first foreign job and I can’t leave him on his own.’

‘But Jason is a big boy now,
cara.’
His voice became edged with sarcasm, black eyes narrowing like a cat’s. ‘You can’t carry on holding his hand for him for ever.’

‘I don’t leave my staff out on a limb in a strange city, particularly when they’re new,’ she said flatly.

‘Then bring him along. Come to my vineyard instead.’ His mouth relaxed into a hard smile, which didn’t quite reach his eyes. A smile which told her that he didn’t
do
persuasion. ‘It has been the best harvest in a decade and we’re going to celebrate.’

For a moment, Aisling couldn’t quite take in what he meant. Oh, she knew that he owned a vineyard—he owned two, in fact. But vineyards were rural, and they were slap-bang in the middle of the city. Outside was the busy and bustling
Centro Storico,
and the very nervecentre of Rome itself.

‘I don’t think—’

‘It will do you good to get out of the city and my country place is only an hour and a half’s drive away,’ he cut in impatiently. Enough was enough! He was paying her a huge
salary and she would damn well do as he wished! Unknotting his gold silk tie, he let it tumble onto the desk where it lay coiled and gleaming like a snake, and his eyes were cold and dark and steady as he fixed her in their gaze. ‘I will send one of my drivers to the hotel to collect you,’ he stated. ‘I would offer to take you myself, but I have business to attend to in Perugia first.’

‘I don’t have anything to wear,’ she said, half to herself. ‘Nothing suitable, I mean—and certainly not for a party in a vineyard! I came equipped for business, not parties in vineyards.’

The black eyes flicked over her.
Sì.
He could see that. And suddenly it became an imperative for him to see her dressed up—or, rather, to see her dressed down—to discover whether a real woman existed beneath this cool robot who wheeled and dealed for him. ‘You didn’t bring any jeans?’

For a
business
trip? Was he out of his mind? To Aisling, jeans reminded her too much of childhood. They symbolised cheap and scruffy, with a lack of formality, which the lonely little girl had longed for. ‘No, I didn’t bring jeans.’

‘Then go shopping. We have some of the best shops in the world right on the doorstep. Buy a pair!
Madonna mia,
Aisling—why do you hesitate? This is an opportunity most women would jump at.’

She opened her mouth to say that she was trying not to behave like
most women
—especially around him. That going to his vineyard was the last thing she wanted.

And yet.

Why had the heavy beat of anticipation begun to slam at her heart? Because this was the stuff of forbidden fantasies
she normally only allowed herself on restless nights when sleep refused to come?

It’s only a party, she told herself as she nodded, aware of his gaze burning into her as she rose to her feet. But then he turned away and punched out a number on his telephone and began to talk in rapid Italian and she realised he had already forgotten all about her.

And Aisling’s fingers were trembling as she opened the office door, wondering why he had issued such an unexpected invitation. To
her.

An invitation she couldn’t refuse.

‘Y
OU
look wonderful, Aisling.’

Aisling forced a smile. ‘You don’t
have
to say that, Jason.’

‘No, I know I don’t—but you do! Honestly—you look completely, well.
different!’

Understatement of the year, thought Aisling as she sat upright against the soft-leather comfort of the car and watched as the lush green hills of Tuscany sped by. She
felt
different, too—and it wasn’t just the unaccustomed weight of her heavy dark hair falling about her shoulders or the large silver hoops which dangled from her ears. Nor even the sooty sweep of mascara which made her blue eyes look so enormous.

Where was the cool and calm Aisling she normally liked to present to the world? Gone. That was where. Left behind in some crazy little shop off the Via del Corso!

She turned to look at her strapping assistant who was lolling on the back seat of the fancy car, his legs sprawled out in front of him, as if to the manner born. ‘I hope you didn’t mind coming all the way out here, Jason—I know I said we’d eat in the city tonight.’

‘Mind?’
Jason pulled a comical face and gestured to the
picture-postcard countryside which was zooming past the window. ‘Are you kidding? I have friends who would die to go to Umbria! To visit a real-live vineyard at the invitation of its world-famous owner!’

In spite of her reservations about the evening ahead, Aisling laughed. As well as tip-top college grades, Jason’s enthusiasm was one of the reasons she’d employed him straight after graduating—even though it was sometimes a bit over-the-top. Still, she guessed that was youth for you—and surely it wasn’t so long that she’d forgotten her own? ‘It’s a long way to go for one evening,’ she observed.

‘In an air-conditioned chauffeur-driven car? Bring it on! Anyway, we’ve just left the main road, so we must be nearly there.’

Aisling peered out of the window and her heart began to thud. ‘So we are.’

It had been an amazing drive. With the backdrop of a big, fat red sun sinking down over the horizon, they had driven past fields full of grazing cows which were the colour of pale fudge. The car had slowed to take in small villages along the way—where the tall, dark spears of cypress-trees made the landscape look so typically Italianate.

Now they were bumping their way up a winding gravel lane which led up a hillside—with row upon row of vines on either side. At the top of the hill was a building lit by the setting sun, so that it looked almost as if it were on fire.

Like a sacrifice, thought Aisling suddenly.

‘Hey, it’s beautiful,’ breathed Jason.

Yes, it
was
beautiful, but Aisling couldn’t rid herself of an overwhelming feeling of nerves—and she was terrified
that Jason would notice her strange mood and start asking her what was the matter. And how on earth could she put it into words?

Wouldn’t it sound ridiculous that the casual clothes she was wearing made her feel somehow
vulnerable?
Like a little girl who had wandered by mistake into the wrong party and wasn’t sure just how to behave any more.

She could cope with Gianluca in the relatively safe environment of work, but here, on his luscious estate, with the setting sun making the evening look like the last reel in a corny film—how safe would she be from her own hopeless longings?

As the car grew closer Jason clicked the button so that the electric window slid down and Aisling could hear the sound of music playing and glasses chinking and the rise and fall of laughter and conversation. Driving through an imposing set of electric gates, they drew to a halt in a large courtyard, where a fountain played and a dog jumped to its feet and came running to greet them.

Aisling got out and bent down to stroke the dog, pressing his silky ear between thumb and forefinger, wondering what time she could reasonably slip away, when her thoughts were interrupted by the throaty roar of a powerful engine.

Straightening up, she turned to see a long, low sports car blasting its way up the hillside, spitting up clouds of dust behind it, and Aisling didn’t need to see the coalblack hair or lean body to know the identity of the driver. It was evident from that hard, autocratic profile and the tanned forearm which rested on the steering wheel and the sheer, physical presence of the man.

Gianluca turned the engine off, took off his dark glasses and for a moment his eyes deceived him.

‘Aisling?’ His black eyes narrowed in disbelief.
‘Aisling?’

Aisling wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t enjoyed seeing him looking so nonplussed—but the compliment held a sting in its tail. Did she normally look so unremarkable, then? ‘Yes, it’s me,’ she responded coolly. ‘Hello, Gianluca.’

Gianluca got out of the car slowly, as if expecting the bright apparition to disappear—like a butterfly suddenly taking flight. He had told her to go shopping and buy herself a pair of jeans,
sì
—but he had not been expecting such
a … transformation
in the process.

Gone was the boring suit and instead she was wearing denim—cut close to the leg and low on the hip and caressing a remarkably pert bottom. Who would have ever believed that her legs would look like that? As if they could go on and on … he swallowed … for ever?

With the jeans she wore some sort of filmy blouse, in swirls of bright, deep colours—hinting at a pair of lush and beautiful breasts beneath. And her hair was down—he’d never seen her wear it like that before. Nor realised it was so thick, or long, or dark.

The tight chignon which usually constrained it was actually hiding a midnight fall of glossy hair which shimmered all the way down to a surprisingly tiny waist. She looked, not exactly beautiful, no, but like someone you would want to explore with your lips and your hands.

‘Madonna mia,’
he murmured, an unfamiliar note of bemusement creeping into his voice. It was like finding that the onion you were holding in the palm of your hand had
suddenly become the most succulent pomegranate. She was, he realised with a jerk of desire heavy enough to startle even him, the gleaming pearl within the oyster shell.

And despite every instinct in her body telling her not to, Aisling found herself responding to that unmistakable approval on his face, found her body glowing as if it were heated from the hot black fire which was blazing so unexpectedly from his eyes.

Quickly, she glanced over in the direction of the sports car to distract herself. ‘That was some entrance you made.’

He studied her, his eyes narrowed.
‘Parimenti.
I could say the same about you,’ he said drily. ‘This is what I believe they call the Cinderella effect,
sì?’

‘Well, hardly. She arrived at the ball in a glass carriage, didn’t she? While I’ve been slumming it in a chauffeurdriven limo,’ she said with irony.

He laughed. ‘That’s not what I meant,’ he said softly.

‘Isn’t it?’ Her own voice was equally soft, as if they were sharing some kind of secret. Stop it, she thought. Stop constructing fantasy around an unrealistic desire. Stop
flirting.

There was a heartbeat of a pause.

‘Looks good, doesn’t she?’ asked Jason chattily, and to Aisling’s horror she realised that he might as well have been invisible for all the notice they’d been taking of him.

‘Good?’
Black eyes were slanted in Jason’s direction and Gianluca’s mouth hardened. Why didn’t this underling disappear instead of making pronouncements on his boss which were inappropriate given his youth and status?

‘How you Englishmen are given to understatement!’ he said damningly. ‘Tonight, Aisling looks nothing less than spectacular. Now come inside and have a drink.’

Aisling felt disoriented—as if she’d just woken up from a long sleep—and it was nothing to do with the car-ride or the warm and balmy evening. Because her host also seemed to have undergone a transformation, she thought—and this was Gianluca looking more approachable than she could have ever imagined.

He, too, was wearing jeans. Faded blue denim which clung lovingly to the hard muscular shafts of his legs in a way that his elegant suits never did. His shirt was made of some fine, silky material and several buttons were open at the neck, so that a dark sprinkle of hair was visible as it tapered downwards. The city-slicker had given way to elemental and earthy man and it was taking some getting used to.

There was something about the way he was looking at her which was different, too—and a million miles away from how he had been in the office earlier. Then he had seemed as if he was trying to tease her into some kind of reaction, but tonight it was as if he wanted …

What?

What do you think he wants, Aisling? she asked herself. A stupidly vulnerable woman all too ready to read something into his actions which he had not intended? What do you think that this stud of an Italian heart-breaker wants from little old
you?

In the warm Italian night air, she shook her head and felt the shimmer of hair over her bare shoulders as she reasoned with herself. You are going to stop this right now. You are going to take control of yourself and your emotions the way you always do. After all, it wasn’t really such a big deal to socialise with someone who employed you.
Unless you let it be.

‘Come now, you must taste my wine,’ said Gianluca with a glittering smile.

Aisling began to despair. Did that question sound deliberately erotic, or had her senses just gone haywire in the warm, scented air of the evening? ‘That would be wonderful,’ she agreed neutrally, as if he had just suggested reading through a stack of dry legal documents.

‘And, Jason—it
is
Jason, isn’t it?’ continued Gianluca softly, with a faint frown. ‘You must let me introduce you to some people.’

They walked out to a big, old barn, which seemed to be full of guests—a high, galleried building with tall ceilings and whitewashed walls, oak mangers and stonepaved floors. There was a split-second pause as the three of them walked in. The small band stopped playing and everyone began clapping as Aisling heard Gianluca’s name being shouted.

She saw him shake his dark head and say something expressive in Italian and then there was cheering—and the violin player burst into a little jig as he guided them through the hoards who stood to one side to let him pass. Men’s hands slapped him on the shoulder—which, to Aisling’s surprise, he didn’t seem to mind at all.

She could hear
grazie
being said over and over again. ‘Thank you?’ she translated, on a question.

‘They are thanking me for the good harvest!’ he laughed. ‘As though I am personally responsible for the lack of frost and rain and the long, hot summer in between which has meant that our grapes were as succulent as they could be!’

How relaxed he was, she thought as she looked on the unfamiliar gleam of laughter on his mouth. As if someone
had peeled away an urban layer of sophistication to find an earthy man of the land beneath.

Somewhere along the way, he delivered Jason into a group of young people and handed her a glass of wine before introducing her to a dizzying array of people including the estate manager, his old nanny, two godsons and even the local mayor!

It was not what she had been expecting and more than a little intoxicating. The genuine affection with which he was greeted by his estate workers didn’t fit with her hard and driven image of him, and Aisling was slightly relieved when someone came to claim him. Much more of this and she would be signing up to his fan-club!

He gave her an expansive shrug before being borne away, leaving her with Fedele, a charming man in his fifties, who was Gianluca’s lawyer.

‘Well, I am his
local
lawyer,’ he emphasised slowly, in perfect though heavily accented English. ‘He uses a different one in the city. A specialist for every need at
Il Tigre’s
fingertips.’ The lawyer’s eyes were curious. ‘And you? You are his latest woman,
sì?’

Aisling found herself blushing. ‘Oh, good heavens, no—it’s nothing like that!’

Fedele laughed. ‘Most women would not find that such a horrifying proposition!’

‘I work for him, that’s all.’

‘Ah! And what do you do?’

‘I’m a head-hunter.’

‘Cacciatore di teste?’
Fedele translated. Aisling had heard the phrase before and she smiled. ‘That’s right—somehow it sounds much better in Italian.’

‘That is because everything sounds better in Italian!’ came a soft, arrogant boast from behind her, and Aisling turned to find Gianluca’s mocking black eyes on her. ‘And do you know why that is, cara?’

Like a snake hypnotised by the charmer’s pipe, Aisling found herself shaking her head. ‘No. Why?’

‘Because we Italians
are
better at everything.’

‘That’s … outrageous,’ she protested.

He shrugged. ‘Ah, but it is also true!’

And try as she might—Aisling couldn’t do anything to stop smiling or prevent the slow, unfurling of desire in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, she felt like a non-swimmer who was out of her depth—and that was a very precarious place to be.

‘Your glass is empty,’ he observed. ‘Come, let us find you another drink.’

Had she really drunk a whole glass without noticing?

Gianluca took her to the far end of the room where wine was being served and poured them both a couple of glasses, watching her as he raised his glass. This morning he had idly been wondering whether a real woman lay beneath the outer armour of her unimaginative suit—but the contrast between what she had been and what she had now become was blowing his mind. His senses were shocked and his body was aroused and he wanted her.

Now.

‘So,’ he said huskily as he touched his glass to hers in a toast.
‘Salute.’

‘Salute,’
Aisling echoed as she manoeuvred the drink to her lips.

‘You like it?’ he queried softly.

‘It’s … wonderful.’

‘Ah, Aisling—but you find everything wonderful tonight,’ he teased.

‘You’d rather I objected?’

His lips curved. ‘Now
that
is more like it.’