Harlequin Presents--July 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Natalie Anderson

  ‘Some children are more resilient than others,’ she offered. And then, on an impulse she couldn’t quite account for, she added, ‘How soon would you like to start with my programme? I’m fairly busy just now but—’

  ‘Tonight.’

  Her heart slipped from its moorings. ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Have dinner with me. You can pick my brain at your leisure.’

  Emmie had an unnerving feeling he would find out more about her than she would about him. After all, he had built his hugely successful career on uncovering well-hidden secrets. His piercing gaze held hers and her pulse sped up again. ‘Lucky for you, I happen to be free tonight. Would you like to invite a couple of friends along so I can see how you relate to them?’

  A steely glint appeared in his eyes. ‘Let’s do this alone.’

  Alone. Somehow the way he said that word made a frisson skitter over her flesh. Emmie disguised a swallow. Dinner alone with a client was not out of the norm for her. What was out of the norm was her reaction to the prospect of dinner with this particular client. Excitement, intrigue, nervous anticipation—all were fluttering about in her stomach like frenzied moths. ‘You do have friends, yes?’

  He gave an indolent smile that completely transformed his features, making him seem less serious, less tense and less guarded—more approachable and even more devastatingly attractive. ‘But of course.’

  ‘Are you worried what they might think of you engaging the services of someone like me?’

  ‘Not particularly, but I would rather keep my private life out of the press as much as possible.’

  ‘You don’t trust your friends?’

  He gave a stiff quirk of his lips, his gaze inscrutable. ‘I don’t trust anyone.’

  ‘That must be an occupational hazard of yours, I guess.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  Emmie tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, trying to disguise how much he was affecting her. Never had she been so interested in finding out more about a man’s character. He was complex and closed off and compelling. She was as giddy as a teenager anticipating her first date. She had to get a grip. She was a professional match-maker and he was engaging her services to help him find a wife. She had no business being interested in him herself other than in a professional sense.

  Getting to know him was essential to the success of the mission of matching him with a suitable partner. But, right at that moment, Emmie couldn’t think of a single one of the female clients currently on her books who would suit his unusual requirement. Her clients wanted love. Didn’t most people? They wanted connection and commitment and continuity.

  ‘Yes, well, you’d be surprised at how few friends some people have these days, which is why finding a partner can be so difficult. Meeting someone through friends used to be a sure, safe way to meet a potential partner.’ Emmie painted another smile on her lips and added, ‘I’ve designed my business model by becoming that mutual friend for my clients. It’s much more appealing to most of my clients than using a dating app.’ She paused for a beat and added, ‘I suppose you’ve tried the dating app approach?

  ‘Not for my current situation.’

  Emmie could feel a blush stealing into her cheeks at the thought of him hooking up with casual lovers via an app. She had no problem with casual sex, although she hadn’t had a sexual partner for so long she was starting to wonder if her body would still know what to do if she happened to find someone she was interested in enough to do the deed.

  You’re interested in Matteo Vitale.

  The random thought sent another wave of heat through her cheeks and she lowered her gaze from the disturbing intensity of his. ‘Yes, well, your...erm...unusual specifications might attract the wrong sort of person. People often talk themselves up on social media apps.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  Emmie opened her desk drawer, pulled out a selection of forms and laid them in front of him on the desk. ‘If you could fill in your details—phone number, email address, social-media channels and home address—I’ll enter them into my system. I can assure you of absolute privacy. No one but myself has access to the personal information of my clients. And I only give your contact details to a potential partner once I’ve discussed it with you first. The only thing I outsource is the personality questionnaire, to a team of experts who analyse my clients’ responses. It’s a well-researched personality model that helps me decide who would best complement you.’

  She handed him a card with a web address printed on it. ‘Here’s the link to the questionnaire. It takes about forty-five minutes and I get the results back in a week or so.’

  Matteo took the card from her and slipped it into his jacket pocket. He took out a gold pen before she could pass him one off her desk and began to fill out the forms with enviable speed and efficiency. Emmie examined the dark scrawl of his handwriting. The bold strokes spoke of a man who had a determined streak, but the light flourishes on some of the consonants hinted at a romantic element to his nature. The other thing she noticed was he was left-handed. Approximately ninety percent of the world’s population was right-handed, which to her made him seem even more unique.

  But when he passed the completed forms back across the desk he did so with his right hand. ‘There you go.’

  ‘Are you mixed-handed or ambidextrous?’

  ‘Mixed. I write with my left but do a lot of other things with my right.’

  Emmie could only imagine what some of those things might be and how skilled he might be at doing them. He had broad hands, tanned and long fingered with neat, square nails and a dusting of dark hair along the back and each of his fingers. She found herself imagining his hands on her...not just a ‘pleased to meet you’ handshake but on her face, on her breasts, on her hips, on the most intimate part of her body.

  Her female flesh stirred, tensed and tingled, as if every sensitive nerve was preparing itself for his touch. She squeezed her legs together under the table, but if anything, it made it worse. She pushed back from the desk and stood, hoping her cheeks weren’t as pink as they felt. ‘I mustn’t keep you any longer, Mr Vitale. I’ll get my secretary, Paisley, to book a restaurant for eight this evening. I’ll text you the details and meet you there.’

  He rose from the chair and his imposing height made her snatch in another breath. For someone so tall, he moved with leonine grace. He had a rangy rather than gym-pumped build, an endurance athlete rather than a sprinter, which gave her another clue to his personality. Driven, disciplined, goal-oriented, he wouldn’t be afraid of hard work—in fact, he’d most likely thrive on it.

  ‘I’ll book the restaurant. And I’ll pick you up.’ His voice had an edge of intractability about it, which was another clue to his take-charge, stay-in-control personality.

  Emmie decided against tussling with him about it, for she quite fancied seeing what car he drove and what sort of restaurant he would choose. Those would also be important clues she could use to assess his character. So, too, would visiting his home at some point.

  ‘Fine. Just as well I don’t live too far away.’ She leaned down to scribble her address on the back of one of her business cards and handed it to him. He took it from her with the slightest brush of his fingers against hers and a jolt of electricity coursed through her body. She pulled her hand back and gave him a stiff smile. ‘Till tonight, then.’

  He gave a mock bow. ‘I’m looking forward to it. Ciao.’

  Emmie was looking forward to it too, far more than she had any right to.

  CHAPTER TWO

  MATTEO PULLED UP in front of a smart white Georgian town house in South Kensington and whistled through his teeth. Who knew operating a dating agency could be so lucrative? Emmie Woodcroft must be raking it in, even if she was just renting this place, let alone if she owned it. But all power to her, as long as she achieved what he was paying her to achieve—finding him a wife in a hurry
.

  He opened and closed his clenched hands on the steering wheel and took a steadying breath. He was still recovering from the shock of finding out about his father’s last-minute addition to his will. Of course, he could buy several Umbrian estates and have money to spare, but he wanted his family estate. Wanted it so badly he was prepared to do whatever it took to secure it. He had spent years and more money than he wanted to think about restoring the rundown estate, and it was now producing olives, and grapes for award-winning wine. The crumbling villa of his childhood had been completely renovated and he had paid for all of it, his father having struggled financially for as long as Matteo could remember.

  But, more importantly, it was the land on which Matteo’s wife and child were buried and he would not be able to forgive himself if he let them down again by allowing the property to be sold. Eight years had passed since his pregnant wife had driven off to attend a pre-natal appointment he should have accompanied her to. They had argued about it that morning. He had been under time pressure from a complicated case he’d been working on for the Supreme Court in London, and had chosen to fly to London rather than stay in Umbria one extra day.

  Matteo closed his eyes in a tight blink and clenched his hands around the steering wheel again until his knuckles protested. He opened his eyes and let out a ragged breath. His father had no doubt orchestrated the codicil on his will to force Matteo to marry again, even though Matteo had always sworn he would never do so. He wouldn’t have married Abriana in the first place, but when she’d become pregnant during their brief on-again-and-off-again fling, he had offered her and their unborn child the protection of his name. It had seemed the right thing to do at the time but he often wondered if Abriana’s unhappiness during their short time together had stemmed from knowing he hadn’t been in love with her.

  And now he must marry again without love being part of the equation. Because how could it be? He had no desire to love someone the way his father had loved his mother. The way he had loved his mother. He had learned from an early age how destructive deep love could be. He wanted no part of it. He cared about people, cared enough to put himself out for them, but he would never fall in love with anyone. He wondered if it was one of the few traits he had inherited from his mother. She’d given the appearance of love but hadn’t felt it. The only time Matteo had come close to feeling it was when he’d seen the first ultrasound photo of his child. A flicker of something had stirred in his chest...

  Matteo removed his hands from the steering wheel and unclipped his seat belt but he stayed seated in the car, taking in deep breaths that snagged at his throat like claws. His gut was in knots, his chest tight, his mind swirling with images of the scene of the accident that had killed his wife and tiny unborn son. Could he even face having another child, knowing there was a possibility it too could be taken away from him? Marrying again without love being part of the equation was asking for trouble. What if his new marriage ended up causing the same pain and destruction as his first? How could he bear it a second time—inflicting hurt and despair on someone who deserved so much better?

  He could not forgive his father for putting him in such a painful and impossible situation. It smacked of meddling and manipulation and a cruel type of emotional torture he hadn’t thought his father capable of. Yet here he was, doing all he could to fulfil the wretched terms of his father’s will.

  There was a sudden tap on the passenger window and Matteo was jolted out of his torturous reverie. He turned his head to see Emmie standing there dressed in a light-blue dress with a lightweight navy trench coat over the top. Her straight blonde hair was loose around her shoulders, reminding him of a skein of silk. Her periwinkle-blue eyes were highlighted by smoky make-up, including eyeliner, and her full-lipped mouth was a soft, rosy pink.

  He’d had trouble keeping his eyes away from her mouth earlier that day. It was a mouth built for sensuality, its contours lush and soft and beautifully shaped. Her nose was straight with a slight elevation at the end, like a gentle ski-slope. Her cheekbones were another striking feature of her face—regal, aristocratic—and her skin was as clear and pure as cream.

  He opened his door and went round to help her into his car. ‘You should have waited until I knocked on your door.’

  ‘I saw you pull up and thought I’d save you the trouble.’

  What else had she seen? Matteo was starting to suspect Ms Emmie Woodcroft saw too damn much. He comforted himself that his car windows were tinted. She might not have seen much at all. He normally kept his self-recrimination sessions for when and where he could not be observed.

  Emmie moved past him to get into the passenger seat and he caught a whiff of her perfume—a fragrant blend of bergamot and geranium with a base note of patchouli that danced past his nostrils, causing them to flare. He was so close to her he could have touched her, and was surprised at how much he wanted to. Ever since they had shaken hands in her office earlier that day, he had been able to feel the soft, gentle imprint of her hand against his. It had sent a shockwave through his blood, kicking up his pulse in a way he had not expected.

  Matteo closed the passenger door for her, strode round to his side of the car and got back behind the driver’s seat. ‘Nice house. Do you rent it or...?’

  ‘The bank owns most of it but I’m making good progress. Well, better than I expected when I first started in the business.’

  He glanced at her as he put the car in gear. ‘How long have you been in the business of match-making?’

  She flashed a smile, showing brilliant white teeth that made something in his chest slip. ‘Informally since I was a teenager, actually. I recognised I had a natural flair for understanding which people suited each other and decided to make a career out of it. I’ve been in business five years now.’

  Matteo checked his rear vision and side mirrors and then pulled out into the street before he asked, ‘What sort of qualifications have you got?’

  ‘I’ve done a couple of online counselling courses. I would have liked to do a psychology degree and a master’s after I left school but things didn’t work out that way.’ Something about her tone made him glance at her again.

  ‘Why?’

  Emmie gave a shrug of her slim shoulders, her gaze trained on the road in front, but one of her hands was fiddling with the clasp of her evening purse in a restive manner. ‘My schooling was interrupted during my teens.’ She paused for a beat and continued, ‘I spent a bit of time in and out of hospital.’

  Matteo wondered what would have put her in hospital for an extended period but didn’t want to pry. Some conditions were deeply personal. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Anything serious?’

  There was another beat of silence.

  ‘Nothing too serious.’ She gave another smile that seemed a little forced and added, ‘But it gave me a lot of time to learn stuff about people. To listen and observe. I even helped two young doctors to get together. They’re still married with a couple of kids now. They send me a Christmas card each year.’

  ‘So, you’re a romantic at heart.’

  ‘For other people, not for myself.’

  ‘Which begs the question, why?’

  Emmie opened and then closed the latch on her bag, the click as it shut overly loud in the silence. ‘I’m helping you find a wife. You don’t need to worry about my single status. I’m perfectly happy with my life as it is.’

  Matteo knew better than to think that all women wanted the marriage and babies package. Many lived happy and fulfilling lives with neither partner nor children but something about Emmie’s body language was out of tune with her words. It was like hearing the wrong note in a piece of music, the discordant sound jarring, off-putting. ‘Point taken,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘Is there anyone on your books who you think would be interested in the post?’

  Emmie gave a snort of laughter. ‘The post? You’re making it sound like a job.’ />
  ‘But it is.’

  ‘It should be a partnership, not a posting.’

  ‘Under normal circumstances, that may well be true, but nothing about my situation is normal,’ Matteo said, trying to suppress the desire to grind his teeth. ‘I have no desire to marry or have children. My father knew that, and adding that ridiculous codicil to his will was his way of trying to control me beyond the grave.’

  ‘What sort of person was he? I mean, were you ever close to him?’

  ‘He was weak.’ Matteo pulled up half a block from the restaurant he’d booked and turned off the engine. He turned to look at Emmie and continued. ‘He allowed my mother to walk all over him, and when she left him he completely fell apart. He gave her everything she asked for in the divorce, way more than she was entitled to, compromising his own finances in the vain hope she would come back. But of course, she never did. If anything, his pathetic attempt to please her probably drove her further away.’

  ‘Okay, so I get the aversion to marriage thing, but what about kids? Why have you never wanted them?’

  Matteo unclipped his seat belt and picked up his phone from the console below the dashboard. He had wanted one child—his tiny son—and yet he had been taken away from him. Poor little Gabriel had not even taken a breath before his life had been cut short. ‘We’d better claim our table. It was a late booking, and if we don’t show up on time they might give it to someone else.’

  It was a paltry excuse for terminating a conversation but he was done with talking about marriage and kids. His wife’s and child’s deaths were not common knowledge, given they had happened in Italy and not in England, and he wanted to keep it that way. He was an intensely private person, and besides, he hated talking about his failure. He had failed to protect those who’d needed his protection the most. He had failed to love them as they’d deserved to be loved. He had failed as a husband and father and he was not comfortable with the prospect of becoming either again.