Emmie looked down at their joined hands, her stomach swooping at the sight of his tanned skin against her lighter skin. ‘Maybe.’
Matteo turned over her hand and inspected the bandage on her finger. ‘How is it feeling?’
‘It’s fine. Oh, that reminds me...’ She pulled her hand out of his and went back to her desk and opened the top drawer on the left side. She took out the bottle of cologne she’d bought to replace the one she had broken at his house and came back to him with it. ‘For you.’
He took the cologne with a lopsided smile. ‘You didn’t need to do that.’
‘Yes, I did. I still feel embarrassed about that night.’ And not just about the broken bottle. The kiss. She had relived that kiss so many times since.
‘Don’t be. I can see you have an inquisitive nature.’
Emmie gave a rueful smile. ‘That’s a polite way of saying I’m a nosy busybody.’
He gave an answering smile that sent a warm flutter through her lower body. He passed the bottle of cologne from one hand to the other, his eyes still holding hers. ‘I’ll pay you double to come to Umbria this weekend.’
Emmie spluttered out a shocked laugh. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t have to bribe me. I’ll come. But I insist on making my own way there.’
‘Fine.’ He held the cologne bottle in his right hand and, taking a piece of paper off a sticky note pad on her desk, took a pen out of his jacket pocket, wrote down an address and handed it to her. ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you there.’
So will I, Emmie thought. Way more than she had any right to.
* * *
Emmie drove the hire car through the stone and wrought-iron entrance to Matteo’s Umbrian estate. She had insisted on making her own way to Italy, wanting to maintain some independence rather than relying totally on him. The long driveway was lined on either side by rows and rows of lush grape vines, and on the slopes in the distance was an expansive olive grove. There were woods on another side of the property, and a lake, as well as a small river, with a stone bridge across it that led to the villa at the top of a steep hill.
Emmie could immediately see why Matteo was so keen to keep possession of the estate. The villa was centuries old but in wonderful condition with beautiful gardens, both formal and informal. The stunning view from the top of the hill where the villa was situated was enough to steal anyone’s breath away, and she was no exception. Emmie turned off the engine and got out of the car and stood for a long moment, looking out over acres and acres of verdant land, imagining Matteo’s ancestors tilling the soil. The sun shone down on her with delicious warmth, birds tweeting in the nearby shrubbery, the leaves of the trees rustling in the light summer breeze.
She shaded her eyes from the bright sun with one hand, then turned and caught a glimpse of Matteo coming towards her dressed in nothing but dark blue denim jeans and brown leather work boots. His hair was tousled by the breeze, and his broad, tanned chest shone with perspiration, and Emmie had never seen him look more heart-stoppingly attractive.
‘You’re early,’ Matteo said, roughly finger-combing his hair.
‘I—I was bumped forward to an earlier flight.’ Emmie felt strangely shy and tongue-tied. ‘And it didn’t take me as long as I thought to find my way here.’
‘I’ll get one of the staff to get your luggage. Come inside out of the sun. You already look flushed from the heat.’
Emmie was flushed because seeing his toned chest and abdomen was doing serious damage to her heart rate. Coils of tight muscles rippled from his chest to the waist band of his jeans and her imagination did the rest as to what was below. ‘It is a lot hotter than I expected.’ And so was he. She had already suspected he had a good body underneath the designer suits he wore but not as breath-catching as this. Her fingers twitched, tempted to reach out and stroke his abdomen to see if it was as rock-hard as it looked.
‘If you have staff, why are you working in the fields?’ Emmie asked on their way to the villa’s entrance.
‘My job as a forensic accountant is a desk job with long periods of sitting. I like the exercise working on the estate, not to mention the fresh air.’
Emmie turned and looked at the view again before he caught her staring at his toned body. ‘It’s beautiful, Matteo. I can see why you love it so much and want to keep it in your possession. If I lived here, I would never want to leave.’
There was a funny little silence only broken by the whistling of the breeze and the twittering birds.
Emmie turned to look at him to find him looking at her with a frown. ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.
Matteo gave a movement of his lips that was just shy of a smile. ‘I need to take a shower before I give you the grand tour. I’ll get my housekeeper, Valentina, to take you to your room and give you some refreshments.’
‘Oh, lovely, I could do with a nice cup of tea.’
A short time later, Emmie was led upstairs to a beautifully decorated guest room on the second storey by the housekeeper, who unfortunately didn’t speak much English. Emmie had to resort to sign language, as her smattering of Italian didn’t extend much besides greetings and ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’ It was frustrating, because she had hoped to find out what she could about Matteo via his staff. How someone behaved as an employer was often a clue to how they behaved in other contexts. But, even without the benefit of talking to Valentina, Emmie could see the older woman adored him. Her black-button eyes all but sparkled whenever she mentioned his name.
Once Valentina had left, Emmie finished her refreshing cup of tea and then freshened up. The view from the window in her room drew her back yet again to gaze at the rolling fields and dense woods in the background. She was not a city girl at heart, and had spent most of her childhood in Devon three and a half hours from London in a small village. But her cancer diagnosis and subsequent treatment—not to mention travelling back and forth, overnight accommodation and other expenses—had made it impossible for her parents to keep up with the mortgage payments, so their lovely little country property had had to be sold.
It had been yet another casualty of her illness, one she found hard to forgive herself for, even though she knew on an intellectual level the cancer hadn’t been her fault. But in her heart, she still ached for what her illness had done to her family. No one had escaped the fallout and each in their own way was still paying the price.
There was a firm knock on the door and Emmie turned from the window. ‘Come in.’
Matteo entered the room and her heart stumbled. He was freshly showered, his hair still damp and curling where it brushed the collar of his casual, open-necked white shirt. He had changed into navy chinos and black leather boots and, even though he was a couple of metres from her, she could pick up the citrus notes of his aftershave. Seriously, she was becoming addicted to that smell. She’d been tempted to buy two bottles when she’d bought the replacement bottle for him. One for him and one for her to sniff in private like a forbidden drug.
‘All settled in?’ Matteo asked.
‘Yes, thank you. But I’m not sure I was able to communicate how happy I was with the room to Valentina. I’m afraid my Italian is a bit patchy.’
‘I’ll pass on your appreciation.’
‘How long has she worked for you?’
‘Fifteen years.’
‘That’s nice.’ Emmie moved from the window to tidy the tea things on the tray the housekeeper had left, more to do something with her hands. Being in a bedroom with Matteo Vitale was having a potent effect on her, one she had to do her best to control. ‘It shows you’re a good employer.’
‘But it also could be the money I pay her, si?’
Emmie shifted her lips from side to side, her arms crossed against her body, and studied his cynical expression for a moment. ‘You don’t think much of my powers of observation, do you?’
He came
closer to stand within touching distance and she had to work hard to keep her breathing under control. ‘Body language is not fool proof, and people’s motivations can be easily disguised.’ His voice was deep and rough and sent a shiver cascading down her spine. ‘Like yours, for instance.’
‘M-mine?’ Her voice barely got above a cracked whisper and her pulse began to race. She was conscious of how close he was, the heat of his body stirring hers into a frenzy of want. She had to crane her neck to maintain eye contact but every now and again, as if of their own volition, her eyes flicked to his mouth. And, before she could stop the impulse, the point of her tongue came out and licked across her lips.
Matteo placed a gentle hand beneath her chin, his touch light but electric. Lightning bolts of awareness shot through her entire body and a liquid pool of longing stirred deep and low in her core. His eyes were as dark as midnight, moving between hers in a back and forth motion before becoming hooded and lowering to her mouth. ‘Why are you so keen on finding a happy-ever-after for other people but not for yourself?’
Emmie called on every bit of willpower she possessed to step out of his light hold. She wrapped her arms even tighter around her body and moved so the bed was between then. Oh, dear Lord, the bed. It seemed to dominate the room. It seemed to be all she thought about—a bed with he and her in it, making mad, passionate love. ‘I could ask why you find it so satisfying being a forensic accountant,’ she threw back.
‘I like righting wrongs.’
‘And I like making people happy.’
He gave a slanted smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘But, sadly, that is not always possible. Some people can never be made happy.’
Emmie moved away from the bed and back to the window, adopting a casual pose against the windowsill she was far from feeling. ‘Perhaps they feel they don’t deserve to be happy.’
He gave a loose-shouldered shrug, his expression equally noncommittal. ‘You’re an idealist, I’m a realist. We don’t speak the same language.’
‘I’m an optimist and you’re cynical, but that’s understandable given how your mother left so early in your life,’ Emmie said. ‘You have attachment issues. You will never be happy with anyone until you address your fear of intimacy.’
Matteo came to join her at the window, standing so close to her she could see the dark points of stubble along his jaw. He lifted his hand to her face, trailing an idle finger down the curve of her cheek, from her ear to her chin, and every nerve in her face rioted in tingling pleasure. ‘Ah, but is it me with the fear of intimacy or you, hmm?’ His tone was gently teasing, his touch spine-loosening, his proximity spellbinding.
Emmie sucked in a breath, her heart threatening to beat its way out of her chest. She couldn’t stop staring at his mouth, drawn to its sensual contours by a force as old as time. Her lower body began to throb with a primal beat of blood, swelling sensitive tissues, sending tingles and darts and arrows of greedy want through her flesh.
‘I—It depends what you mean by intimacy.’ She was annoyed her voice wasn’t as steady as she would have liked. ‘Anyone can jump into bed and have sex, even perfect strangers. True intimacy is much more than that.’
His thumb began a rhythmical stroke of her cheek, like a metronome arm set on the slowest possible time signature. ‘Who is the person you are closest to?’ His hand paused its stroking, as if waiting for her to answer.
Emmie looked at him blankly for a moment, her brain in a scramble to come up with someone. She hadn’t felt close to anyone for years, not since her illness. Her best friend had moved on, her sister was a stranger to her, her parents were so at war with each other that even after all this time becoming close to either of them was out of the question. Each would see it as betrayal of the other. Those in her current friendship circle knew about her brush with cancer but not about her infertility. No one knew how much her heart ached for what she had lost.
She swallowed tightly and removed his hand from where it was cupping her face, annoyed she hadn’t done so as soon as he’d touched her. ‘This is highly irregular...you mustn’t touch me...like that...not again...’
‘Because you like it too much?’ His gaze was pointed, his tone mocking.
Emmie raised her chin. ‘It would be completely unprofessional of me to encourage your advances.’
He gave an indolent smile that sent another wave of liquid heat to her core. ‘Forgive me for misreading the signals.’
Emmie bridled in affront. ‘I gave you no signals.’ She mentally crossed her fingers over her white lie.
His eyes twinkled knowingly and he gave a mock-bow. ‘Come. Let’s not quibble over it. I will keep my distance unless you expressly tell me not to.’
‘I can assure you that will never happen.’ Emmie’s confident tone didn’t quite match how she was feeling on the inside. Matteo Vitale was the most tempting man she had ever met. If he put his mind to seducing her, she wouldn’t stand a chance of resisting him.
And she had a horrible feeling he knew it.
* * *
Matteo gave Emmie a tour of the estate but stayed well away from the private garden he had made for Abriana and Gabriel. It was in a secluded part of the estate, in an area where his late wife used to spend a lot of time on her own. The reason for that was she had been deeply unhappy, and that had been entirely his fault.
Emmie leaned down to smell one of the old-world roses in the garden closest to the villa. ‘Wow, what a heavenly scent.’ She straightened and smiled wryly at him. ‘I can never decide if roses or sweet peas are my favourite flowers. Or freesias, or lily of the valley... So many to choose from.’
‘You can have more than one favourite, surely?’
Her smile faded slightly and her gaze fell away from his. She trailed her fingers across the shell-pink bloom of the full-blown rose in a reflective manner. ‘When I was a child, I used to have my own garden where we lived in the country. My parents gave me one plot and my sister the other.’ Her hand came back to her side and she let out a long sigh. ‘Pot plants aren’t quite the same thing, are they?’
‘No, not quite.’ Matteo walked in step with her along the gravel path, conscious of keeping space between them. He sensed her attraction to him but wondered why she was so adamant not to pursue it. Maintaining a professional distance was advisable, but he had seen the way her gaze kept drifting to his mouth, and had felt the crackling energy that zapped between them from the moment they met. But indulging in a fling with professional match-maker Emmie Woodcroft was not going to achieve his goal of finding a wife. Not unless she herself volunteered for the position. But that was hardly likely—she had already insisted she was a card-carrying member of the single-and-loving-it club.
The question that bugged him was, why? He found it hard to imagine her spending the rest of her life alone. She didn’t seem the loner type. Running a professional match-making service seemed an odd choice of career for a loner.
‘Is your sister older or younger than you?’ Matteo asked in the silence.
‘Younger.’
‘What does she do for a living?’
Emmie bit her lip and turned to look at the fields in the distance. ‘Natalie isn’t working at the moment. She’s been...unwell for a long time.’
Matteo frowned, wondering if he should press her for more details. He didn’t appreciate people prying into his background, but he found he really wanted to know more about Emmie and what had made her the person she was today. She had mentioned during the evening they’d had dinner together that she’d spent some time in hospital as a teenager. Did her sister suffer from the same unspecified illness? ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ He figured if she wanted to tell him more, she would do so.
Emmie turned and gave him a stiff smile that wasn’t really a smile. ‘She has an eating disorder. Anorexia. We’ve almost lost her several times. It’s been such a rollercoaster, trying to kee
p her from going over the edge.’
Matteo reached for her hand and gently squeezed it in his. ‘I’m sorry. That must be terrifying for you and your parents.’
She looked down at their joined hands. He was relieved and secretly delighted she didn’t pull away. ‘Yes, well, we manage each in our own way...some of us better than others.’
He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. ‘It’s a wonder your parents are still together. The stress of an ill child can—’
‘They’re not.’ Emmie’s tone was blunt but with a lower note of pain. She slipped her hand out of his and picked another nearby bloom, holding it up to her nose before adding, ‘They divorced years ago.’
Matteo was starting to understand Emmie’s need to make people happy. She hadn’t been able to solve the problems of her sister and parents, so sought to do it for her clients. ‘You mentioned when we first met that you’d spent time in and out of hospital. Did you have an eating disorder too?’
She looked at him for a moment before shifting her gaze back to the garden bed. ‘No.’ She paused for a beat and added, ‘I had cancer.’
CHAPTER FIVE
EMMIE CLOSED HER eyes in a tight blink and wished she hadn’t spoken. She had known some of her friends for years before she had mentioned the dreaded C word. Why, then, had she told Matteo when she had only met him a matter of days ago? Why was her guard slipping when for years it had stayed firmly, resolutely in place? She normally kept a professional distance from her clients. She didn’t tell them much about herself because it wasn’t about her—it was about her finding them a partner.
But Matteo Vitale was not just a client...he was the first man she had felt attracted to since she’d become ill all those years ago. Really attracted, intensely attracted, to the point where her stoic acceptance of her circumstances was being undermined, like a fine crack in a china tea cup. She had taught herself not to want the things other people wanted, for if she fell in love and then got a recurrence of cancer she would be hurting yet another person. She would have to witness them fall apart just as she had witnessed her mother, father and sister do. Her illness had irreparably hurt everyone she loved. Her mission in life now was to make sure others had the things she could no longer have.
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