Sweet Italian Christmas: Three Christmas Romances

by Helen Scott Taylor

  Sweet Italian Christmas Trilogy

  By

  Helen Scott Taylor

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  Copyright © 2014 Helen Taylor

  Cover design © Helen Taylor

  *

  The right of Helen Taylor to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act, 1988.

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the Copyright owner.

  Italian Christmas Proposal

  Chapter One

  Claire Chadwick stared morosely out the tour bus window at the steely gray sky hanging over the churning ocean. The view bore little resemblance to the calm turquoise Mediterranean she'd seen in photos of the Amalfi coast.

  Although it was the middle of December, she'd hoped Italy would be mild and sunny to give her a break from cold, wet England. The way her luck was going at the moment, she wasn't surprised to be disappointed.

  What a miserable start to her career as a travel writer. Maybe she should just give up now like her ex had suggested?

  At the thought of Jonathan's scathing comments about her prospects, or lack of them, she sucked in a determined breath and dug out her pad to write some notes. She would make a success of her travel website and show the jerk she wasn't a quitter, despite his attempts to crush her spirit.

  The bus threaded its way through the narrow streets of the quaint Italian town and pulled up in an almost deserted car park by the seafront.

  "We'll stop here for thirty minutes. Your belongings will be safe if you want to leave them on board while you explore. Please make sure you are back at the bus in time." The tour guide's voice came over the crackly loudspeaker and Claire winced. How had she managed to pick the worst tour company ever? The rattling old heap of a bus should have been scrapped years ago.

  The rest of the tourists scrambled out of their seats, all in a hurry to get off and make the most of their short time here.

  Claire took a ten-euro note from her handbag and slipped it in her pocket with her phone, leaving the large tote on the seat. Then she grabbed her pad and pen, and followed the stragglers off the bus.

  A cold wind whipped the fronds of the palm trees and topped the waves with foam. Claire huddled into her thin cardigan, wishing she hadn't left her coat in her hotel room.

  Determined to enjoy herself and get ideas for her article on Christmas in Italy, she paced up the narrow cobbled street, past the small shops and brightly colored houses. She snapped numerous photos on her phone, enchanted by the shabby chic of the peeling paint and cracked plaster that only enhanced the quaint old buildings.

  Glazed ceramic pots overflowing with crimson poinsettias decorated many steps and doorways. Christmas lights sparkled around windows and the Christmas greeting Buon Natale hung suspended across the narrow street.

  What really fascinated her were the nativity scenes that the Italians called presepi. Southern Italy, especially the Naples area, was famous for them. Every time she saw a crib scene in a shop window, she photographed it and made a note to remind herself of the location.

  Puffing from the steep climb, she paused to check the time on her phone and tried to ignore the latest message that had arrived from Jonathan while she ate breakfast. Give up this stupid idea and come home. You'll regret it if you don't.

  Why couldn't he leave her alone? She'd broken off their engagement and given him back the ring, but he kept texting her.

  Anyway, she didn't have time to worry about her difficult ex right now. The time had flown by. She only had ten minutes to get back to the bus. As she hurried down the hill, she looked out for a café where she could use the bathroom. Near the bottom of the hill, the aroma of coffee filled the air.

  Claire paused at the café door, summoning her confidence. It was daunting going into a place alone when her Italian was so bad, especially when she was only going in to use their facilities. She pushed the door open, hoping the place was busy so the staff wouldn't notice her creep through to use the bathroom without buying anything.

  Soft instrumental music filled the room. A scattering of tables topped with blue-checked tablecloths stood empty. The only people in the room were the barista and a man sitting on a stool at the bar. They were talking, but they paused and turned to look at her as she entered.

  Her gaze passed over the older man behind the bar and settled on the gorgeous hunk on the stool. With thick dark hair and classical good looks, he wasn't easy to ignore. He gave her an archetypal Italian male smile, all white teeth and teasing brown eyes.

  For a moment she couldn't breathe, her chest suddenly tight. She averted her gaze and scurried between the tables towards the door that was labeled Signore.

  She used the facilities, wasting long seconds trying to work out how to flush the unfamiliar foreign toilet that had a pedal flush system. Then she quickly washed her hands and ventured out again.

  She paused, wanting nothing more than to dash outside and escape the curious gazes of these two men. But it felt wrong to come in and use the bathroom without buying anything, even though the tour guide had said that everyone did this.

  Rehearsing an Italian phrase in her head, she moved towards the bar. Her pulse sped up as she neared Signor Gorgeous. He twisted on his stool to face her as she stopped beside him, his grin wide and welcoming, his chocolate-brown eyes glowing with amusement.

  "Um, vorrei un cappuccino, per favore." Claire's cheeks heated as she stumbled over the words.

  A stream of Italian burst from the barista's mouth and he gestured wildly. Claire took a step back. Had she said something insulting by accident?

  "He doesn't serve cappuccino after eleven in the morning. It goes with breakfast here." The man beside her interpreted his countryman's tirade. His English was nearly perfect, delivered in a deep melodious Italian accent that stroked her senses.

  "Oh. Doesn't he do a big cup of coffee with milk in it? I don't like espresso." She pointed at his tiny cup of strong, dark brew.

  Her interpreter conveyed her wishes, then addressed her again. "I've asked for caffè latte."

  "Thank you," she said to him.

  "You're welcome."

  Claire pulled out her ten-euro note and pushed it across the counter. She glanced at the time on her phone. She only had a couple of minutes to get back to the bus.

  Her gaze returned to the other customer. "Will you ask if I can have it to go, please?"

  The two men exchanged a few more sentences in Italian. The barista rolled his eyes and complained before pulling a take-out cup from a cupboard.

  Her interpreter swiveled his stool to face her and rested an elbow on the counter. "So, you are here on vacation?"

  "I'm on a bus tour at the moment. I'm staying in Naples."

  "The weather is not good for you." He gave a little grunt of displeasure and waved a hand at the window. "Now it's raining."

  Claire glanced over her shoulder but barely registered the rain splattering the glass. This man captivated her. It was difficult to drag her attention away from him. "Your English is very good."

  "I spent four years at college in London. I'm Leo Marin." He held out a hand and she laid her notebook on
the bar to shake. His lean fingers engulfed her cold ones in a firm, warm grip and her heart skittered.

  "Claire Chadwick. I'm here to research how you celebrate Christmas in Italy for a travel article I'm writing." A self-conscious smile pulled at Claire's lips. This was the first time she'd told anyone what she was here for, and it felt good.

  A sudden burst of rain battered the café window, and they all paused and glanced that way. "Ah, this weather." Leo shook his head. "It reminds me of England."

  "Me too. I thought I'd left the rain behind." Claire suddenly remembered the time and glanced at her watch with a flash of panic. She was late now.

  The barista set a take-out cup on the bar with Claire's change.

  "It was lovely meeting you, Leo, but I have to dash or I'll miss my bus."

  As she tried to stuff the change in her jeans pocket, her phone slipped from her fingers and bounced on the ceramic tile floor. Her heart contracted. Not another disaster. Had she done something terrible in a past life to deserve all the trouble she'd had recently?

  Leo stepped down from his stool and picked up the phone, wincing at the spiderweb of cracks across the screen. He pushed the power button and nothing happened. "It's dead, I'm afraid."

  "Stupid woman," Claire muttered to herself as she took the smartphone from his hand and examined the damage. How could she be so careless? This was the story of her life. Maybe Jonathan was right and she should just stay at home and cook and clean for him? Maybe she was too clumsy and stupid to get anywhere on her own.

  Leo exchanged a few words with the barista, who then produced a plastic bag from behind the bar. Leo offered it to her. "Wrap your phone in this to protect your fingers from glass splinters."

  "Thanks." This guy wasn't just good looking, he was thoughtful. She'd like to stay and get to know him better, but she had to dash or the tour guide would be angry.

  "It was nice to meet you, Leo. Thanks for your help."

  "You're welcome. Take care, now."

  With an apologetic smile, Claire hurried out the door. Rain poured down, soaking her thin cardigan and T-shirt as she dashed across the road.

  She approached the car park, glancing around for the bus, eager to get out of the downpour. The only vehicle in the small area was a sleek red Ferrari.

  Claire halted, her heart pounding. Had the bus gone to turn around somewhere? Was it coming back for her? She stared along the coast road and the nearby streets. There was no sign of the decrepit old vehicle.

  Rain trickled down her face and neck. She gave up trying to shield her notebook from the wet as a cold lump of dread settled inside her. The bus had gone without her. She was stranded.

  The sound of running footsteps drew her attention. Leo hurried across the car park to the red Ferrari, popped the locks, and slid behind the wheel.

  His window buzzed down. "You look lost, Claire."

  "My tour bus left without me." Hot embarrassment colored her cheeks.

  "Get in. I'll give you a ride back to Naples."

  All the warnings about not getting into cars with strange men rushed back, but she only hesitated for a moment. She already sort of knew Leo, and she would likely be more at risk if she tried to find some public transport.

  She ran towards his car, jumping a couple of puddles, and opened the door. "I'm sorry, I'm going to make your seat wet."

  Leo shrugged. "No problem. It'll dry."

  Claire dropped into the luxury sports car and closed the door against the cold and wet.

  Warm air blasted her and she released a breath laden with relief. "Thank you. Again. I think fate has appointed you my knight in shining armor for the day."

  He laughed, a rich, full sound that rang with pleasure.

  In her four-year relationship with Jonathan, she had never heard him laugh like that. She doubted he was even capable of it. He was a miserable man who spent his time criticizing her and putting her down. Why had she taken so long to see that?

  The car engine roared to life and they moved off, the sports car hugging the road as Leo took the serpentine route along the Amalfi coast.

  Claire wrapped her hands around her coffee cup and took a sip. "I'm sorry to be so much trouble."

  Leo turned his grin on her, eyes sparkling. "Don't apologize. You've made my day more interesting. Now I get to play Sir Galahad to a beautiful woman."

  Claire's already hot cheeks flamed at his obvious flattery. She had no illusions that she was any sort of beauty—certainly not in his league, anyway.

  Her gaze traveled over his broad shoulders and strong arms to his lean, capable hands gripping the steering wheel. A little spurt of longing passed through her until she noticed the gold ring on the third finger of his left hand. Of course a wealthy, good-looking man like Leo would have been snapped up by a beautiful woman. She suppressed a twinge of disappointment and silently chided herself for being silly. She'd only met him thirty minutes ago, and he wouldn't be interested in her anyway.

  Still, her curiosity was piqued.

  "You live in Naples with your family?"

  "I have a house on the hill in the district of Vomero with a beautiful view over the Bay of Naples to Mount Vesuvius."

  "My hotel room looks out towards the volcano."

  "What's the name of your hotel?"

  Claire reached for her handbag, then remembered she'd left it "safely" on the bus. She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples.

  "Are you all right?"

  "My wallet with all my money and my credit card was on the bus." At least she'd left her passport and laptop in her hotel room.

  "Maybe the tour company will hand it in to your hotel, and it'll be waiting for you when you get back?"

  "That would be good." If she could remember where she was staying. She racked her brain for the name. She'd considered so many hotels before she booked, all the names were muddled up in her head.

  "I can't remember the name of my hotel right now. Give me a few minutes and I'm sure it'll come to me."

  Leo shot her a startled glance, probably thinking he had burdened himself with an idiot.

  "Do you remember the names of any roads nearby? We could drive around the area until you recognize the place."

  "It was dark when I arrived last night, and I was texting my sisters on the way out this morning. It's on the far side of Naples Bay with a view to Mount Vesuvius, though."

  "Claire, there are probably hundreds of hotels on that side of the bay."

  "Oh."

  Was it her imagination, or did he sound ticked off now? He shifted down a gear, the car engine growling as they took a corner.

  Claire slid lower in her seat. She closed her eyes and concentrated, pleading with her muzzy brain to cough up the hotel name before her knight in shining armor got fed up with her and dumped her out of the car on the side of the road like Jonathan did when he was angry with her.

  • • •

  Leo cast the woman in the passenger seat of his car a dubious glance. Had she really forgotten the name of her hotel, or was she stringing him along? It wouldn't be the first time a woman had tried to take advantage of his generosity. Claire had seemed nice when he met her in his uncle's café, but that was before she saw his car.

  The Ferrari had a strange effect on women. Perfectly nice girls often morphed into grasping she-devils who expected him to shower them with expensive presents once they saw his car. He'd learned to take his SUV when he went out on dates.

  Claire's forehead furrowed and she rubbed her temples, eyes closed. Maybe she really couldn't remember the name of her hotel—although he found that difficult to believe.

  "I'm sorry, Leo. My mind's all fuzzy and I'm worried about my missing handbag. Perhaps I should cancel my credit card immediately, in case it falls into the wrong hands." Claire chewed the side of her thumb nervously.

  She was either genuine or a very good actor. Leo relaxed a bit.

  "It's all right. Come home for dinner with my family and take it easy for a w
hile. If you stop trying to remember, I'm sure the hotel name will come to you."

  The relief in her eyes roused his protective instincts—instincts his wife had trained him to suppress. His fiercely independent Nicci had laughed at him if he expressed concern for her safety when she'd visited far-flung parts of the world. She'd said he was macho and controlling.

  His grip on the steering wheel tightened in frustration. She'd been gone for three years, yet memories of Nicci's attitude still annoyed him. She'd deliberately misunderstood him just to be difficult. His mother had raised him to believe men had a duty to care for and protect their families.

  As was often the way, when his mind was occupied with something else, the answer to a mathematical problem he'd been pondering came to him in a rush of understanding.

  He swerved onto the side of the road beside a row of small industrial buildings on the outskirts of Napoli, grabbed the tablet from the back of his car, and scrawled across the screen with a stylus, smiling as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Once he had the answer, he could never understand how it had taken him so long to fathom it out.

  He tossed the tablet into the back and looked up to meet Claire's startled gaze. She had stunning crystal-blue eyes that mesmerized him. He'd noticed her eyes the moment she stepped into his uncle's café.

  "I don't want to get out here," she blurted.

  "What? Of course not. I told you I'll take you home for dinner."

  "I thought maybe you'd changed your mind."

  A shadow passed through her eyes that fired his protective instincts again.

  "Of course I wouldn't do that." Had a man turned her out of a car before?

  She glanced away, wrapping her arms around her body and huddling into herself as if trying to get warm. Yet the inside of the car was toasty now.

  "I'm not going to change my mind, Claire. I won't abandon you. Don't worry."

  Chapter Two

  Claire scanned every turn they passed as Leo drove up the hill overlooking Naples Bay. Somewhere in this maze of roads was her hotel, yet nothing looked familiar.