The Italian's Christmas Housekeeper

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘I think circumstances made me that way,’ he said flatly.

  ‘What kind of circumstances?’

  Salvio frowned. This was deeper than he wanted to go because he was a man with a natural aversion to the in-depth character analysis which was currently in vogue. But what had he imagined would happen—that he could take an innocent young girl as his wife and present to her the same impenetrable exterior which had made scores of women despair at his coldness in the past? He walked over to the drinks cabinet, ignoring the expensive bottles of wine on display, pouring instead two crystal glasses of mineral water before walking across the room to hand her one. ‘You don’t know much about me, do you, Molly?’

  She shook her head as she sipped her drink. ‘Practically nothing. How would I? We haven’t exactly sat down and had long conversations since we met, have we?’

  He almost smiled. ‘You weren’t tempted to go and look me up online?’

  Molly didn’t answer immediately as she met the scrutiny of his piercing black gaze. Of course she’d been tempted. Someone like Salvio was high profile enough to have left a significant footprint on the Internet, which she could have accessed at the touch of a computer key, and naturally she was curious about him. But she’d felt as if their lives were unequal enough already. The billionaire tycoon and the humble housekeeper. If she discovered stuff about him, would she then have to feign ignorance in the unlikely event that he wanted to confide in her? If she heard anything about him, she wanted to hear it from him—not through the judgemental prism of someone else’s point of view.

  ‘I didn’t want to seem as if I was spying on you.’

  ‘Very commendable.’

  ‘But it would be useful to know,’ she continued doggedly. ‘Otherwise your parents might think we’re nothing but strangers.’

  ‘And is that what concerns you, Molly?’ His black gaze continued to bore into her. ‘What other people think?’

  Molly bit back her instinctive response to his disdainful question. If she’d been bothered about things like that then she would never have got through a childhood like hers. From an early age she’d learnt there were more important things to worry about than whether you had holes in your shoes or your coat needed darning. She’d learnt that good health—the one thing money couldn’t buy—was the only thing worth having. ‘I believe it’s best to be respectful of other people’s feelings and that your parents might be confused and possibly upset if they realise we don’t really know one another. But the main reason I need to know about you is because I’m having your baby.’ She saw the increased darkening of his eyes—as if she had reminded him of something he would rather forget. But he couldn’t forget it, and neither could she. ‘I don’t know anything about your childhood,’ she finished simply. ‘Nothing at all.’

  He appeared to consider her words before expelling a slow breath of air. ‘Very well. First and foremost you must understand that I am a Neapolitan to the very core of my being.’ His voice became fierce, and proud. ‘And that I have a great passion for this beautiful city of mine.’

  So why don’t you live here? Molly thought suddenly. Why do you only ever visit at Christmas? But she said nothing, just absorbed his words the way she’d absorbed other people’s words all her working life.

  ‘I grew up in the Rione Sanità, a very beautiful area, which is rich with history.’ There was a pause. ‘But it is also one of the poorest places in the city.’

  ‘You?’ she echoed disbelievingly, unable to hold back her shocked reaction. ‘Poor?’

  He smiled cynically as he flicked a disparaging finger towards his sleek suit jacket. ‘You think I was born wearing fine clothes like these, Molly? Or that my belly never knew hunger?’

  Yes, that was exactly what she’d thought, mainly because Salvio De Gennaro wore his wealth supremely well. He acted as if he’d never known anything other than handmade shoes and silk shirts, and people to drive his cars and planes for him. ‘You’ve come a long way,’ she said slowly. ‘What happened?’

  ‘What happened was that I had a talent,’ he told her simply. ‘And that talent was football. The moment my foot touched a ball, I felt as if I had found what I was born to do. I used to play every moment I could. There was nowhere suitable close to my home so I found a derelict yard to use. I marked a spot on the wall and I used to hit that same spot over and over again. Word got out and people used to come and watch me. They used to challenge me to see how long I could keep the ball in the air and sometimes I used to take their bets because many of them thought they could put a ball past me. But I could always score, even if there were two people against me in goal. And then one day the scouts turned up and overnight my whole life changed.’

  ‘What happened?’ she prompted as his words faded away.

  Salvio stared out of the window, drinking in the sapphire beauty of the bay. Would it sound boastful to tell her he’d been called the greatest footballer of his generation? Or that the superstar lifestyle had arrived far more quickly than expected? ‘I trained every hour that God sent, determined to fulfil all that early promise, and very quickly I was signed by one of the country’s most prestigious clubs where I scored a record number of goals. I knew success, and fame, and for a while it was a crazy life. Everywhere I went, people would stop me and want to talk about the game and I don’t remember the last time I was made to pay for a pizza.’

  ‘But...something went wrong?’ she observed. ‘I mean, badly wrong?’

  He narrowed his eyes. Was her blithe comment about knowing nothing of his past just another of the lies which slipped so easily from women’s lips? ‘What makes you ask that?’

  She hesitated. ‘I’m not sure. Maybe the note of finality in your voice. The look of...’

  ‘Of what, Molly?’ he demanded. ‘And please don’t just give me the polite answer you think I ought to hear.’

  She met his eyes, surprised at his perception because she had been about to do exactly that. ‘Bitterness, I guess,’ she said. ‘Or maybe disappointment.’

  He wanted to deny her accusations—if that was what they were—but he couldn’t. And suddenly he found himself resenting her astuteness and that gentle look of understanding which had softened her face. He’d agreed to tell her the basics—not for her to start peeling back the layers so that she could get a closer look at his damned soul. So why did he continue with his story, as if now he’d lifted the lid on it, he found it impossible to put it back?

  ‘I’ll tell you what happened,’ he said roughly, becoming aware of the heavy beat of his pulse at his temple. ‘My life was a fairy tale. It wasn’t just the success, or the money—and the chance to do good stuff with all that money—it was the fact that I loved playing football. It was the only thing I ever wanted to do. And then one day I was brought down by an ugly tackle and tore my cruciate ligament. Badly.’ His mouth twisted. ‘And that was the end of the fairy tale. I never played again.’

  Silence followed his stark statement and then she spoke in that soft voice. ‘Oh, Salvio, that must have—’

  ‘Please. Spare me the platitudes,’ he ground out, hardening his heart to the distress which had made her eyes grow as dark as storm clouds—because he didn’t need her sympathy. He didn’t need anything from anyone. He’d learnt what a mistake that could be. ‘The injury I could have learned to live with. After all, every professional sportsman or woman has to accept that one day their career will end—even if that happens sooner than they wanted. What made it worse was the discovery that my manager had been systematically working his way through my fortune before leaving town.’ There was a pause. ‘Suddenly, everything I thought I had was gone. No job. No money. My fall from grace was...spectacular.’

  ‘So what did you do?’ she whispered.

  Salvio shrugged. He had raged for several days and thought seriously about going after his manager and pinning him to the nearest wall until he had agr
eed to pay the money back. Until he’d realised that revenge was time-consuming and ultimately damaging. That he didn’t want to spend his life in pursuit of his broken dreams and to dwell on the glories of his past, like some sad loser. And then had come the final blow. The final, bitter straw which had made him feel a despair he had vowed never to repeat. Resolutely, he pushed the memory away. ‘I sold all my cars and the fancy apartment I’d bought in Rome,’ he said. ‘And gave most of the proceeds to my parents. Then I took what was left and bought a plane ticket to the US.’

  ‘That’s a long way from Naples,’ she observed slowly. ‘Why there?’

  ‘Because it was a big enough place to lose myself in and to start again. I didn’t want to be defined by a career which had been cut short and I was young and strong and prepared to work hard.’ He’d worked to the exclusion of pretty much everything else in order to get the break he’d needed and, when it had come, he had grabbed at it with both hands. Perceptive enough to recognise that people were starting to move downtown and that run-down areas of the city were potential goldmines, he had started buying up derelict properties and then renovating them. On his Christmas trip back to Naples that first year, he had brought his mother a fancy coat from Bloomingdales. These days he could give her the entire store—and frequently tried—but no amount of material success could ever fill the emptiness in his heart.

  He stared at Molly, amazed at how much he had told her. More than he’d ever admitted to anyone, even to Lauren. His gaze raked over her and he thought how different she looked from the first time he’d seen her, eating cake in the kitchen, her ripe body looking as if it was about to burst out of her uniform. Her green dress exuded all the class and sophistication which was an inevitable by-product of wearing designer clothes which had been chosen by an expert. Yet it was the softness of her eyes he noticed most—and the dewy perfection of her creamy skin. She still radiated the same wholesome sex appeal which had drawn him to her in the first place and he wondered why he was wasting time talking like this. What would he be doing with any other woman he was sharing a bedroom with—let alone the one who was wearing his ring?

  He felt the erratic hammer of his pulse as he glanced down at his watch. ‘I don’t want to talk about the past any more.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said cautiously. ‘Then we won’t.’

  ‘And we don’t have to be at my folks’ place for a while,’ he said unevenly. ‘Do you want a tour of the city?’

  ‘Is that what you’d like to do?’ she questioned, with the compliance which was such an essential part of her nature.

  ‘No. That’s the last thing I want to do right now. I can think of a much better way to pass the next couple of hours. Can’t you?’

  Molly thoughts were teeming as she met his dark gaze. So much of what he’d told her hadn’t been what she was expecting, yet now she knew the facts they didn’t really come as a surprise. The first time she’d seen him she’d noticed the power-packed body of a natural sportsman and the faint limp which he had all but managed to disguise. The single physical flaw in a man who was looking at her now with a question in his eyes.

  She was still a relative novice at sex, but already she could recognise the desire which was making his face grow tense. She knew what he wanted. What she wanted too. Because she hadn’t really enjoyed their night apart, last night. And even though the bed had been amazingly comfortable, she kept thinking about Salvio lying next door. Wondering why he hadn’t tried a bit harder to sleep with her. Wondering if he’d gone off her and didn’t fancy her any more. And—desire aside—wasn’t the truth that she felt safe in his arms—even if that feeling passed as quickly as a summer storm? She stared into his molten black eyes and, for once, said exactly what was in her heart.

  ‘Yes, I can think of a few things I’d like to do,’ she agreed shyly. ‘As long as they involve us being horizontal.’

  She was unprepared for the curve of his smile as he walked towards her or for the way he lifted her hand to his, kissing each finger in turn before leading her over to the huge bed which overlooked the famous bay. She was eager to feel his naked skin against hers but this time there was no urgency as he began to undress her. This time his fingers were leisurely as they unclipped her bra and her swollen breasts came spilling out, his moan appreciative as he caught one taut nipple between his teeth. Molly squirmed beneath the teasing flick of his tongue but her frustration didn’t seem to have any effect on his lazy pace. And didn’t her heart pound with joy when he bent his head to drop a series of tender kisses on her belly as if he was silently acknowledging the tiny life which grew inside her?

  ‘S-Salvio?’ she stumbled tentatively as she felt the brush of his lips against her navel.

  ‘It’s going to be okay,’ he said, his voice growing husky.

  What was he talking about—their future, or meeting his parents? Or both?

  But suddenly Molly was beyond caring as his movements became more urgent.

  She cried out when he entered her and clung to him fiercely as he made each hard thrust. It felt so deep—he seemed to be filling her body completely, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. And it felt different, more intimate than it had ever been before. Was that because he’d trusted her enough to tell her things she suspected he usually kept locked away—or was this sudden closeness all in her imagination? But the pleasure she was experiencing wasn’t imaginary. Her senses felt exquisitely raw and heightened so that when her orgasm came, Molly felt as if rocked by a giant and powerful wave—her satisfaction only intensified by the moan he gave as he spilled his seed inside her. Afterwards she felt as if she were floating on a cloud. His breath was warm and comforting against her neck and she missed his presence when he withdrew from her and rolled to the other side of the mattress.

  ‘That was just...perfect,’ she said dreamily, the words out of her mouth before she could prevent them.

  But Salvio didn’t answer and, although the sound of his breathing was strong and steady, Molly wasn’t sure whether or not he was asleep. Was he just lying there ignoring her? she wondered, with a sudden streak of paranoia. Lying there and pretending?

  But she decided it was pointless to get freaked out by his sudden detachment, even if she’d had the energy to do so. Nestling herself down into the big mound of feathery pillows, Molly gave a little sigh and fell asleep.

  CHAPTER NINE

  PERHAPS INEVITABLY, THEY slept for longer than they’d intended and Molly woke with a start, looking round in mild confusion as she tried to get her bearings. Maybe they’d been catching up on too many restless nights, or maybe the amazing sex they’d just enjoyed had taken it out of them. Either way, the Neapolitan sky outside their hotel suite was ebony-dark and sprinkled with stars and when she glanced at her watch, she saw to her horror that it was almost seven—and they were due at Salvio’s parents for Christmas Eve dinner in just over an hour.

  ‘Wake up,’ she urged, giving her sleeping fiancé’s shoulder a rough shake. ‘Or we’re going to be late!’

  Hurrying into the bathroom, she had the fastest shower on record before addressing the thorny issue of what to wear when meeting Salvio’s parents for the first time. She still wasn’t used to having quite so many clothes at her disposal and was more than a little dazzled by the choice. After much consideration, she opted for a soft knee-length skirt worn with a winter-white sweater and long black boots. Taking a deep breath, she did a little pirouette.

  ‘Do you think your mother will approve of what I’m wearing?’ she asked anxiously.

  Salvio’s black gaze roved over her in leisurely appraisal, before he gave a nod of approval. ‘Most certainly,’ he affirmed. ‘You look demure and decent.’

  Molly’s fixed smile didn’t waver as they stepped into the penthouse elevator, but really...demure and decent didn’t exactly set the world on fire, did they?

  They reached the lobby and as the doorman sprang
forward to welcome them, Molly became aware of the buzz of interest their appearance was creating. Or rather, Salvio’s appearance. She could see older men staring at him wistfully while women of all ages seemed intent on devouring him with hungry eyes. Yet despite the glamour of the female guests who were milling around the lobby, Molly felt a sudden shy pride as he took her arm and began guiding her towards the waiting car. Because she was the one he’d just been making love to, wasn’t she? And she was the one who was carrying his child.

  The luxury car was soon swallowed up in heavy traffic and before long they drew up outside an elegant house not too far from their hotel. Molly’s nerves—which had been growing during the journey—were quickly dissolved when they were met by a tiny middle-aged woman dressed in Christmas red, her eyes dark and smiling as she opened the door to them. She hugged Molly fiercely before drawing back to look at her properly.

  ‘At last! I have a daughter!’ she exclaimed, in fluent though heavily accented English, before turning to her son and rising up on tiptoe to kiss him on each cheek, a faint note of reproof in her voice. ‘And what I would like to know is why you are staying in a hotel tonight instead of here at home with your parents, Salvatore De Gennaro?’

  ‘Because you would have insisted on us having separate rooms and this is the twenty-first century, in case you hadn’t noticed,’ answered her son drily. ‘But don’t worry, Mamma. We will be back again tomorrow.’

  Slightly mollified, Rosa De Gennaro ushered them towards a beautiful high-ceilinged sitting room, where her husband was waiting and Molly stepped forward to greet him. Tall and silver-haired, Paolo De Gennaro had handsomely-rugged features which echoed those of his son and Molly got a poignant glimpse of what Salvio might look like when he was sixty. Will I still know him when he’s sixty? she wondered, unprepared for the dark fear which shafted through her and the sudden shifting sense of uncertainty. But she shelved the useless thought and concentrated on getting to know the older couple whose joy at their son’s engagement was evident. As Rosa examined her glittering ring with murmurs of delight, Molly felt a flash of guilt. What if they knew the truth? That the only reason she was here on Christmas Eve, presenting this false front of togetherness with their son, was because one reckless night had ended up with an unplanned baby.