The Italian's Christmas Housekeeper

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘Salvio—’

  ‘No. Please. Let me finish,’ he said and his voice was shaking now. ‘You need to understand that all this is true, because there is no way I would say it if it wasn’t.’ His black eyes raked over her. ‘Do you believe me, Molly? That I would walk to the ends of the earth for you and further, if that’s what you wanted? And that I love you in a way I’ve never loved before?’

  Molly stared into the molten darkness of his eyes, but she didn’t have to give it a lot of thought, because she did believe him. She could read it in the tender curve of his lips, even if he hadn’t uttered those quietly fervent words which had rung so true. But if they were shining a spotlight on their relationship then they couldn’t allow any more shadows to lurk in unexplored corners, and she needed the courage to confront what was still troubling her.

  ‘But what about the baby?’ she whispered.

  ‘What baby?’ he said gently. ‘Are you trying to tell me you’re pregnant?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. But that’s the whole point. What if...?’ She swallowed. ‘What if, for some reason, I can’t give you the child you long for?’

  ‘Then we will go to the best doctors to find out why, or we will adopt. It’s not a deal-breaker, Molly. Not even a deal-maker. Not any more. I want you. You. That’s all.’

  That’s all? Molly blinked as for the first time she realised that Salvio De Gennaro was truly captivated by her. Her! A flush of pleasure heated her skin and maybe someone else in her position might have briefly revelled in her newly discovered power. But this wasn’t about power. It was about love and equality. About consideration and respect. About loyalty and truth.

  It was about them.

  She smiled, the happiness swelling up in her heart making it feel as if it were about to burst open. ‘I believe you,’ she said softly. ‘And I love you. So much. I think I’ve always loved you, Salvio De Gennaro, and I know I always will.’

  ‘Then you’d better come here and kiss me,’ he said, in a voice which sounded pretty close to breaking. ‘And convince me that this is for real.’

  EPILOGUE

  SALVIO STARED AT the lights as he lay back contentedly. Rainbow-coloured lights which jostled for space among all the glittering baubles which hung from the Christmas tree. Behind the tree glittered the Bay of Naples and, inside the main reception room of their newly purchased home, he lay naked next to his beautiful Molly on a vast velvet sofa which had been chosen for precisely this kind of activity.

  ‘Happy?’ he murmured, one hand idly teasing her bare nipple while his lips lazily caressed the soft silk of her hair.

  ‘Happy?’ She nuzzled into his neck. ‘So happy I can’t even put it into words.’

  ‘Well, try.’

  Molly traced her finger over the loud rhythm of her husband’s heart. Next door their ten-month-old son Marco lay sleeping—getting as much rest as possible in preparation for the excitement of his first Christmas. And this year, everyone was coming to them. Salvio’s parents would be arriving later for the traditional Eve of Christmas feast. And so would Robbie, who was currently meeting the parents of Salvio’s cousin, who he had recently started dating. Molly prayed he wouldn’t let anyone down—most of all himself—but she was hopeful that her brother had finally sorted himself out. Much of it was down to Salvio and the well-intentioned but stern advice he had delivered. He’d told Robbie he would support him through college, but only if he kicked his gambling habit for good.

  And he seemed to have done just that. Molly had never seen her brother looking so bright-eyed or hopeful. It was as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his strong, young shoulders. Was it the presence of a powerful male role model which had been the making of him?

  In the very early days of her pregnancy, she’d persuaded Salvio that his London penthouse apartment was no place for a baby and he had surprised her by agreeing. So they’d moved into his sprawling Cotswold manor house where she had fun envisaging Marco and his siblings playing in those vast and beautiful gardens. Salvio had also bought this sea-view home in Naples where they tried to spend as much time as possible.

  She sighed against the warmth of his skin. ‘You make me so happy,’ she whispered. ‘I never thought I could feel this way.’

  He stroked his fingers through her hair. ‘It’s because I love you, Molly. You’re so easy to love.’

  ‘And so are you. At least, you are now,’ she added darkly.

  He laughed. ‘Was I such a terrible man before?’

  ‘Terrible,’ she agreed, mock-seriously. ‘But terribly sexy too.’

  ‘Are you angling for more sex, Signora De Gennaro?’

  ‘There isn’t time, darling. I’ve got to oversee last-minute preparations for tonight’s dinner because there’s a lot of pressure when you’re cooking for your in-laws for the first time.’ She frowned. ‘And I’m worried I’m going to ruin the capitone.’

  His fingertips tiptoed over her belly. ‘You’re not going anywhere until you tell me you love me.’

  ‘I love you. I love you more than I ever thought possible. I love that you’re a brilliant father and husband and brother-in-law and son. I love the fact that you’ve opened a football academy here in Naples and are giving a chance to poor boys with a dream in their hearts. How’s that? Is that enough?’

  ‘Curiously, it leaves me wanting more,’ he growled. ‘But then you always do.’

  ‘More of wh-what?’ she questioned unsteadily, as his hand moved towards her quivering thigh.

  ‘More of this.’ He smiled as he found her wet heat and stroked, enjoying her soft moan of pleasure.

  ‘But, Salvio, there isn’t time,’ she said, her eyes growing smoky as he continued his feather-light teasing. ‘What about the capitone?’

  And then Salvio said something which, as a good Neapolitan, he had never imagined himself saying—but in the circumstances, perhaps was understandable. He pulled her on top of him and touched her parted lips with his own. ‘Stuff the capitone,’ he growled.

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed The Italian’s Christmas Housekeeper you’re sure to love these other stories by Sharon Kendrick!

  The Italian’s Christmas Secret

  Bound to the Sicilian’s Bride

  Crowned for the Sheikh’s Baby

  The Greek’s Bought Bride

  Available now!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from The Baby the Billionaire Demands by Jennie Lucas.

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  The Baby the Billionaire Demands

  by Jennie Lucas

  CHAPTER ONE

  MONEY MEANT EVERYTHING to Lola Price.

  Money was the difference between happiness and grief. Between joy and tragedy. She’d learned it at five years old, and every day since.

  Growing up in a trailer on the edge of the California desert, in a dusty town where jobs were scarce, she’d seen her mother’s daily struggles to pay the bills after Lola’s father died. Her mother eventually remarried, but it only made things worse.

  By the time she was eighteen, Lola had learned that there was only one way to protect the people you loved. One way to keep them safe and close—and alive.

  You had to be rich.

  So she’d dropped out of high school and moved to Los Angeles. Desperate to save what was left of her family—and without any talent or even a high school diploma—she’d hoped to instantly become a movie star, but her acting career never got off the ground. Without money, she’d lost everything.

  Now she had a four-month-old son. And nearly a million dollars. Lola took a deep breath. No one would ever take her family from her again.

  Sergei Morozov’s booming voice brought her back to the charity ball, where he’d been swaying with her on the dance floor. “Can I kiss you, Lolitchka?”

  “What?” Startled, Lola looked up at him. “Kiss me?”

  “Yes. When?”

  “Um...never?”

  The Russian tycoon winced. Burly and in his mid-fifties, with gray hair on his temples and a strong accent, he was CEO of a large Wall Street firm. He’d also been, until four months ago, her employer. “When you agreed to be my date tonight, I thought...”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t feel that way about you.” Around them, couples danced in the gilded hotel ballroom to the orchestra’s elegant music. The children’s charity ball was the social occasion of November in New York. She was just surprised her two best friends, Hallie and Tess, both newly married to billionaires, weren’t here. They loved fancy events like this.

  But Lola didn’t see them. As she danced with her former boss—keeping an old-fashioned, almost Victorian distance between them—she saw dark-haired men everywhere in sleek, sophisticated tuxedos who reminded her of another previous boss, Rodrigo Cabrera. The Spanish media tycoon who’d coldly given her a million-dollar check, then tossed her out of his beach house, secretly pregnant and brokenhearted.

  Sergei cleared his throat. “If you just need a little more time...”

  “That’s not it.” She looked down at the marble ballroom floor. She never should have agreed to a date, she thought. She’d been swayed by her neighbor, a widow who occasionally babysat her son, who’d told Lola she ‘needed to get out and live.’ That, plus the weddings of Lola’s two best friends in rapid succession, had made her feel her own loneliness. When Sergei Morozov had invited her out, she’d convinced herself it might be a healthy step forward, after a hard, lonely year.

  Now she wished she’d just stayed at home.

  “Some man broke your heart,” he growled. “He abandoned you and your son.”

  Lola looked up in astonishment. She’d never spoken about Rodrigo to anyone, not even her best friends. “I never said he abandoned me—”

  “You had pregnancy alone. Had birth alone. No man.” His big hands tightened against her back. “Forget the idea of a date. Maybe I just marry you, eh?”

  She sucked in her breath. “Marry?”

  The burly man looked down at her. “I have wanted you for a long time, Lola,” he said softly. “If marriage is your price, I am willing to pay.”

  Lola stared up at him in shock.

  Marry him?

  Her stomach looped like a roller-coaster.

  Sergei Morozov wasn’t a bad man. She’d worked as his secretary throughout her pregnancy. He was rich, arrogant, but not cruel. When she was eighteen, she would have jumped at the chance to marry a man like that.

  Too bad for him that Lola was now twenty-five, with a pocketful of money and a scarred, bitter heart.

  “I’m flattered, truly,” she said awkwardly, “but—”

  “Marry me, zvezda moya. I will cover you with jewels. I will—”

  “I’d like to cut in.”

  Lola’s heart dropped as she heard another man’s voice, low and dangerous behind her. A voice she knew, though she hadn’t heard it in over a year. A voice she’d never forget.

  Slowly, she turned.

  Rodrigo Cabrera stood beside her on the dance floor, wearing a sleek tuxedo over his muscular, powerful body.

  Dark-haired, dark-eyed, with chiseled cheekbones and a five o’clock shadow along the hard, sharp edge of his jaw, he was even more handsome than she remembered. Power, dark and dangerous and sexy, echoed off him like shock waves.

  “Rodrigo?” she breathed.

  “Lola.” His cruel, sensual lips curved as he looked down at her. “It’s been a long time.”

  Unwilling images went through her of the days and nights of their brief affair. The pleasure. The joy. The laughter. The certainty in Lola that for the first time since she could remember, she was no longer alone...

  Now, pain twisted through her, pain she was careful not to reveal on her face. “What are you doing here?”

  “Cutting in.” He moved between her and Sergei with almost feline grace. He glanced at the Russian tycoon with casual amusement. “If you don’t mind.”

  Sergei scowled. “Of course I mind—”

  “It’s all right, Sergei.” Lola put her hand unsteadily on his arm. “I’ll see you shortly.”

  Sergei set his jaw. “Once the dance is done, I’ll be back.”

  Rodrigo’s eyes flicked to her. “As the lady pleases.”

  After Sergei’s grudging departure, the two of them looked at each other.

  “So you’re living in New York now,” Rodrigo said coldly.

  “Are you here on business?”

  He bared his teeth into a smile. “Is there any other reason?”

  In spite of everything, Lola’s heart was in her throat as she looked up at him. All the other people in the ballroom, all the laughter and music, faded away.

  Slowly, Rodrigo pulled her into his arms. She breathed in his scent, of woodsy musk and soap and something uniquely him. She tried to tell herself she felt nothing, but her knees trembled, and she was glad he was supporting her in the dance.

  He glanced back at Sergei, now glowering at them from the edge of the dance floor. “So he wants to marry you.”

  “Not everyone hates marriage like you do,” she said unwillingly.

  His lips quirked. “Another millionaire falls at your feet.”

  “Not everyone hates me like you do.”

  “I don’t hate you, Lola.” His voice was low.

  She tilted her head back to look at him beneath her lashes. “You don’t?”

  “I despise you. That’s different.” His dark eyes gleamed. “You must have spent the million dollars I gave you if you’re looking for a new sugar daddy. Do you intend to say yes? Are congratulations in order?”

  Lola narrowed her eyes. She wondered what Rodrigo would say if he knew the real reason she’d taken his payoff money: because she’d found out she was pregnant.

  Money meant more to her than pride. It meant safety. Her baby must never know, as Lola once had, how it felt to go hungry. He must never see his mother cry when she couldn’t pay the bills, or be mocked for wearing clothes to school that were too small, or harassed by teachers for falling asleep in class, because he’d spent another night taking care of younger siblings when his mother had the night shift.

  And most of all: Jett must never know how it felt to lose his family.

  Taking Rodrigo’s money meant no one would be able to t
ake her baby away from her.

  No one, that was, except Rodrigo.

  She swallowed, her hands tightening on the shoulders of his tuxedo jacket as they danced. A father had rights. And although she still had most of the million dollars that he’d given her, she knew he had billions more. Enough to take whatever he wanted. Even Jett. And that made her afraid.

  Because she’d been his secretary once. For over two years before they’d become lovers. She knew how ruthless the Spanish media mogul could be. How he could turn on people savagely if they failed him.

  Rodrigo had good reason to believe the worst of her. Why wouldn’t he, after what he’d learned about her past?

  But he was in New York on business. He often came here. He even owned a house in SoHo. But they traveled in different circles now. He couldn’t know about Jett.

  If he did...

  No. He must never know.

  Rodrigo’s expression hardened. “Well? Do you intend to marry him?”

  “I haven’t decided,” she mumbled.

  His arms tightened around her waist. “Is that a lie?”

  Lola had no intention of going on another date with Sergei, let alone marrying him. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. She looked up. “Why do you care?”

  His dark eyes glinted. “I don’t. I’m just wondering if I should warn him about the kind of woman you really are.”

  She stiffened. “What kind is that?”

  “You’re very beautiful, Lola.” Rodrigo’s hot gaze traced slowly over her modest, long-sleeved black knit dress. As they danced to the music, he cupped her cheek. “Very.”

  Electricity ripped through her body from where he’d touched her. Sparks raced down her spine, shouting, Yes, yes. This was her man, and she’d missed him, oh, how she’d missed him. She’d dreamed of him unwillingly every night from the moment he’d taken her virginity and made her feel—