She wondered if he was deliberately ignoring something even more disturbing than the bathroom facilities...or maybe she was just being super-sensitive about it, given her uneasy history. Awkwardly she raked her fingers through her spiky hair, wondering what it was which marked her out from other women. Why was it that on the only two occasions she’d shared a bed with a man, one had been passed out drunk—while the other was looking at her with nothing but irritation in his hard black eyes?
He was nodding his head, as if she had spoken out loud. ‘I know,’ he said grimly. ‘It’s my idea of a nightmare, too. Sharing a too-small bed with an employee wasn’t top of my Christmas wish list.’
Don’t react, Keira told herself fiercely. And don’t take it personally. Act with indifference and don’t make out like it’s a big deal.
‘I expect we’ll survive,’ she said coolly, then began to rub at her arms through the thin jacket as she started to shiver.
He ran a speculative gaze over her and an unexpected note of consideration crept into his voice. ‘You’re cold,’ he said, his eyes lingering on her thighs just a fraction too long. ‘And your trousers are soaking.’
‘You don’t say?’ she said, her voice rising a little defensively, because she’d never been very good at dealing with unsolicited kindness.
‘Don’t you have anything else you can wear?’ he persisted.
Embarrassment made her even more defensive and Keira glared at him, aware of the heat now staining her cheeks. ‘Yes, of course I do. I always make sure I carry an entire change of clothes with me whenever I embark on a drive from London to Devon,’ she said. ‘It’s what every driver does.’
‘Why don’t you skip the sarcasm?’ he suggested. ‘And go and take a hot bath? You can borrow something of mine.’
Keira looked at him suspiciously, taken aback by the offer and not quite sure if he meant it. Without his cashmere coat he stood resplendent in a dark charcoal suit which, even to her untutored eye, she could tell was made-to-measure. It must have been—because surely your average suit didn’t cater for men with shoulders as broad as his, or legs that long. What on earth could Matteo Valenti have in his suitcase which would fit her? ‘You carry women’s clothes around with you, do you?’
An unexpected smile lifted the corners of his mouth and the corresponding race of Keira’s heart made her hope he wasn’t going to do a lot of smiling.
‘Funnily enough, no,’ he said drily, unzipping the leather case. ‘But I have a sweater you can use. And a soap bag. Here. Go on. Take it.’
He was removing the items from his case and handing them to her and Keira was overcome by a sudden gratitude. ‘Th-thanks. You’re very kind—’
‘Basta! Spare me the stumbling appreciation. I’m not doing it out of any sense of kindness.’ His mouth hardened. ‘This day has already been a disaster—I don’t want to add to the misery by having you catch pneumonia and finding myself with a wrongful death suit on my hands.’
‘Well, I’ll do my best not to get sick then,’ she bit back. ‘I’d hate to inconvenience you any more than I already have done!’
Her fingers digging into his sweater, Keira marched from the room to the bathroom along the corridor, trying to dampen down her rising feelings of anger. He really was the most hateful person she’d ever met and she was going to have to endure a whole night with him.
Hanging his sweater on the back of the door, she quickly assessed the facilities on offer and for the first time that day, she smiled. Good thing she was used to basics. To her the avocado-coloured sink and bath were nothing out of the ordinary, though she shuddered to think how Mr Cynical was going to cope. When she’d been growing up, she and her mother had lived in places with far worse plumbing than this. In fact, this rather tatty bathroom felt almost nostalgic. A throwback to tougher times, yes, but at least it had been one of those rare times when she’d known emotional security, before Mum had died.
Clambering into the tiny bath, she directed the leaking shower attachment over her head and sluiced herself with tepid water before lathering on some of Matteo’s amazing soap. And then the strangest thing started happening. Beneath her massaging fingers she could feel her nipples begin to harden into tight little nubs and for a moment she closed her eyes as she imagined her powerful client touching her there, before pulling her hands away in horror. What on earth was wrong with her?
Leaving the plug in situ and climbing out of the tub, she furiously rubbed herself dry. Wasn’t the situation bad enough without her fantasising about a man who was probably going to make sure she got fired as soon as they reached civilisation?
She put on her bra, turned her knickers inside out and slithered Matteo’s grey sweater over her head. It was warm and very soft—it was just unfortunate that it only came to mid-thigh, no matter how hard she tugged at the hem. She stared into the mirror. And the problem with that was, what? Was she really naïve enough to think that the Italian tycoon would even notice what she was wearing? Why, judging from his attitude towards her up until now, she could probably waltz back in there completely naked and he wouldn’t even bat those devastatingly dark eyelashes.
But about that Keira was wrong—just as she’d been wrong in making the detour via Dartmoor—because when she walked back into the bedroom Matteo Valenti turned around from where he had been standing gazing out of the window and, just like the weather outside, his face froze. It was extraordinary to witness, that unmistakable double take when he saw her, something which never normally happened when Keira walked into a room. His eyes narrowed and grew smoky and something in the atmosphere seemed to subtly shift, and change. She wasn’t used to it, but she wasn’t going to deny that it made her skin grow warm with pleasure. Unless, of course, she was totally misreading the situation. It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?
‘Is everything okay?’ she asked uncertainly.
Matteo nodded in response, aware that a pulse had begun to hammer at his temple. He’d just finished a telephone conversation with his assistant and as a consequence he’d been miles away, staring out of the window at the desolate countryside and having the peculiar sensation of realising that nobody could get hold of him—a sensation which had brought with it a surprising wave of peace. He had watched his driver scuttle off towards the bathroom in her unflattering navy trouser suit, only now she had returned and...
He stared and swallowed down the sudden lump which had risen in his throat. It was inexplicable. What the hell had she done to herself?
Her short, dark hair was still drying and the heat of the shower must have been responsible for the rosy flush of her cheeks, against which her sapphire eyes looked huge and glittery. But it was his sweater which was responsible for inflicting a sudden sexual awakening he would have preferred to avoid. A plain cashmere sweater which looked like a completely different garment when worn by her. She was so small and petite that it pretty much swamped her, but it hinted at the narrow-hipped body beneath and the most perfect pair of legs he had ever seen. She looked...
He shook his head slightly. She looked sexy, he thought resentfully as lust arrowed straight to his groin, where it hardened and stayed. She looked as if she wanted him to lay her down on the bed and start kissing her. As if she were tantalising him with the question of whether or not she was wearing any panties. He felt he was in a schoolboy’s fantasy, tempted to ask her to bend down to pick up some imaginary object from the carpet so he could see for himself if her bottom was bare. And then he glared because the situation was bad enough without having to endure countless hours of frustration, daydreaming about a woman he couldn’t have—even if he was the kind of man to indulge in a one-night stand, which he most emphatically wasn’t.
‘Sì, everything is wonderful. Fantastico,’ he added sarcastically. ‘I’ve just made a phone call to my assistant and asked her to make my apologies for tonight’s party. She asked if I was doing something nice instead and I told her that no, I was not. In fact, I was stuck on a snowy moor in the mi
ddle of nowhere.’
‘I’ve left you some hot water,’ she said stiffly, deciding to ignore his rant.
‘How will I be able to contain my excitement?’ he returned as he picked up the clothes he had selected from his case and slammed his way out of the room.
But he’d calmed down a little by the time he returned, dressed down in jeans and a sweater, to find her stirring a pot of tea which jostled for space on a tray containing sandwiches and mince pies. She turned her face towards him with a questioning look.
‘Are you hungry?’ she said.
It was difficult to return her gaze when all he wanted to do was focus on her legs and that still tantalising question of what she was or wasn’t wearing underneath his sweater. Matteo shrugged. ‘I guess.’
‘Would you like a sandwich?’
‘How can I refuse?’
‘It’s very kind of Mary to have gone to the trouble of making us some, especially when she’s trying to cook a big turkey dinner for eight people,’ she admonished quietly. ‘The least we can do is be grateful.’
‘I suppose so.’
Keira tried to maintain her polite smile as she handed him a cup of tea and a cheese sandwich, telling herself that nothing would be gained by being rude herself. In fact, it would only make matters worse if they started sparring. She was the one in the wrong and the one whose job was on the line. If she kept answering him back, who was to say he wouldn’t ring up her boss and subject him to a blistering tirade about her incompetence? If she kept him sweet, mightn’t he be persuaded not to make a big deal out of the situation, maybe even to forget it had ever happened and put it down to experience? She needed this job because she loved it and things to love in Keira’s life happened too rarely for her to want to give them up without a fight.
She noticed that he said nothing as he ate, his expression suggesting he was merely fuelling his impressive body rather than enjoying what was on offer—but Keira’s hunger had completely deserted her and that was a first. She normally had a healthy appetite, which often surprised people who commented on her tiny frame. But not today. Today food was the last thing on her mind. She broke off the rim of one of the mince pies and forced herself to chew on it and the sugar gave her a sudden rush, but all she could think about was how on earth they were going to get through the hours ahead, when there wasn’t even a radio in the room—let alone a TV. She watched the way the lamplight fell on her client’s face—the hardness of his features contrasting with the sensual curve of his lips—and found herself wondering what it might be like to be kissed by a man like him.
Stop it, she urged herself furiously. Just stop it. You couldn’t even maintain the interest of that trainee mechanic you dated in the workshop—do you really fancy your chances with the Italian billionaire?
A note of desperation tinged her voice as she struggled to think of something they could do which might distract her from all that brooding masculinity. ‘Shall I go downstairs and see if Mary has any board games we could play?’
He put his empty cup down and his eyes narrowed. ‘Excuse me?’
‘You know.’ She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. ‘Cards, or Scrabble or Monopoly. Something,’ she added. ‘Because we can’t just spend the whole evening staring at each other and dreading the night ahead, can we?’
He raised his dark eyebrows. ‘You’re dreading the night ahead, are you, Keira?’
A shimmer of amusement had deepened his voice and Keira realised that, not only was it the first time he’d actually used her name, but that he’d said it as no one had ever said it before. She could feel colour flushing over her cheekbones and knew she had to stop coming over as some kind of unworldly idiot. ‘Well, aren’t you?’ she challenged. ‘Don’t tell me your heart didn’t sink when you realised we’d have to spend the night here.’
Matteo considered her question. Up until a few moments ago he might have agreed with her, but there was something about the girl with the spiky black hair which was making him reconsider his original assessment. It was, he thought, a novel situation and he was a man whose appetites had been jaded enough over the years to be entertained by the novel. And Keira whatever-her-name-was certainly wasn’t your average woman. She wasn’t behaving as most women would have done in the circumstances. She had suggested playing a game as if she actually meant it, without any purring emphasis on the word playing, leaving him in no doubt how she intended the ‘game’ to progress—with him thrusting into her eager body. People called him arrogant, but he preferred to think of himself as a realist. He’d never been guilty of under-assessing his own attributes—and one of those was his ability to make the opposite sex melt, without even trying.
He focussed his gaze on her, mildly amused by the competitive look in her eyes which suggested that her question had been genuine. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Let’s play games.’
Picking up the tray, she went downstairs, reappearing after a little while with a stack of board games, along with a bottle of red wine and two glasses.
‘There’s no need to be snobby about the vintage,’ she said, noticing his expression as he frowningly assessed the label on the bottle. ‘It was very sweet of Mary to offer us a festive drink and I’m having a glass even if you aren’t. I’m not driving anywhere tonight and I don’t want to offend her, not when she’s been so kind.’
Feeling surprisingly chastened, Matteo took the bottle and opened it, pouring them each a glass and forcing himself to drink most of his in a single draught as he lowered himself into the most uncomfortable chair he’d ever sat in.
‘Ready?’ she questioned as she sat cross-legged on the bed, with a blanket placed discreetly over her thighs as she faced him.
‘I guess,’ he growled.
They played Monopoly, which naturally he won—but then, he’d spent all his adult life trading property and had learnt early that there was no commodity more precious than land. But he was surprised when she suggested a quick game of poker and even more surprised by her skill with the cards.
Matteo wondered afterwards if he’d been distracted by knowing her legs were bare beneath the blanket. Or if he’d just spent too long gazing at her curling black lashes, which remarkably didn’t carry a trace of mascara. Because wasn’t the truth that he was finding his pocket-sized driver more fascinating with every moment which passed? She was certainly managing to keep her face poker-straight as she gazed at her cards and inexplicably he found himself longing to kiss those unsmiling lips.
He swallowed. Was she aware that her coolness towards him was fanning a sexual awareness which was growing fiercer by the second? He didn’t know—all he did know was that by the time they’d drunk most of the bottle of wine, she had beaten him hands-down and it was an unfamiliar experience.
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Who taught you to play like that?’
She shrugged. ‘Before I became a driver, I worked as a car mechanic—mostly with men,’ she added airily. ‘And they liked to play cards when the workshop was quiet.’
‘You worked as a car mechanic?’
‘You sound surprised.’
‘I am surprised. You don’t look strong enough to take a car to pieces.’
‘Appearances can be deceptive.’
‘They certainly can.’ He picked up the bottle and emptied out the last of the wine, noticing her fingers tremble as he handed her the glass. She must be feeling it too, he thought grimly—that almost tangible buzz of electricity when his hand brushed against hers. He crossed one leg over the other to hide the hard throb of his erection as he tried—and failed—to think of something which didn’t involve his lips and her body.
‘Mr Valenti,’ she said suddenly.
‘Matteo,’ he instructed silkily. ‘I thought we agreed we should be on first-name terms, given the somewhat unusual circumstances.’
‘Yes, we did, but I...
Keira’s words tailed away as he fixed her with a questioning look, not quite sure how to express her thoughts. The alcohol had made her
feel more daring than usual—something which she’d fully exploited during that game of cards. She’d known it probably wasn’t the most sensible thing to defeat Matteo Valenti and yet something had made her want to show him she wasn’t as useless as he seemed to think she was. But she was now aware of her bravado slipping away. Just as she was aware of the tension which had been building in the cramped bedroom ever since she’d emerged from the bathroom.
Her breasts were aching and her inside-out panties were wet. Did he realise that? Perhaps he was used to women reacting that way around him but she wasn’t one of those women. She’d been called frigid by men before, when really she’d been scared—scared of doing what her mother had always warned her against. But it had never been a problem before, because close contact with the opposite sex had always left her cold and the one time she’d ended up in bed with a man he had been snoring in a drunken stupor almost before his head had hit the pillow. So how was Matteo managing to make her feel like this—as if every pore were screaming for him to touch her?
She swallowed. ‘We haven’t discussed what we’re going to do about sleeping arrangements.’
‘What did you have in mind?’
‘Well, it looks as if we’ve got to share a bed—so obviously we’ve got to come to some sort of compromise.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘And I was thinking we might sleep top and tail.’
‘Top and tail?’ he repeated.
‘You know.’
‘Obviously I don’t,’ he said impatiently. ‘Or I wouldn’t have asked.’
Awkwardly, she wriggled her shoulders. ‘It’s easy. I sleep with my head at one end of the bed and you sleep with yours at the other. We used to do it when I was in the Girl Guides. Sometimes people even put pillows between them, so they can keep to their side and there’s no encroaching on the other person’s space.’ She forged on but it wasn’t easy when he was staring at her with a growing look of incredulity. ‘Unless you’re prepared to spend the night in that armchair?’
The Italian's Christmas Secret Page 3