His Rules: Ludlow Nights - Book1 (A Ludlow Nights Romance)

by CC MacKenzie

  "Did you grow up in London?"

  "Nope." Anastacia sucked more soda through her straw. "It must have been wonderful to grow up in Italy."

  "Si, I love my culture." He realized he was dealing with a consummate professional in the assimilation and deflection of information, an expert at dodging or switching the theme of a conversation. Olivier hung on in there. "Why did you move to London?"

  "It's busy," she said straightaway. "It's noisy and the streets are truly paved with gold."

  "Do you never wish for peace and quiet?"

  "I'll get plenty of peace and quiet when I'm dead. What does your family feel about you selecting soccer over applying yourself after gaining a business degree?"

  Little witch.

  His mouth twitched as he enjoyed fencing with her.

  "They were always supportive, especially when I became a success. My madre is very proud and is happy that I have something to fall back on. What do your family think of your success?"

  She didn't flinch.

  Instead she went very still, but he got the distinct impression he'd hurt her.

  Anastacia placed the paper cup containing her drink very carefully on the table.

  "I don't have a family."

  The steady stare as her eyes met his, the tilt of her chin, told him she was being incredibly brave. And there was something else in those blue eyes, something that gave him pause. A stubborn pride, he realized, and that pride urged him to take a big step back.

  He ignored the advice.

  "No grandparents, aunts or uncles?"

  She sent him a cheery smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Nope."

  In a hurry, she began to wipe her fingers with the napkins, moved to stand.

  Olivier's hand covered hers, squeezed.

  "Did you end up in the care system?"

  Those blue eyes went wide. "How is that any of your concern?"

  "You are a beautiful, intelligent woman who fascinates me. A woman I want to know a lot better before I take her to my bed and make wild and passionate love to her."

  She shook her head, even as her blue eyes flashed with temper.

  Then she picked up a plastic knife.

  "You are a piece of work, Conti. If you're fond of that hand, let me go."

  The fact she'd threatened him, even if it was with a plastic knife, and the fact he could tell she was prepared to use it, made him watch her carefully.

  "Why do I frighten you, piccolino?"

  She chuffed out a laugh, but he wasn't fooled. His hand squeezed hers. Again temper flashed in her eyes. Her hand tightened on the plastic knife.

  "Get over yourself," she shot back, evading the question and tossing in an insult to deflect his attention and to annoy. "I can't seem to stand you for more than an hour without wanting to beat you over the head with a club."

  Olivier had to laugh.

  "Right back at you. Although I would not use a club. I was thinking more of you over my knee for a thorough spanking." She scowled in a way he found absolutely adorable. And he found her flush of mortification adorable, too. "You cannot say that together we are boring."

  "Nothing wrong with boring," she muttered under her breath, totally ignoring his reference to spanking. Interesting. He waited until her eyes met his before he gave her a slow knowing smile. This time her face went nuclear.

  "Bambino, I would never, ever hurt you."

  "You don't know me. I don't know you."

  He nodded, absolutely delighted to have backed her into a tight corner, exactly where he wanted her.

  "You are correct. I am happy to tell you anything you want to know. So tell me, who is the real Anastacia Morgan?"

  She tossed her head, beaned him with stare that seared right through him.

  "She's whoever she wants to be."

  "Si. Do you want to know what I see?"

  "Not particularly," she snapped, not giving an inch.

  Dio, he adored her.

  "You are a self-made woman who works too hard. Independent. Strong. Ambitious. Funny. Focused. Loyal to her friends. I know this because Nico and Bronte adore you. You are quick to anger and quick to forgive, but maybe not... forget." He grinned as her eyes went wary, her mouth all sulky. He was so tempted to kiss her, but didn't want to chance spoiling a very precious moment. One false move and he might lose her and never get her back. "I like you very much. You intrigue me."

  Anastacia knew she'd never in all her life met a man quite like him. One minute she wanted to jump him and the next minute she wanted to kill him. And there was no getting away from the fact that she liked him, too.

  To hell with it. What harm would there be in giving him a little bit of what he asked? It wasn't as if her past was a big secret. In six weeks he'd be out of her life for good and she'd never see him again.

  Anastacia stared unseeing over his shoulder at the river.

  "I never knew my real father, he died when I was a baby and my mother refused to talk about him. My life was normal, happy enough I think, until I was six. That's when the man who brought me up as his own, my step-father, died of pneumonia. My mother fell apart, drowned her sorrows in wine and then the hardcore stuff that eventually killed her. I was ten. I was small for my age, sickly with asthma. So I was never one of those lucky few chosen for adoption. But I did enter foster care. Some homes were okay, some not okay." Her eyes now focused on his, stayed steady. "Lucky for me I was bright, the deputy headmaster at high school made sure that I got the support I needed to go to university on a scholarship. He and his wife gave me a home until I was twenty, no charge. A single act of kindness that changed my life. Not many orphans who are bright kids are supported as they should be. When they're eighteen the system kicks them out. I don't look back at that time because yesterday cannot be changed and tomorrow hasn't happened. I live in the here, in the now, in the present."

  Olivier knew the ache in his heart for her, in his gut, was the very last thing she needed.

  "How did you end up working for Nico?"

  Her eyes filled so fast he wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

  "The deputy head and his wife were killed in a car accident. Totally random. I found myself homeless, walking the streets looking for work at the height of the recession. I'd done my marketing thesis on the structure of Ferranti Enterprises. Knew that Nico invested in people. So armed with my degree I walked into that office and demanded to see him, as if I was important. He just happened to be walking past and heard me giving the poor girl on reception an earful. Next thing I know I'm being grilled for hours and offered a job that he said I could make my own. Nearly two years later and here I am. At the same time Nico gave me a chance, a firm of solicitors tracked me down. The deputy head and his wife had named me as the beneficiary of their estate. My luck turned again. I just needed to lose the best people in the world for it to happen. And if that's pity on your face..."

  Olivier shook his head.

  "I thought losing my padre was hard..."

  "Of course losing your father was hard. Grief is supposed to be hard. But look at what you've achieved? You didn't let grief destroy your spirit. We all have choices to make in life. Seems to me you've done exactly what you set out to do. Can't ask for more than that. What?"

  "You humble me."

  Her full mouth curved. "That'll be the day."

  "Nico reminded me that I may only have another four years at the top."

  Her brows winged into her hairline. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. You'll only be, what, twenty-nine?"

  "Many soccer players suffer from depression when they leave the sport, especially when they are injured, or off their game. The suicide rate when they give up the game is high."

  "Have you...?"

  "No. But my father did. He suffered a knee injury that put him out of the game. Four years later he was addicted to painkillers. He killed himself."

  She didn't say anything, but the look of support in her eyes for him spoke volumes.

  For many minutes they didn't spe
ak, just held hands.

  "Do you ever relax?" he wondered.

  "Sure. I workout, jog, see friends."

  "I was thinking more along the lines of sun, sea and sand."

  "Working for Nico I get to visit the Ferranti resorts, test the services. It's a pretty good deal."

  "That is work."

  "Dream job, pal. Dream job."

  He had to laugh at the mischievous look on her face.

  "Talking of Nico. I've been invited to The Dower House for dinner tonight and you are coming with me."

  "Do they know I'm crashing their dinner party?"

  "Si. I was instructed to bring you along. Bronte says it has been a while since she has seen you."

  "'Kay. Then we'll need to stop at that wonderful little toy store in town and pick up something for the kids. Luca will never have enough dinosaurs, and Sophia can't have enough weapons of mass toilet destruction."

  Olivier tipped his head back and roared with laughter.

  "Si. I heard about how she flooded the bathrooms. She is a pistol."

  "She's an incredibly bright little girl with an unremitting interest in how things work."

  "Takes one to know one," he muttered. "When our work on the campaign is done, I am going to take you to my villa in Tuscany." Out of the blue he moved into her and pressed a kiss that was unashamedly possessive on her surprised mouth. Then his finger touched her lips as she began to talk. "No arguing. We have a truce," he reminded her.

  They got up to leave.

  "Olivier," she said in a quietly serious voice that stopped him in his tracks. "I told you the truth about relationships. I'm not good at them."

  "That is fine. I am good with relationships."

  She heaved a heavy sigh.

  "Olivier," she said louder, the irritation in her voice crystal clear. "I'm not playing games."

  He couldn't help but grin at that pouty mouth.

  "Too bad. I love games and I always play to win."

  Taking her hand, he pulled her along.

  "Stubborn, boneheaded..." she muttered under her breath. "So, what are you going to do with the rest of your life when you step away from the football field? Relax and sip cocktails on a beach surrounded by leggy blondes?"

  He gave her that quick flash of his signature smile.

  "No. I will have a very successful business to run."

  "Seriously? What business?"

  He took her hand to his mouth, nibbled her fingertips.

  "The hotel business."

  He wiggled his brows as his dark eyes danced into hers.

  Her searching eyes held his for a breathless moment.

  When her jaw dropped he knew she'd guessed.

  "No way. The Ferranti boutique hotels?"

  "Si. I am a partner."

  Now her scowl was back.

  "But... but... that means..."

  He threw back his head and roared with laughter, then he grabbed her and smacked a kiss right on her pouty mouth.

  "Si. I am the boss."

  Chapter Fifteen

  "You should have told me," Anastacia said to Nico. She couldn't help but be impressed when her boss moved a sip cup balanced precariously on the edge of the dining table to safer ground, handed baby Eve who was banging a plastic teething ring on her high chair table a slice of banana from her Peppa Pig plate, and whipped the desert spoon that was just about to brain Luca out of Sophia's hand. All without breaking a sweat.

  "Sophia, cara mia. If you make Luca cry, no mutant ninja turtles." Nico's voice was gentle, but it held a firm promise to follow through. Sophia's big green eyes studied her father's face, saw the love. She wrinkled her cute little nose, eyed her brother who was dozing in his chair, eyed her fork. "Sophia," Nico crooned in a way that made the little girl smile, showcasing dimples. "If you have finished eating, ask mama if you may leave the table."

  Sophia's eyes slid to her mother, who was watching her like a hawk.

  "Please may I leave the table?" Sophia said, clear as a bell.

  "You may," Bronte gave her daughter a grin. "Don't forget to wash your hands."

  "Now you are a big girl, you can help me wash my hands." Olivier stood and took Sophia's sticky little fingers in his. Together they strolled out of the room.

  "He's great with her," Anastacia muttered. Not willing to admit that seeing how good Olivier had been with the children had given her heart a sincere jolt. The woman who captured his heart would be one lucky girl.

  "Sophia likes the boys," Nico admitted. "What was it I should have told you?"

  Mind filled with the picture of the tall, dark and handsome Olivier hand in hand with a tiny blonde sprite, for a moment Anastacia lost the thread of their conversation. Then her eyes met Nico's.

  "You should have told me Olivier has a financial interest in the Boutique hotels. I made a complete fool of myself."

  "How?" asked Nico. With baby wipes, he cleaned the baby's face, her chubby hands, lifted her out of her highchair and into his lap. The picture the handsome Italian made, dressed down in jeans and a simple black T-shirt with his dark haired baby girl on his knee, was so beautiful it brought a lump to her throat.

  Anastacia blinked. "How what?"

  "How did you make a complete fool of yourself?"

  She hunched her shoulders and wished she'd kept her big mouth shut.

  "I might have made a couple of remarks about football players not working for a living, or words to that effect."

  "Hmm," said Nico and narrowed his eyes as he studied her. "It is unlike you not to give someone a chance."

  Her breath hitched because he was quite right.

  It wasn't like her.

  She bit her lip.

  "It's just..."

  Just what?

  Was she really going to open up the lid of the Pandora's box of her past to her boss?

  Nope.

  Over Anastacia's head, Bronte sent Nico laughing eyes.

  "How did he take it?" Bronte wanted to know.

  Anastacia had the grace to blush.

  "He was cool about it, you know? He's Italian, what more do I need to say."

  Bronte laughed.

  "He is a very good man," Nico stared down at Anastacia's bent head, studying the way she was pleating her napkin through nervous fingers. His eyes caught Bronte's. His wife's nod told him she'd received the message.

  Nico stood, held out his hand to a heavy-eyed Luca.

  "Oli and I will do bath time. Kiss mama and Ana goodnight."

  Luca did as he was told.

  When it was Anastacia's turn for a kiss, she held him tight, pressed her lips to a hot cheek and simply inhaled the scent of baby soap. With glossy curls the color of coal, his big grey eyes and sleepy good-nature, Luca Ferranti might be three years old, but he was already a heartbreaker.

  Bronte stood, gathered up empty plates, cutlery.

  "Looks like you and me are the cleaning crew."

  Jolted out of her weirdly introspective mood, Anastacia leapt to her feet to help.

  The girls worked in a companionable silence as they loaded up the dishwasher, wiped down and polished surfaces. Bronte made a couple of pots of coffee knowing the men would be making demands as soon as they'd finished an extended bedtime ritual. Her babies always got excited when Olivier visited.

  "It's a gorgeous evening, why don't we take our coffee out into the garden?"

  Anastacia nodded her assent and stepped with Bronte through huge folding doors, over the deck and onto a bowling green lawn. Since there was no wind, the scent of flowers was heavy in the still evening air. The buoyant flower borders of The Dower House were a crammed display of pinks and lilacs, roses and glossy green hostas. Near the bottom of the walled garden there was a comfortable bench made of smooth weathered oak.

  Bronte sat, kicked off her flat pumps, wiggled her toes.

  Anastacia would have given her eye teeth to be able to wear those fabulous Marc Jacobs leather pumps. She hated the guilt caused by the curl of envy th
at tickled her gut.

  "If I didn't love you to bits, I'd hate you," Anastacia admitted now.

  Stunned, her friend gave her big eyes.

  "What the hell did I ever do to you?" Bronte demanded to know.

  "You're tall. With blonde straight hair. Legs I'd kill for. And you can wear flat shoes. You're married to a kind and wonderful man. And you have a beautiful family and a fabulous home. If it wasn't for the fact that you are probably one of the best and nicest people I know, I'd have to hate you." Anastacia sipped her coffee, squinted at Bronte over the rim of the mug. "Just sayin’."

  For the longest time, Bronte simply stared at her.

  Then she shook her head.

  "Robert Burns was right about the gift to see ourselves as others see us. Speaking for myself, I don't see the me you see. When I first met Nico I had huge body issues. My breasts or lack of. I didn't think I was pretty enough... And it's not that funny, Ana... For a variety of reasons, I had zero self-esteem. There isn't another man I could ever love as much as I love Nico. He is my world. The greatest blessing for me is that I am secure in knowing that he loves me right back. He puts my needs before all. But there are times when life with Nico isn't all plain sailing. He can be demanding, even controlling at times. And utterly ruthless when it comes to protecting what is his. And that includes me and our children, our home." Bronte frowned into her coffee. "I'm not sure I should be talking to you about this."

  Anastacia didn't feel quite comfortable with it herself, but found this rare insight into the Ferranti family dynamic absolutely fascinating.

  And a privilege.

  "Anything that is said to Ana, stays with Ana."

  "I know that. I think what I'm trying to say is that as a couple we work every single day, very hard, to make our marriage, our family, our business, work. And it is work, sometimes gruellingly hard work. If we make it look easy it's only because under the surface our legs are paddling like crazy to keep everything afloat." She paused. "Sometimes he makes me so mad I could spit nails."