Natalie Anderson - The Italians - Luca, Marco and Alessandro - Between the Italian's Sheets / The Moretti Heir / Alessandro and the Cheery Nanny

The door closed and she blinked. She looked at Luca directly for the first time in hours then and found her fire far from gone. It blazed. He stood, his back to the door. His host facade dropped, leaving him looking big and moody and dangerous.

She shook her head at him, reined in her own frustration as she saw the lines of unhappiness deepening in his features. ‘What are you thinking about?’

‘The football.’ He leaned right back against the door, his edge of sarcasm more bitter than humorous. ‘Don’t you know there isn’t a man alive who doesn’t hate that question?’

‘Then there isn’t a man alive who isn’t a coward.’ It was her turn to stare him out, waiting for more.

The hint of humour faded totally. ‘I don’t like feeling out of control and I’m out of control. I was out of control tonight.’

She took a step towards him. ‘You once said that things beyond your control scare you. Do I scare you?’

His gaze dropped to her body as she stepped closer still. ‘Yes. But I think that, given a little more time, I’ll get that under control.’

‘Is that what you want?’

‘Yes. Just a fling, Emily, one that’ll finish soon.’

She stopped walking then. How soon? Because she definitely wasn’t done yet.

‘Do you want to know what else I’m thinking?’ He lifted away from the door.

‘I’m not sure.’ His honesty wasn’t that great so far.

He walked towards her. ‘I’m thinking about how much you’ve achieved, how hard you’ve worked. And yet you don’t recognise it. You sit there and belittle your job and barely mention the reality of your life.’

‘I’m not going to trot out the sob story to score sympathy points, Luca. You don’t do that either.’

‘No, but nor do I put myself down. Be proud of your achievements, Emily. Not many people could have managed all that you have.’

She looked down, watched his broad chest come closer. It was hard to be proud of her achievements when she compared them with those of someone like him or Francine.

He lifted his hand, gently stroked down her arm to clasp her wrist. ‘Play the piano for me.’

Music—to soothe the savage breast and the tortured soul? Yes, she would play for him, play for them both.

As he followed her back to the lounge he unzipped her dress. It dropped and she walked right out of it. Embracing the passion still between them, she shimmied out of her knickers as well—naked completely now except for the diamond-encrusted chain that encircled her wrist. If it was going to finish soon, then she was determined to make the most of every moment.

She sat, fingers working over the keys, watching him as he walked round the piano.

‘You could have been great.’ He unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off.

‘Maybe.’ She knew it was possible. ‘But at what price? Years and years of nothing but hard work, giving up so much for such a large battle. Even then the chances of making it are so slim. There were other things I wanted to do with my life.’

‘Other things you had to do,’ he argued. ‘You had the option taken from you.’

‘Yes,’ she acknowledged. ‘But what’s life for if not to be shared with friends and family?’

‘But to give up your own dreams.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s wrong.’

He kicked off his shoes. ‘My mother had dreams of performing, but my father decreed that no wife of his would ever work. I think it was the frustration that ate her up from the inside and the bitterness that caused the cancer. You should never give up your dreams, Emily.’

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