Sharon Kendrik - Accidentally Pregnant, Conveniently Wed

There was something about the way he was looking at her which was different, too—and a million miles away from how he had been in the office earlier. Then he had seemed as if he was trying to tease her into some kind of reaction, but tonight it was as if he wanted…

What?

What do you think he wants, Aisling? she asked herself. A stupidly vulnerable woman all too ready to read something into his actions which he had not intended? What do you think that this stud of an Italian heart-breaker wants from little old you ?

In the warm Italian night air, she shook her head and felt the shimmer of hair over her bare shoulders as she reasoned with herself. You are going to stop this right now. You are going to take control of yourself and your emotions the way you always do. After all, it wasn’t really such a big deal to socialise with someone who employed you. Unless you let it be.

‘Come now, you must taste my wine,’ said Gianluca with a glittering smile.

Aisling began to despair. Did that question sound deliberately erotic, or had her senses just gone haywire in the warm, scented air of the evening? ‘That would be wonderful,’ she agreed neutrally, as if he had just suggested reading through a stack of dry legal documents.

‘And, Jason—it is Jason, isn’t it?’ continued Gianluca softly, with a faint frown. ‘You must let me introduce you to some people.’

They walked out to a big, old barn, which seemed to be full of guests—a high, galleried building with tall ceilings and whitewashed walls, oak mangers and stone-paved floors. There was a split-second pause as the three of them walked in. The small band stopped playing and everyone began clapping as Aisling heard Gianluca’s name being shouted.

She saw him shake his dark head and say something expressive in Italian and then there was cheering—and the violin player burst into a little jig as he guided them through the hoards who stood to one side to let him pass. Men’s hands slapped him on the shoulder—which, to Aisling’s surprise, he didn’t seem to mind at all.

She could hear grazie being said over and over again. ‘Thank you?’she translated, on a question.

‘They are thanking me for the good harvest!’ he laughed. ‘As though I am personally responsible for the lack of frost and rain and the long, hot summer in between which has meant that our grapes were as succulent as they could be!’

How relaxed he was, she thought as she looked on the unfamiliar gleam of laughter on his mouth. As if someone had peeled away an urban layer of sophistication to find an earthy man of the land beneath.

Somewhere along the way, he delivered Jason into a group of young people and handed her a glass of wine before introducing her to a dizzying array of people including the estate manager, his old nanny, two godsons and even the local mayor!

It was not what she had been expecting and more than a little intoxicating. The genuine affection with which he was greeted by his estate workers didn’t fit with her hard and driven image of him, and Aisling was slightly relieved when someone came to claim him. Much more of this and she would be signing up to his fan-club!

He gave her an expansive shrug before being borne away, leaving her with Fedele, a charming man in his fifties, who was Gianluca’s lawyer.

‘Well, I am his local lawyer,’ he emphasised slowly, in perfect though heavily accented English. ‘He uses a different one in the city. A specialist for every need at Il Tigre ’s fingertips.’ The lawyer’s eyes were curious. ‘And you? You are his latest woman, sì ?’

Aisling found herself blushing. ‘Oh, good heavens, no—it’s nothing like that!’

Fedele laughed. ‘Most women would not find that such a horrifying proposition!’

‘I work for him, that’s all.’

‘Ah! And what do you do?’

‘I’m a head-hunter.’

‘Cacciatore di teste?’ Fedele translated.

Aisling had heard the phrase before and she smiled. ‘That’s right—somehow it sounds much better in Italian.’

‘That is because everything sounds better in Italian!’ came a soft, arrogant boast from behind her, and Aisling turned to find Gianluca’s mocking black eyes on her. ‘And do you know why that is, cara ?’

Like a snake hypnotised by the charmer’s pipe, Aisling found herself shaking her head. ‘No. Why?’

‘Because we Italians are better at everything.’

‘That’s…outrageous,’ she protested.

He shrugged. ‘Ah, but it is also true!’

And try as she might—Aisling couldn’t do anything to stop smiling or prevent the slow, unfurling of desire in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, she felt like a non-swimmer who was out of her depth—and that was a very precarious place to be.

‘Your glass is empty,’ he observed. ‘Come, let us find you another drink.’

Had she really drunk a whole glass without noticing?

Gianluca took her to the far end of the room where wine was being served and poured them both a couple of glasses, watching her as he raised his glass. This morning he had idly been wondering whether a real woman lay beneath the outer armour of her unimaginative suit—but the contrast between what she had been and what she had now become was blowing his mind. His senses were shocked and his body was aroused and he wanted her.

Now.

‘So,’ he said huskily as he touched his glass to hers in a toast. ‘Salute.’

‘Salute,’ Aisling echoed as she manoeuvred the drink to her lips.

‘You like it?’ he queried softly.

‘It’s…wonderful.’

‘Ah, Aisling—but you find everything wonderful tonight,’ he teased.

‘You’d rather I objected?’

His lips curved. ‘Now that is more like it.’

‘Oh? And what’s that supposed to mean?’

Gianluca heard the defensiveness in her voice. Did she have an Achilles heel like other mortals? Was the ice-maiden seeking his approval? ‘One of the reasons you are so good at your job is because you have a critical and discerning eye—but it seems to be absent tonight. And that is no bad thing.’ He smiled. ‘Relax, cara . Don’t look so tense. Tell me what you know about wine.’

‘Well, nothing really,’ she said quickly. ‘Except how to drink it.’

‘Then perhaps I should educate you. What do you think—would you like me to teach you everything I know?’

Aisling bit her lip. Everything he knew. How much would that be? As she met the sensual question in his eyes she found herself wanting far more than being taught about wine appreciation. Gazing at the perfection of his hard body, she found herself wondering what it must be like to be made love to by him. Had he meant her to think that? You work for him, she reminded herself—but it didn’t seem to alter her chaotic thoughts.

‘Education is never wasted,’ she said primly.

Gianluca gave a soft, low laugh at the repressive note in her voice and felt the ache in his groin increase. Ah, sì. This was novel indeed. A woman who was keeping him guessing about whether she would let him make love to her. ‘Then let me be your teacher,’ he murmured.

She wanted to tell him not to be so provocative—but what if that was simply her interpretation of his behaviour? A repressed single woman’s wildest fantasies. What if he was just being an affable host, out to give her an enjoyable time after the successful completion of a job? Who was to say that he wouldn’t have been behaving this way if she had been a man?

But if she’d been a man, surely he wouldn’t have been standing quite so close to her, so close that she could smell his subtle scent—evocative of sandalwood and citrus and something else which seemed to symbolise everything that was masculine. From this near she could feel the heat radiating from his powerful frame, and see a tendril of dark hair which curled onto the olive sheen of his skin, so that at that moment she found herself wanting to curl that errant lock around her finger.