CAROL MARINELLI - Hired - The Italian's Convenient Mistress

‘Elijah, what on—?’

She never got to finish, never got to say another word, because his mouth was on hers, his flesh pressing hers, his skin warm against her frozen cheeks. He pinned her against the wall, kissing her cheeks, her eyes, as he took her icy hands. Then, just as she regrouped, just as she opened her mouth to speak, his lips hushed her again. She could feel him pressing a ring on her finger.

The whole intoxicating, dizzying contact took seconds, perhaps, but it utterly, utterly spun her mind. This kiss was nothing like the one they had shared last night.

She pushed him back, frightened by his fervour, till her eyes met his. She frowned at the silent plea she saw there… Another presence was making itself known—a figure on the peripheries of her vision, walking down the hall.

‘Ms Anderson!’ Elijah’s hand gripped hers tightly. ‘This is Ainslie…’

‘Ainslie?’

The middle-aged woman was picking up Guido. Maybe she was an aunt Elijah had discovered? Maybe the relatives had arrived and they were talking? Or a neighbour, perhaps? All these thoughts whirred through her head as a very dishevelled and bemused Ainslie offered her hand.

‘Is this the nanny?’

‘The nanny?’ Elijah let out a slightly incredulous laugh. ‘Heavens, no—didn’t I tell you? Ainslie is my fiancée.’

Carol Marinellirecently filled in a form where she was asked for her job title and was thrilled, after all these years, to be able to put down her answer as writer. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation, and after chewing her pen for a moment Carol put down the truth: writing. The third question asked—What are your hobbies? Well, not wanting to look obsessed or, worse still, boring, she crossed the fingers on her free hand and answered swimming and tennis. But, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, and the closest she’s got to a tennis racket in the last couple of years is watching the Australian Open—I’m sure you can guess the real answer!

Carol also writes for Medical™ Romance. Her latest Medical, ONE MAGICAL CHRISTMAS, is out next month!

BY

CAROL MARINELLI

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

WHERE?

Jammed closely between rush hour commuters, her backpack hopefully still by the door where she’d left it, Ainslie didn’t even need to hold the handrail to stay standing as the London Underground jolted her towards a destination unknown and her mind begged the question: where could she go?

There was Earls Court, of course—wasn’t that where all Australian backpackers went when they were in London?

Only she wasn’t backpacking. She had come to London to work. She’d had a job and accommodation already secured, and had been enjoying her work and life for three very full months—until today.

Her thick blonde hair was still dripping from the rain shower she’d been caught in, and beads of sweat broke out onto her brow as another surge of panic hit.

What on earth was she going to do?

Oh, she had friends, of course. Or rather other nannies she’d first met at playgroup, then at weekly get-togethers with the children. Later, on their time off, they’d discovered together all that London had to offer.

Friends who right now would be sitting in a bar. Sitting and listening, aghast, to the news that Ainslie had been fired, had been accused of stealing from her employers. And whether they believed she’d done it or not didn’t really matter—their bosses moved in her ex-boss’s circles, and if they wanted to keep their jobs the last thing they needed was a branded thief arriving homeless at their doors.

‘ Scusi .’ A low male voice growled in her ear as the tube lurched, and the baby the man was holding was pressed further against her.

‘It’s okay,’ Ainslie said, not even looking up, instead trying to move back a touch as the tube halted in a tunnel between stations. But there was no room to manoeuvre, and she arched her back, trying hard not to disturb the sleeping child in his arms.

God, it was hot!

Despite the cold December conditions outside, here on the tube it was boiling. Hundreds of people were crammed together, dressed in winter coats and scarves, damp from the rain, turning the carriage into an uncomfortable sauna, and Ainslie took a grateful gulp of air as someone opened an air vent.

The baby looked hot too. Bundled into a coat, he was wearing gloves and a woolly hat with earflaps—like an old-fashion fighter pilot—and his little cheeks were red and angry. But he didn’t seem distressed. In fact he was asleep, long black eyelashes fanning the red cheeks.

Cute kid, Ainslie thought for about a tenth of a second—before her eyes pooled with tears at the thought of Jack and Clemmie, the little charges she hadn’t even been allowed to say goodbye to.

‘Sorry!’ It was now Ainslie’s turn to apologise, as she was pushed further against the baby. She saw his little face screw up in discomfort, and she pressed herself back, to try and give him more room, looking up at his father to briefly express her helplessness. Only suddenly she was just that…

Helpless.

Lost, just lost for a moment, as she stared into the most exquisite face she had ever witnessed close up. Glassy blue eyes that were bloodshot briefly met hers. His thick glossy black hair was unkempt, and his black eyelashes were as long as his son’s. His mouth was set in a grim line as he nodded his understanding that it wasn’t her fault, before his eyes flicked away down to his son, trying to soothe the now restless, grizzling baby back to sleep, talking to him in Italian. But his rich, deep voice did nothing to soothe the child. The babe’s eyes fluttered open, as blue as his father’s, but it was as if the child didn’t even recognise him. His wail of distress caused a few heads to turn.

‘Hush, Guido, it is okay…’ He was speaking to him in English now—English that was laced with a rich accent as he again attempted to calm the baby. Now that he wasn’t looking at her, Ainslie could look at him more closely. Though stunning, he was clearly exhausted, his skin pale, huge violet smudges beneath his eyes, and he needed to shave. The stubble on his jaw was so black it appeared blue.

‘Guido, it is okay…’ His voice was louder now, as the tube lurched back into motion, but it only distressed the baby further. His back arching like a cat trying to escape, he clawed his way up his father’s chest, flinging himself backwards. But there was nowhere to go, and his little face pressed into Ainslie’s as his father struggled to contain him.

‘It’s okay…’ Ainslie didn’t know if she was talking to the father or his child as he apologised, gained control and pulled the babe tightly in. But Ainslie could see the child’s panic, had felt his burning cheek against hers for just a fraction of time—it had been boiling. Instinctively, as if at work, she put her hand to his head and felt him burning beneath it.

‘He’s hot…’ For a second time she looked into the man’s eyes, only this time her mind was on the child. ‘He has a fever…’

‘He’s sick…’ The man nodded, and Ainslie didn’t know if he would have elaborated further because just then the tube pulled into a station, and as commuters piled off and piled on they were separated.

She should have put it out of her mind. Heaven knows she had enough to think about at the moment—like finding somewhere to stay for tonight, finding a job with no reference, clearing her name, telling her mum—only she couldn’t. The little boy’s screams, though muffled, still reached her; the look on his father’s face, the wretched exhaustion, his voice, his eyes, stayed with her. This stranger had whirred her senses. He was wearing a heavy grey coat, but she’d caught a glimpse of a collar and suit. Maybe he’d picked the little boy up from daycare? Perhaps they’d just come from the doctor’s…?