Moretti's Marriage Command
Kate Hewitt
A wife for the weekend Hannah Stewart is shocked when charismatic but callous CEO Luca Moretti unexpectedly demands she accompany him on a crucial business trip. Until he introduces her as his fiance, making his motive clear. Nothing, not even Luca's deliberately single status, will stand in the way of his success. Temporarily expanding Hannah's job description was the perfect solution, until his assistant's hidden charms test his famed control... Though guarded single mom Hannah is the last person Luca should toy with, the tempest of passion that rages between them is too powerful to resist. But what will happen come 9:00 a.m. Monday morning...?
‘So how do youpropose—no pun intended—to make this work? Not,’ Hannah informed him with swift asperity, ‘that I’m actually thinking of going along with this idea.’
‘Of course not,’ Luca murmured.
Hannah watched, mesmerised, as he tugged off his tie and then began to unbutton his shirt. ‘What are you doing?’ she squeaked.
‘Changing. We’re due for cocktails in an hour.’
‘Can’t you use the bathroom—?’ She nodded towards the door that led to what looked like a sumptuous en suite.
‘Why should I?’ Luca’s smile was wicked. ‘We’re engaged to be married, after all.’
Hannah took a deep breath. ‘So, you still haven’t told me how this is going to work.’
‘We’re going to act like we’re engaged. Simple.’
‘Simple?’ She opened her eyes to glare at Luca. He stood across the room, buckling the belt on a pair of grey trousers. His chest was still gloriously bare. ‘It’s not simple, Luca. We’re not engaged. We barely know each other. If someone asks either one of us anything about our relationship or how we met we’ll have no idea what to say.’
‘It’s best to keep as close to the truth as possible,’ Luca advised as he reached for a light blue shirt and shrugged into it. ‘You’re still my PA.’
‘And we just happen to be engaged? Convenient.’
He shot her a quick, hard smile. ‘It is, isn’t it?’
After spending three years as a die-hard New Yorker, KATE HEWITT now lives in a small village in the English Lake District with her husband, their five children and a golden retriever. In addition to writing intensely emotional stories, she loves reading, baking and playing chess with her son—she has yet to win against him, but she continues to try. Learn more about Kate at kate-hewitt.com (http://kate-hewitt.com).
Moretti’s Marriage Command
Kate Hewitt
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To all my readers.
Thank you for your encouragement and support. It’s always a privilege to write stories for you.
Contents
COVER (#ub3cad879-23fb-5f43-9348-9f83d3658cd3)
INTRODUCTION (#u47117fb2-46d2-5742-951c-a9613a6bd59f)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#u0ebc92e2-e5d0-551a-b777-d5b3983d1135)
TITLE PAGE (#ua1a2ea68-79b8-56e3-a0aa-a24da9db8616)
DEDICATION (#uaee03233-b361-5157-a508-54751ced3a7f)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_6b236f4e-3c39-5181-bacd-4a2061fa9b60)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_37473568-8021-5c39-bb55-6b8fc52571ef)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_59e14870-7aff-5e1e-be7b-ba1b9285f8f0)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_120a06d3-fa99-5006-8ba7-3562ed5c518c)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_539a0a17-b83b-51de-a540-8ba7a10e3d41)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
EXTRACT (#litres_trial_promo)
COPYRIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_6615ada8-2f44-5f63-8fc7-0bb15374db58)
LUCA MORETTI NEEDED a wife. Not a real one—heaven forbid he’d ever need that. No, he needed a temporary wife-to-be who was efficient, biddable, and discreet. A wife for the weekend.
‘Mr Moretti?’ His PA, Hannah Stewart, knocked once on the door before opening it and stepping inside his penthouse office overlooking a rain-washed Lombard Street in London’s City. ‘I have the letters for you to sign.’
Luca watched his PA walk towards him holding the sheaf of letters, her light brown hair neatly pulled back, her face set in calm lines. She wore a black pencil skirt, low heels, and a simple blouse of white silk. He’d never really bothered to notice his PA before, except at how quickly she could type and how discreet she could be when it came to unfortunate personal calls that occasionally came through to his office. Now he eyed her plain brown hair, and lightly freckled face that was pretty without being in any way remarkable. As for her figure...?
Luca let his gaze wander down his PA’s slender form. No breathtaking or bodacious curves, but it was passable.
Could he...?
She placed the letters in front of him and took a step back, but not before he caught a waft of her understated floral perfume. He reached for his fountain pen and began to scrawl his signature on each letter.
‘Will that be all, Mr Moretti?’ she asked when he’d finished the last one.
‘Yes.’ He handed her the letters and Hannah turned towards the door, her skirt whispering against her legs as she walked. Luca watched her, eyes narrowed, certainty settling in his gut. ‘Wait.’
Obedient as ever, Hannah pivoted back to face him, her pale eyebrows raised expectantly. She’d been a good PA these last three years, working hard and not making a fuss about it. He sensed ambition and willpower beneath her ‘aiming to please’ persona, and the weekend would require both qualities, as long as she agreed to the deception. Which he would make sure she did.
‘Mr Moretti?’
Luca lounged back in his chair as he drummed his fingers on his desk. He didn’t like lying. He’d been honest his whole life, proud of who he was even though so many had knocked him back, tried to keep him down. But this weekend was different. This weekend was everything to him, and Hannah Stewart was no more than a cog in his plans. A very important cog.
‘I have an important meeting this weekend.’
‘Yes, on Santa Nicola,’ Hannah replied. ‘Your ticket is in your passport wallet, and the limo is set to pick you up tomorrow morning at nine, from your flat. The flight leaves from Heathrow at noon.’
‘Right.’ He hadn’t known any of those details, but he’d expected Hannah to inform him. She really was quite marvellously efficient. ‘It turns out I’m going to need some assistance,’ he said.
Hannah’s eyebrows went a fraction higher, but her face remained calm. ‘Administrative assistance, you mean?’
Luca hesitated. He didn’t have time to explain his intentions now, and he suspected that his PA would balk at what he was about to ask. ‘Yes, that’s right.’ He could tell Hannah was surprised although she hid it well.
‘What exactly do you require?’
A wife. A temporary, compliant woman. ‘I require you to accompany me to Santa Nicola for the weekend.’ Luca hadn’t asked Hannah to accompany him on any business trips before; he preferred to travel and work alone, having been a solitary person from childhood. When you were alone you didn’t have to be on your guard, waiting for someone to trip you up. There were no expectations save the ones you put on yourself.
Luca knew that Hannah’s contract stipulated ‘extra hours or engagements as required’, and in the past she’d been willing to work long evenings, the occasional Saturday. He smiled, his eyebrows raised expectantly. ‘I trust that won’t be a problem?’ He would inform her later just what extra duties would be required.
Hannah hesitated, but only briefly, and then gave one graceful nod of her head. ‘Not at all, Mr Moretti.’
* * *
Hannah’s mind raced as she tried to figure out how to handle this unexpected request from her boss. In her three years of working for Luca Moretti, she’d never gone on a business trip with him. There had been the odd, or not so odd, late night; the occasional all-nighter where she supplied him with black coffee and popped caffeine pills to keep sharp as she took notes. But she’d never travelled with him. Never gone somewhere as exotic as a Mediterranean island for the weekend. The possibility gave her a surprising frisson of excitement; she’d thought she’d put her would-be travelling days behind her long ago.
‘Shall I book an extra ticket?’ she asked, trying to sound as efficient and capable as she always was.
‘Yes.’
She nodded, her mind still spinning. She needed to call her mother as soon as possible, make arrangements... ‘I’ll book an economy ticket—’
‘Why on earth would you do that?’ Luca demanded. He sounded irritated, and Hannah blinked in surprise.
‘I hardly think, as your PA, I’d need to travel first class, and the expense—’
‘Forget the expense.’ He cut her off, waving a hand in dismissal. ‘I’ll need you seated with me. I’ll work on the flight.’
‘Very well.’ She held the letters to her chest, wondering what else she’d need to do to prepare for such a trip. And wondering why Luca Moretti needed her on this trip when he hadn’t needed her on any other. She studied him covertly, lounging as he was in his office chair, his midnight-dark hair rumpled, his thick, straight brows drawn into frowning lines, one hand still drumming the top of his ebony desk.
He was an incredibly handsome man, a compelling, charismatic, driven man; one business magazine had called him ‘an elegant steamroller’. Hannah thought the nickname apt; Luca Moretti could turn on the charm, but it was only to get what he wanted. She’d observed him from the sidelines for three years and learned how to be the most efficient PA possible, and invisible when necessary. She liked her job; she liked Luca’s force of personality, his boundless energy for his work. She’d always admired his determined work ethic, his drive for success. She might only be a PA, but she shared that drive, if not quite to the same degree.
‘Very well,’ she said now. ‘I’ll make the arrangements.’ Luca nodded her dismissal and Hannah left his office, expelling her breath in a rush as she sat down at her desk. She and Luca were the only occupants of the top floor of his office building, and she appreciated the quiet to organise her thoughts.
First things first. She called the airline and booked an additional first-class ticket for herself, wincing at the expense even though Luca Moretti could well afford it. As CEO of his own real-estate development empire, he could have afforded his own jet.
That done, she quickly emailed her mother. She would have called, but Luca forbade personal calls from the office, and Hannah had always obeyed the rules. This job meant too much to her to flaunt them. She’d just hit Send when Luca emerged from his office, shrugging on his suit jacket and checking his watch.
‘Mr Moretti?’
‘You’ll need suitable clothes for this weekend.’
Hannah blinked. ‘Of course.’
‘I don’t mean that.’ Luca gestured to her clothes, and Hannah was unable to keep from looking down at her professional yet understated outfit. She took pride in how she dressed, and she made sure to buy as high quality clothes as she could afford.
‘I’m sorry...?’
‘This weekend is as much a social occasion as a business one,’ he explained tersely. ‘You’ll need appropriate clothing—evening gowns and the like.’
Evening gowns? She certainly didn’t have any of those in her wardrobe, and couldn’t imagine the need for them. ‘As your PA—’
‘As my PA you need to be dressed appropriately. This isn’t going to be a board meeting.’
‘What is it, exactly? Because I’m not sure—’
‘Think of it more as a weekend house party with a little business thrown in.’
Which made it even more mystifying as to why he needed her along.
‘I’m afraid I don’t own any evening gowns—’ Hannah began, and Luca shrugged her words aside.
‘That’s easy enough to take care of.’ He slid his smartphone out of his pocket and thumbed a few buttons before speaking rapidly in Italian. Although she heard the occasional familiar word, Hannah had no idea what he’d said or who he’d called.
A few minutes later he disconnected the call and nodded towards Hannah. ‘Sorted. You’ll accompany me to Diavola after work.’
‘Diavola...?’
‘You know the boutique?’
She’d heard of it. It was an incredibly high-end fashion boutique in Mayfair. She might have walked past the elegant sashed windows once, seen a single dress hanging there in an elegant fall of shimmery silk, no price tag visible.
She swallowed hard, striving to seem calm, as if this whole, unexpected venture hadn’t completely thrown her. ‘That might be a bit out of my price range—’
‘I will pay, of course.’ His brows snapped together as he frowned at her. ‘It’s all part of the business expense. I’d hardly expect you to buy a gown you’ll only be wearing because of your work.’
‘Very well.’ She tried not to squirm under his fierce gaze. She felt as if he was examining her and she was not meeting his expectations, which was disconcerting, as she always had before. She took pride in how well she performed her job. Luca Moretti had never had any cause to criticise her. ‘Thank you.’
‘We’ll leave in an hour,’ Luca said, and strode back into his office.
Hannah spent a frantic hour finishing up her work and making arrangements for the trip, ensuring that each part of the journey could accommodate an extra passenger. She knew Luca was staying with his client, hotelier Andrew Tyson, and she hesitated to contact the man directly to make sure there was an extra bedroom. It seemed a bit cheeky, asking for a room for herself in the tycoon’s luxurious villa, but what else could she do?
She was just composing an email to Andrew Tyson’s PA when Luca came out of his office, shrugging into his suit jacket, his face settling into a frown as he caught sight of her.
‘Aren’t you ready?’
‘I’m sorry, I’m just emailing Mr Tyson’s PA—’
His frown deepened. ‘What for?’
‘To arrange for an extra bedroom—’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Luca said swiftly, and then leaned over and closed her laptop with a snap.
Hannah stared at him, too surprised to mask the emotion. ‘But if I don’t email—’
‘It’s taken care of.’
‘It is?’
‘Don’t question me, Hannah. And in future please leave all communications with Mr Tyson to me.’
Stung, she recoiled a bit at his tone. ‘I’ve always—’
‘This negotiation is delicate. I’ll explain the particulars later. Now let’s go. I have a lot of things to do tonight besides buy you some clothes.’
Her cheeks burned at his dismissive tone. Her boss was often restless and impatient, but he wasn’t rude. Was it her fault that her wardrobe wasn’t that of a socialite? Wordlessly she rose from her desk and took her laptop, about to slide it into her messenger bag.
‘Leave that.’
‘My laptop?’ She stared at him, flummoxed. ‘But I’ll need it if we’re to work on the plane—’
‘It won’t be necessary.’
A finger of unease crept along her spine. Something felt very off about this weekend, and yet she could not imagine what it was. ‘Mr Moretti, I don’t understand...’
‘What is there to understand? You’re accompanying me on a weekend that is as much a social occasion as it is a business one. I’m asking you to use some sensitivity and discretion, as the situation is delicate. Is that beyond your capabilities, Miss Stewart?’
Her face burned at being given such a dressing-down. ‘No, of course not.’
‘Good.’ He nodded towards the lift doors. ‘Now let’s go.’
Stiff with affront, Hannah took her coat and followed Luca to the lift. She waited, staring straight ahead, trying to master her irritation, until the doors pinged open and Luca gestured for her to go in first. She did so, and as he followed her she was conscious in an entirely new way of how he filled the space of the lift. Surely they’d ridden in the lift together before, many times. Yet now, as Luca stabbed the button for the ground floor, she felt how big he was. How male. His shoulders strained the seams of his suit jacket, and his rangy, restless energy made the very air seem as if it were charged. She snuck a glance at his profile, the square jaw shadowed with stubble, the straight nose and angular cheekbones. Long, surprisingly lush lashes, and hard, dark eyes.
Hannah knew women flocked to Luca Moretti. They were attracted to his air of restless remoteness as much as his blatant sexuality and effortless charisma. Perhaps they fooled themselves into thinking they could tame or trap him; no one ever could. Hannah had kept more than one tearful beauty from her boss’s door. He never thanked her for that little service; he acted as if the women who practically threw themselves at him didn’t exist, at least not outside the bedroom. Or so Hannah assumed—she had no idea how Luca Moretti acted in the bedroom.
Just the thought sent a blush heating her cheeks now, even though she was still annoyed with his uncharacteristically terse attitude. High-handed she could take, when it was tempered with wry charm and grace. But Luca Moretti merely barking out orders was hard to stomach.
Thankfully the doors opened and they left the confined space of the lift, Luca ushering her out into the impressive marble foyer of Moretti Enterprises. A receptionist bid them good day and then they were out in the rain-washed streets, the damp air cooling her face, the twilight hiding her blush.
A limo pulled to the kerb the moment they stepped out, and Luca’s driver jumped out to open the door.
‘After you,’ Luca said, and Hannah slid inside the luxurious interior. Luca followed, his thigh nudging hers before he shifted closer to the window.
Hannah couldn’t resist stroking the buttery soft leather of the seat. ‘I’ve never been in a limo before,’ she admitted, and Luca cocked an eyebrow at her.
‘Never?’
‘No.’ Why would she? He might travel in this sort of style all over the world, but she stayed firmly on the top floor of Moretti Enterprises. Of course, she’d seen plenty of luxury from a distance. She’d ordered champagne to celebrate his business deals, heard the pop of the cork in the meeting room down from his office. She’d booked dozens of first-class tickets and five-star hotel rooms, had instructed concierges around the world on Luca Moretti’s preferences: no lilies in any flower arrangements in his suite and sheets with a five hundred thread count. She’d just never experienced any of that expense or luxury herself. ‘I haven’t stayed in a five-star hotel or flown first class either,’ she informed him a bit tartly. Not everyone was as privileged as he was. ‘I haven’t even tasted champagne.’
‘Well, you can enjoy some of that this weekend,’ Luca said, and turned to stare out of the window, the lights from the traffic casting his face in a yellow wash. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said abruptly. ‘I know I must seem...tense.’
Hannah eyed him warily. ‘Ye—es...’
He turned to her with a small, rueful smile. ‘I think that was an inward “you’ve been an absolute rotter”.’ His expression softened, his gaze sweeping over her, lashes lowering in a way that made Hannah feel the need to shift in her seat. ‘I am sorry.’
‘Why are you so tense?’
‘As I said before, this weekend is delicate.’ He turned back to the window, one long-fingered hand rubbing his jaw. ‘Very delicate.’
Hannah knew better than to press. She had no idea why this business deal was so delicate; as far as she could tell, the chain of family resort hotels Luca was planning to take over was a relatively small addition to his real-estate portfolio.
The limo pulled up to Diavola, the windows lit although it was nearly seven o’clock at night. Hannah suppressed a shiver of apprehension. How was this supposed to work? Would she choose the dress, or would her boss? She’d done many things for Luca Moretti, but she hadn’t bought herself an evening gown for him. She didn’t relish the idea of parading clothes in front of him, but maybe he’d just let her choose a gown and get on with it.
Of course he would. He was already impatient, wanting to get onto the next thing; Luca Moretti wasn’t going to entertain himself watching his PA try on different dresses. Comforted by this thought, Hannah slid out of the limo.
Luca followed her quickly, placing one hand on her elbow. The touch shocked her; Luca never touched her. Not so much as a hug or a pat on the back in three years of working for him. Hannah had always got the sense that he was a solitary man, despite the parade of women through his life, and she hadn’t minded because she appreciated the focus on work. She didn’t have room in her life for much else.
Now Luca kept his hand on her elbow as he guided her into the boutique, and then slid it to the small of her back as a shop assistant came forward. Hannah felt as if he were branding her back, his palm warm through the thin material of her skirt, his fingers splayed so she could feel the light yet firm pressure of each one. His pinkie finger reached the curve of her bottom, and her whole body stiffened in response as a treacherous flash of heat jolted through her.
‘I would like a complete wardrobe for the weekend for my companion,’ he said to the woman, who batted over-mascaraed lashes at him. ‘Evening gowns, day wear, a swimming costume, nightgown, underthings.’ He glanced at the gold and silver watch on one wrist. ‘In under an hour.’
‘Very good, Mr Moretti.’
Underthings? Hannah felt she had to object. ‘Mr Moretti, I don’t need all those things,’ she protested in a low voice. She certainly didn’t need her boss to buy her a bra. She felt the pressure on the small of her back increase, so she could feel the joints of each of his fingers.
‘Humour me. And why don’t you call me Luca?’ Her jaw nearly dropped at this suggestion. He’d never invited such intimacy before. ‘You’ve been working for me for what, three years?’ he murmured so only she could hear, his head close enough to hers that she breathed in the cedarwood-scented aftershave he wore. When she turned her head she could see the hint of stubble on his jaw. ‘Perhaps we should progress to first names...Hannah.’
For some reason her name on his lips made her want to shiver. She stepped away from his hand, her body bizarrely missing the warmth and pressure of it as soon as it had gone.
‘Very well.’ Yet she couldn’t quite make herself call him Luca. It seemed so odd, so intimate, after three years of starchy formality and respectable distance. Why was Luca shaking everything up now?
The sales assistant was collecting various garments from around the boutique, and another had come forward to usher them both to a U-shaped divan in cream velvet. A third was bringing flutes of champagne and caviar-topped crackers.
Luca sat down, clearly accustomed to all this luxury, and the sales assistant beckoned to Hannah.
‘If the signorina will come this way...?’
Numbly Hannah followed the woman into a dressing room that was larger than the entire upstairs of her house.
‘First this?’ the woman suggested, holding up an evening gown in pale blue chiffon and satin. It was the most exquisite thing Hannah had ever seen.
‘Okay,’ she said, and, feeling as if she were in a surreal dream, she started to unbutton her blouse.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_5a1feaec-713d-5728-8917-317972b5fd84)
LUCA WAITED FOR Hannah to emerge from the dressing room as he sipped champagne and tried to relax. He was way too wound up about this whole endeavour, and his too-clever PA had noticed. He didn’t want her guessing his game before they’d arrived on Santa Nicola. He couldn’t risk the possibility of her refusal. Although Hannah Stewart had proved to be biddable enough, he suspected she had more backbone than he’d initially realised. And he didn’t want her to use it against him.
Moodily Luca took a sip of champagne and stared out at the rainy streets of Mayfair. In less than twenty-four hours he’d be on Santa Nicola, facing Andrew Tyson. Would the man recognise him? It had been such a long time. Would there be so much as a flicker of awareness in those cold eyes? If there was it would completely ruin Luca’s plan, and yet he couldn’t keep from hoping that he would garner some reaction. Something to justify the emotion that had burned in his chest for far too long.
‘Well?’ he called to Hannah. She’d been in the dressing room for nearly ten minutes. ‘Have you tried something on?’
‘Yes, but this one’s a bit...’ She trailed off, and Luca snapped his gaze to the heavy velvet curtain drawn across the dressing room’s doorway.
‘Come out and let me see it.’
‘It’s fine.’ She sounded a little panicked but also quite firm. ‘I’ll try something else on—’
‘Hannah.’ Luca tried to curb his impatience. ‘I would like to see the dress, please.’ What woman didn’t enjoy showing off haute couture for a man? And he needed to make sure Hannah looked the part.
‘I’m already changing,’ she called, and in one fluid movement Luca rose from the divan and crossed to the dressing room, pulling aside the heavy curtain.
He didn’t know who gasped—Hannah, in shock that he’d intruded, or himself, for the sudden dart of lust that had arrowed through his body at the sight of his PA.
She stood with her back to him, the dress pooling about her waist in gauzy blue folds as she held the front up to her chest, her face in profile, every inch the outraged maiden.
‘Mr Moretti—’ she muttered and he watched a blush crawl up her back and neck to her face.
‘Luca,’ he reminded her, and sent an iron glare of warning to the assistant, who was waiting discreetly in the corner. He did not want anyone gossiping about the oddity of the occasion.
‘Luca,’ Hannah acquiesced, but she sounded annoyed. Luca felt a surprising flicker of amusement. His little sparrow of a secretary sometimes pretended she was a hawk. ‘Please leave. I am changing.’
‘I wanted to see the gown. I’m paying for it, after all.’ He folded his arms, feeling no more than a flash of remorse for pulling that particular trump card. Hannah, however, did not look particularly impressed. ‘How much is this gown?’ he asked the sales assistant.
The woman hesitated, but only for a millisecond. ‘Nine thousand pounds, Signor Moretti.’
‘Nine thousand—’ Hannah whirled around, the dress nearly slipping from her hands. Luca caught a glimpse of pale, lightly freckled fresh, the hint of a small, perfectly round breast. Then she hauled the gown up to her chin, her face now bright red with mortification.
‘Careful,’ he advised. ‘That material looks delicate.’
‘As delicate as this weekend?’ she retorted, and he smiled.
‘I never knew you had a temper.’
‘I never knew you could spend nine thousand pounds on a dress.’
He raised his eyebrows, genuinely surprised. ‘Most women of my acquaintance enjoy spending my money.’
‘Your acquaintance is quite limited, then,’ Hannah snapped. ‘Plenty of women aren’t interested only in shopping and money.’
‘Point taken.’
‘Anyway,’ Hannah muttered, ‘it’s wrong.’ She turned around so her back was once more to him.
‘Wrong? But how can you object if it’s my money?’
‘Do you know what could be done with nine thousand pounds?’ she demanded, her back straight and quivering with tension.
‘Oh, no, tell me you’re not one of those bleeding hearts,’ Luca drawled. ‘I expected more of you, Hannah.’
‘I’m not,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’ve never objected to you spending money on yourself. But when it’s for me—’
‘It’s still my choice.’ He cut her off. ‘Now zip up that dress and let me see it on you.’
Taking her cue, the sales assistant stepped forward and zipped up the back, although in truth there wasn’t much to zip up. The dress was almost entirely backless, with a halter top and a gauzy chiffon overlay that lent some respectability to the plunging neckline, as Luca saw when Hannah reluctantly turned around.
He schooled his face into an expression of businesslike interest, as if he were assessing the gown simply as an appropriate garment for the occasion rather than for the effect it had on his libido. Why on earth he was reacting to his PA’s unexceptional body this way he had no idea. He supposed that was what you paid for with Diavola. The dresses worked.
‘Very good,’ he told the assistant. ‘We’ll take it. Now we need something casual to wear for the day, and a semiformal dress for the first night.’
‘I have some of these things at home,’ Hannah protested.
Luca held up a hand. ‘Please cease this pointless arguing, Hannah. This is a business expense, I told you.’
She went silent, tight-lipped, her brown eyes flashing suppressed fury. Unable to resist baiting her just a little bit, or maybe just wanting to touch her, Luca reached over and pulled the tie of the halter top of her dress.
‘There,’ he said as she caught the folds of the dress, her eyes wide with shock. ‘Now hurry up. I want to be out of here in forty-five minutes.’
* * *
Hannah’s hands trembled as she stripped off the evening gown and flung it at the assistant, too unsettled and overwhelmed to care how she treated the delicate material.
What was going on? Why was Luca treating her this way? And why had she reacted to the sight of him in the dressing room, her body tightening, heat flaring deep inside when she’d turned around and seen his gaze dip to her unimpressive cleavage?
Perhaps, she thought resentfully, she’d simply never seen this side of her boss before. Outside the office, Luca Moretti might well be the kind of man who flirted and teased and stormed into women’s dressing rooms and undid their gowns...
She suppressed a shiver at the memory of his fingers skimming her back as he’d tugged on the tie. Stupid, to react to the man that way. At this moment she wasn’t even sure she liked him. And yet it had been a long, long time since she’d been touched like that.
Not, of course, that Luca had had any intention other than discomfiting her when he’d undone her dress. Hannah was savvy enough to realise that.
And as for the cost... Maybe it was irrational to protest when a millionaire spent what was essentially pocket change, but it was a lot of money to her. With nine thousand pounds she could have redone her kitchen or afforded a better life insurance policy...
‘Signorina? Would you like to try on the next ensemble?’
Letting out a long, low breath, Hannah nodded. ‘Yes, please.’ This whole evening had entered into the realm of the utterly surreal, including her own reactions. When had she ever dared to talk back to her boss? Yet he didn’t feel like her boss when she was in a dressing room, her back bare, her breasts practically on display. And yet at the same time he felt more like her boss than ever, demanding and autocratic, expecting instant compliance. It was all so incredibly bizarre.
The assistant handed her a shift dress in pale pink linen that fitted perfectly. Would Luca want to see this dress as well? And what about her swimming costume, or the lacy, frothy underthings she could see waiting on a chair? A blaze of heat went through her at the thought, leaving her more disconcerted than ever.
‘It’s fine,’ she told the assistant, and then took it off as fast as she could. Maybe if she worked quickly enough Luca wouldn’t bother striding into her dressing room, acting as if he owned the world, acting as if he owned her.
Forty-two minutes later all the clothes Hannah had tried on, including the most modest bikini she’d been able to find and two sets of lingerie in beige silk and cream lace, were wrapped in tissue paper and put in expensive-looking bags with satin ribbons for handles. She hadn’t even seen Luca hand over a credit card, and she dreaded to think what the bill was. Why on earth was he spending a fortune on her clothes, and for such a negligible business deal? She didn’t like feeling beholden to him in such a way. She worked hard and earned everything she got, and she preferred it like that.
‘I think you’ve spent more on me tonight than you’ll make taking over these resorts,’ she remarked as they stepped out into the street. The rain had cleared and a pale sickle moon rose above the elegant town houses of Mayfair. ‘Andrew Tyson only owns about half a dozen resorts, doesn’t he?’
‘The land alone makes it worth it,’ Luca replied, buttoning his jacket. Seconds later the limo appeared at the kerb, and the sales assistant loaded the bags into the boot.
‘I should get home,’ Hannah said. She felt relieved at the thought of being away from Luca’s unsettling presence, and yet reluctant to end the bizarre magic of the evening. But it was a forty-five-minute Tube ride to her small terraced house on the end of the Northern Line, and she’d be late enough as it was.
‘I’ll drive you,’ Luca answered. ‘Get in.’
‘I live rather far away...’
‘I know where you live.’
His calm assertion discomfited her. Of course her boss knew where she lived; it was on her employment record. And yet the thought of Luca invading her home, seeing even just a glimpse her private life, made her resist.
‘I don’t...’
‘Hannah, get in. It’s nearly eight and we’re leaving at nine tomorrow morning. Why spend nearly an hour on the Tube when you don’t have to?’
He had a point. As it was she’d be getting back later than she liked. ‘All right, thank you.’ She climbed into the limo, sitting well away from Luca. She could still remember the feel of his fingers on her back. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He’d probably been amused at how embarrassed she’d been. He probably undressed women in his sleep. The only reason she’d responded to him like that was because he was attractive and she hadn’t been touched by a man in over five years. Her mother had told her it was more than time to jump back in the dating pool, but Hannah hadn’t had time even to think about dipping a toe in.
The limo pulled into the street and Hannah sat back, suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue. The last few hours had taken an emotional toll.
‘Here.’ Luca pressed a glass into her hands, and her fingers closed around the fragile stem automatically. She looked in surprise at the flute of champagne. The driver must have had it ready. ‘You didn’t have any in the boutique,’ Luca explained, ‘and you said you had never tasted it before.’
‘Oh.’ She was touched by his thoughtfulness, and yet she felt weirdly exposed too. When had her boss ever considered what she wanted in such a way? ‘Thank you.’
‘Drink,’ Luca said, and Hannah took a cautious sip, wrinkling her nose as the bubbles fizzed their way upward. Luca smiled at her faintly, no doubt amused by her inexperience.
‘It’s a bit more tickly than I thought,’ she said. She felt incredibly gauche. Luca had most likely first imbibed Dom Perignon from a baby’s bottle. He kept a bottle in his limo, after all. And here she was, saying how the bubbles tickled her nose.
She handed back the champagne with an awkward smile, and Luca took it, one dark eyebrow arched. ‘Is it not to your liking?’
‘It’s just... I haven’t eaten anything. And you know, alcohol on an empty stomach, never a good idea...’ She was babbling, out of her element in so many ways. She, the calm, capable, unflappable PA, had been reduced to stammering and blushing by her boss, who was acting more like a man than an employer. She couldn’t understand him or herself, and it was incredibly annoying.
‘I’m sorry,’ Luca murmured. ‘I should have thought.’ He pressed the intercom button and issued some directions in Italian. Hannah eyed him askance.
‘What are you doing...?’
‘I asked him to stop so we can eat. You don’t have plans?’
Surprised alarm had her lurching upright. ‘No, but really, it’s not necessary—’
‘Hannah, you’re hungry. When you work late at the office, I provide dinner. Consider this the same thing.’
Except this didn’t feel like the same thing. And when the limo stopped in front of an elegant bistro with red velvet curtains in the windows and curling gold script on the door, Hannah knew their meal would be a far cry from the sandwiches and coffee Luca usually had her order in when they were both working late.
She swallowed audibly, and then forced back the feelings of uncertainty and inadequacy. She’d been working as PA to one of the most powerful men in real estate for three years. She could handle dinner at a restaurant.
Straightening her spine, she got out of the car. Luca opened the door to the restaurant for her and then followed her in. The muted, understated elegance of the place fell over her like a soothing blanket.
‘A table for two, Monsieur Moretti?’ The French waiter asked, menus already in hand. Was her boss known everywhere?
Luca nodded and within seconds they were escorted to a private table in the corner, tucked away from the few other diners in the restaurant.
Hannah scanned the menu; it provided a temporary escape from Luca’s penetrating gaze. Foie gras. Roasted quail. Braised fillet of brill. Okay, she could do this.
‘Do you see something you like?’ Luca asked.
‘Yes.’ She closed the menu and gave him a perfunctory smile. ‘Thank you.’
The waiter came with the wine list, and Luca barely glanced at it before ordering a bottle. He turned to Hannah the moment the man had gone, his gaze resting on her. Again she had the sense of coming up short, of not being quite what he wanted, and she didn’t understand it.
‘It occurs to me that I know very little about you.’
‘I didn’t realise you wanted to,’ Hannah answered. Luca had never asked her a single personal question in her three years of employment.
‘Information is always valuable,’ he answered with a negligent shrug. ‘Where did you grow up?’
‘A village outside Birmingham.’ She eyed him warily. Where was this coming from? And why?
‘Brothers? Sisters?’
‘No.’ Deciding this could go both ways, Hannah raised her eyebrows. ‘What about you?’
Luca looked slightly taken aback, his eyes flaring, mouth compressing. In the dim lighting of the restaurant he looked darker and more alluring than usual, the candlelight from the table throwing his face into stark contrast from the snowy whiteness of his shirt, his whole being exuding restless power, barely leashed energy. ‘What about me?’
‘Do you have brothers or sisters?’
His mouth flattened into a hard line and he looked away briefly. ‘No.’
So apparently he didn’t like answering personal questions, just asking them. Hannah couldn’t say she was surprised. The waiter came to take their order, and she chose a simple salad and the roasted quail, which she hoped would taste like chicken. Luca ordered steak and then the sommelier was proffering an expensive-looking bottle. Hannah watched as Luca expertly swilled a mouthful and then nodded in acceptance. The sommelier poured them both full glasses.
‘I really shouldn’t...’ Hannah began. She didn’t drink alcohol very often and she wanted to be fresh for tomorrow. And she didn’t relish getting a bit of a buzz in Luca’s presence. The last thing she needed was to feel even sillier in front of her boss.
‘It won’t be on an empty stomach,’ Luca replied. ‘And I think you need to relax.’
‘Do you?’ Hannah returned tartly. ‘I must confess, this is all a bit out of the ordinary, Mr—’
‘Luca.’
‘Why?’ she burst out. ‘Why now?’
His dark gaze rested on her for a moment, and she had the sense he was weighing his words, choosing them with care. ‘Why not?’ he finally replied, and reached for his wine glass. Hannah deflated, frustrated but also a tiny bit relieved by his non-answer. She didn’t know if she could handle some sort of weird revelation.
Fortunately Luca stopped with the personal questions after that, and they ate their meal mainly in silence, which was far more comfortable than being the subject of her boss’s scrutiny, but even so she felt on edge, brittle and restless.
Which was too bad, she realised as Luca was paying the bill, because, really, she’d just had the most amazing evening—being bought a designer wardrobe and then treated to a fantastic meal by an undeniably sexy and charismatic man. Too bad it didn’t feel like that. It felt...weird. Like something she could enjoy if she let herself, but she didn’t think she should. Luca Moretti might have dozens of women at his beck and call, at his feet, but Hannah didn’t intend to be one of them. Not if she wanted to keep her job, not to mention her sanity.
They drove in silence to her little house; by the time they’d arrived it was nearly ten o’clock. Her mother, Hannah thought with a flash of guilt, would be both tired and worried.
‘I’ll see you here tomorrow at nine,’ Luca said, and Hannah turned to him in surprise.
‘I thought I would be making my own way to the airport.’
‘By Tube? And what if you’re later? It’s better this way. Here, let me get your bags.’
Hannah groped for her keys while Luca took the bags from the boutique to her doorstep. ‘Thank you,’ she muttered. ‘You can go—’
But he was waiting for her to open her front door. She fumbled with the key, breathing a sigh of relief when the door finally swung open.
‘Hannah?’ her mother called. ‘I’ve been wondering where you were—’
‘I’m fine—’ Hannah turned to Luca, practically grabbing the bags from him. ‘Thank you very much. I’ll see you tomorrow at nine.’
He was frowning, his gaze moving from her to the narrow hallway behind her, her mother coming around the corner. Clearly he was wondering about her living situation.
‘Goodnight,’ Hannah said, and closed the door.
Her mother, Diane, stopped short, her eyes widening as she saw all the expensive-looking bags by Hannah’s feet. ‘What on earth...?’
‘It’s a long story,’ Hannah said. ‘Sorry I’m so late. Did Jamie...?’
‘Went to bed without a whimper, bless him,’ Diane said. Her gaze moved to the bags. ‘Goodness, that’s a lot of shopping.’
‘Yes, it is,’ Hannah agreed rather grimly. ‘Let me go see Jamie and then I’ll tell you all about it.’ Or at least some of it. She’d probably omit a few details, like Luca undoing her dress. The memory alone was enough to make a shiver go through her. Again.
‘I’ll make you a cup of tea,’ Diane said. Hannah was already heading up the narrow stairway and then down the darkened hall to the small second bedroom. She tiptoed inside, her heart lifting at the familiar and beloved sight: her son. He slept on his back, arms and legs flung out like a starfish, his breathing deep and even.
Gently Hannah reached down and brushed the sandy hair from his forehead, her fingers skimming his plump, baby-soft cheek. He was five years old and the light of her life. And she wouldn’t see him for a whole weekend.
Guilt niggled at her at the thought. Hannah knew her job was demanding and she wasn’t able to spend as much time with Jamie as she would like. She also knew, all too well, the importance of financial independence and freedom. Working for Luca Moretti had given her both. She would never regret making that choice.
With a soft sigh Hannah leaned down and kissed her son’s forehead, and then quietly left the room. She needed to get ready for her weekend with her boss.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_0db76e6c-032e-57c3-906d-fdc405abd5f4)
LUCA DRUMMED HIS fingers against his thigh as the limo pulled up in front of Hannah’s house. He’d been there less than twelve hours ago, dropping her off after their shopping and meal. He’d been strangely disquieted to have a tiny glimpse into her life—the narrow hall with its clutter of coats and boots, the sound of a woman’s voice. Her mother? Why did he care?
Perhaps because since he’d met her he’d viewed Hannah Stewart as nothing more than a means to his own end. First as his PA, efficient and capable, and now as his stand-in wife-to-be. Last night he’d realised that if this ridiculous charade was going to work, he needed to know more about Hannah. And he hadn’t learned much, but what he had discovered was that getting to know Hannah even a little bit made him feel guilty for using her.
Sighing impatiently at his own pointless thoughts, Luca opened the door to the limo and stepped out into the street. It wasn’t as if he was making Hannah’s life difficult. She was getting a luxurious weekend on a Mediterranean island, all expenses paid. And if she had to play-act a bit, what was the big deal? He’d make it worth her while.
He pressed the doorbell, and Hannah answered the door almost immediately. She wore her usual work outfit of a dark pencil skirt and a pale silk blouse, this time grey and pink. Pearls at her throat and ears and low black heels complemented the outfit. There was nothing wrong with it, but it wasn’t what his fiancåe would be wearing to accompany him on a weekend house party. She looked like a PA, not a woman in love on a holiday.
‘What happened to the outfits I bought you yesterday?’ Luca demanded.
‘Hello to you too,’ Hannah answered. ‘I’m saving them for when I’m actually on Santa Nicola.’ She arched an eyebrow. ‘Being on the aeroplane isn’t part of the social occasion, is it?’
‘Of course not.’ Luca knew he couldn’t actually fault Hannah. She was acting in accordance to the brief he had given her. He’d tell her the truth soon enough...when there was no chance of anything going wrong. Nothing could risk his plan for this weekend. ‘Are you packed?’
‘Of course.’ She reached for her suitcase but Luca took it first. ‘I’ll put it in the boot.’
‘Hello, Mr Moretti.’ An older woman with faded eyes and grey, bobbed hair emerged from behind Hannah to give him a tentative smile.
‘Good morning.’ Belatedly Luca realised how snappish he must have sounded when talking to Hannah. This whole experience was making him lose his cool, his control. He forced as charming a smile as he could and extended his hand to the woman who took it.
‘I’m Diane Stewart, Hannah’s mother—’
‘Lovely to meet you.’
‘I should go, Mum,’ Hannah said. She slipped on a black wool coat, lifting her neat ponytail away from the collar. Luca had a sudden, unsettling glimpse of the nape of her neck, the skin pale, the tiny hairs golden and curling.
‘I’ll say goodbye to Jamie for you,’ Diane promised and Luca looked sharply at Hannah, who flushed.
Jamie—a boyfriend? Clearly someone close to her. Although maybe Jamie was a girl’s name. A friend? A sister?
‘Thanks, Mum,’ she muttered, and quickly hugged her mother before walking towards the limo.
Luca handed the suitcase to his driver before getting in the back with Hannah. She was sitting close to the window, her face turned towards the glass.
‘Do you live with your mother?’ he asked.
‘No, she just stayed the night because I was so late getting home.’
‘Why was she there at all?’
She gave him a quick, quelling look. ‘She’s visiting.’
Hannah Stewart seemed as private as he was. Luca settled back in the seat. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve cut your visit short.’ He paused. ‘You could have told me she was visiting. I would have made allowances.’
Hannah’s look of disbelief was rather eloquent. Luca felt a dart of annoyance, which was unreasonable since he knew he wouldn’t have made allowances. He needed Hannah’s attendance this weekend too much. Still he defended himself. ‘I’m not that unreasonable an employer.’
‘I never said you were.’
Which was true. But he felt nettled anyway, as if he’d done something wrong. It was that damned guilt, for tricking her into this. He didn’t like lying. He’d always played a straight bat, prided himself on his plain dealing. He’d lived with too many lies to act otherwise. But this was different, this was decades-deep, right down to his soul, and his revenge on Andrew Tyson was far more important than his PA’s tender feelings. Feeling better for that reminder, Luca reached for his smartphone and started scrolling through messages.
* * *
Hannah sat back in her seat, glad to have that awkward goodbye scene over with. Luca had been surprisingly curious about her life, and she’d thankfully managed to deflect his questions. She’d never told her boss about her son, and she wanted to keep it that way. She knew instinctively that Luca Moretti would not take kindly to his PA having such an obligation of responsibility, no matter what he said about allowances. She was fortunate that her mother lived nearby and had always been happy to help out. Without Diane’s help, Hannah never would have been able to take the job as Luca Moretti’s PA. She certainly wouldn’t have been able to perform it with the same level of capability.
Now she tried to banish all the thoughts and worries that had kept her up last night as she’d wondered what she was getting into, and if she was doing the right thing in leaving her son for two days. She wanted to stop wondering if she was coming across as gauche as she felt, or why her normally taciturn boss was suddenly turning his narrow-eyed attention to her.
No, today she’d told herself she was going to simply enjoy everything that came her way, whether it was champagne and caviar or a first-class plane ticket. This was an adventure, and she’d got out of the habit of enjoying or even looking for adventures. Since she’d had Jamie her life had become predictable and safe, which wasn’t a bad thing but sometimes it was boring. She realised she was actually looking forward to a little bit of a shake-up.
‘You’re smiling,’ Luca observed and, startled, Hannah refocused her gaze on her boss. He’d been watching her, she realised with a lurch of alarm. Or maybe it was simply awareness that she felt. A tingling spread through her body as his gaze remained resting on her, his mahogany-brown eyes crinkled at the corners, a faint smile tugging at his own mobile mouth. He wore a navy blue suit she’d probably seen before, with a crisp white shirt and silver-grey tie. Standard business wear, elegant and expensive, the suit cut perfectly to his broad shoulders and trim hips. Why was she noticing it today? Why was she feeling so aware?
‘I was just thinking about flying first class,’ she said.
‘Ah yes. Something else you haven’t done before.’
‘No, and I’m looking forward to it.’ She smiled wryly. ‘I’m sure it’s same old, same old for you.’
‘It’s refreshing to see someone experience something for the first time.’ His mouth curved in a deeper smile, the look in his eyes disconcertingly warm. ‘Tickly or not.’
She lifted her chin, fighting a flush. ‘I admit, I’m not very experienced in the ways of the world.’
‘Why aren’t you?’
‘Maybe because I’m not a millionaire?’ Hannah returned dryly. ‘Most people don’t travel first class, you know.’
‘I’m well aware. But plenty of people have tasted champagne.’ He cocked his head, his warm gaze turning thoughtful. ‘You seem to have missed out a bit on life, Hannah.’
Which was all too perceptive of him. And even though she knew it was true, it still stung. ‘I’ve been working,’ she replied with a shrug. ‘And I have responsibilities...’ She left it at that but Luca’s eyes had narrowed.
‘What kind of responsibilities?’
‘Family,’ she hedged. ‘Nothing that interferes with my work,’ she defended and he nodded, hands spread palm upward.
‘As well I know. I do appreciate you coming for the weekend.’
‘I didn’t think I really had much choice,’ Hannah returned, then drew an even breath. ‘Why don’t you tell me more about this weekend? You said it was a social occasion? How so?’
The warmth left Luca’s eyes and Hannah felt tension steal into his body even though he’d barely moved. ‘Andrew Tyson is a family man,’ he stated. ‘Wife, two children, resorts dedicated to providing people with the ultimate family experience.’
‘Yes, I did some research on them when I was booking your travel,’ Hannah recalled. ‘“A Tyson Holiday is a memory for ever,”’ she quoted and Luca grimaced.
‘Right.’
‘You don’t like the idea?’
‘Not particularly.’
She shouldn’t have been surprised. Luca Moretti had never struck her as the wife-and-kids type, which was why she’d kept her own son secret from him. He was never short of female company, though, and none of them lasted very long. A week at the most. ‘Why are you going after these resorts if you don’t really like the idea behind them?’
‘I don’t make business decisions based on personal preferences,’ Luca answered shortly. One hand closed in a fist on his powerful thigh and he straightened it out slowly, deliberately, his palm flat on his leg, his fingers, long and tapered, stretching towards his knee. ‘I make business decisions based on what is financially sound and potentially profitable.’
‘But Andrew Tyson only has a handful of resorts, doesn’t he? The Santa Nicola resort, one on Tenerife, one on Kos, one on—’
‘Sicily, and then a couple in the Caribbean. Yes.’
‘It’s small potatoes to a man like you,’ Hannah pointed out. Luca had orchestrated multibillion-dollar deals all around the world. A couple of family resorts, especially ones that looked as if they needed a bit of updating, hardly seemed his sort of thing.
Luca shifted in his seat. ‘As I told you before, the land alone makes this a lucrative deal.’
‘Okay, but you still haven’t told me why this is a social occasion.’
‘Because Tyson wants it to be one. He’s always espoused family values, and so he wants each potential owner to socialise with him and his family.’
‘So chatting up little kids?’ Hannah couldn’t quite keep the note of amusement from her voice. ‘It sounds like your worst nightmare.’
‘His children are grown up,’ Luca answered. ‘The son is only a year younger than I am.’
‘Do his children have children?’
‘I have no idea.’ Luca sounded eminently bored. ‘Probably. The son is married.’
Hannah considered the implications of everything he’d just said. So she’d be socialising with Andrew Tyson and his family, chatting up his children and generally being friendly? She was starting to realise why Luca had wanted her to come along.
‘So you want me to be your front man,’ she said slowly.
Luca swivelled to face her. ‘Excuse me?’
‘To do the talking,’ Hannah explained. ‘Chatting to his wife and children while you get on with the business side of things. Right?’
He gave one terse nod. ‘Right.’
She settled back in her seat. ‘All right. I can do that.’
‘Good,’ Luca answered, and he turned back to his phone.
The VIP lounge at the airport fully lived up to Hannah’s expectations. She enjoyed the plush seats, the complimentary mimosas and breakfast buffet, and when Luca suggested she take advantage of the adjoining spa and get a manicure and pedicure, she decided to go for it. Why not enjoy all the opportunities that were on offer? It wasn’t as if she had many chances to relax in a spa.
By the time they boarded the plane she was feeling pleasantly relaxed; one of the spa attendants had given her a head and neck massage while her feet had been soaking. It had felt lovely, as had Luca’s look of blatant male appreciation when she’d emerged from the spa—the attendant had insisted on doing her hair and make-up as well.
‘You look good,’ he said in approval, and, while Hannah knew she shouldn’t care what Luca thought of her looks, his masculine admiration spoke to the feminine heart of her.
‘I think,’ she told him as they took their seats in the plane’s first-class section, ‘I could get used to this.’
Luca’s mouth quirked up at one corner. ‘I’m sure you could.’ He accepted two flutes of champagne from the airline steward and handed one to Hannah. ‘And now you should get used to this.’
‘Why are you so determined to have me become used to champagne?’ Hannah asked as she took a sip. Second time round the bubbles didn’t tickle her nose quite so much.
‘Why not? You should enjoy all of these new experiences.’
‘True,’ Hannah answered. ‘And since you said this was a social occasion, I might as well.’ She took another sip of champagne. ‘Are we meant to be working during the flight?’
‘No.’
‘So why did you put me up in first class?’
‘I wanted to watch you enjoy the experience.’
Hannah felt her stomach dip at this implication of his words, the intimacy of them. She was suddenly conscious of how this all seemed: the champagne flute dangling from her fingers, the cosy enclave of their first-class seats, and Luca Moretti lounging next to her, not taking his warm gaze from hers. She swallowed hard.
‘Well, I am enjoying it,’ she said, striving for normality. ‘Thank you.’ The last thing she needed was to start crushing on her boss. He’d probably find that amusing—or maybe offensive, and fire her. She handed her half-drunk champagne to the steward and buckled her seat belt. Time to get things back to the way they’d always been.
Luca must have been thinking along the same lines because he reached for the in-flight magazine as the plane took off, and then spent the rest of the four-hour flight looking over some paperwork. Hannah asked him once if he needed her to do anything, and he snapped at her that he didn’t.
In fact, with each passing hour of the flight, he seemed to get more and more tense, his muscles taut, his eyes shadowed, his face grim. Hannah wondered what was going on, but she didn’t dare ask.
She tried to watch a movie but her mind was pinging all over the place, and so she ended up simply staring out of the window at the azure sky, waiting for the minutes and hours to pass.
And then they did, and they landed on Santa Nicola, the Mediterranean glittering like a bright blue promise in the distance.
‘Is someone meeting us at the airport?’
‘Yes, one of Tyson’s staff is picking us up.’ Luca rose from his seat and shrugged into his suit jacket. ‘Let me do the talking.’
Okay... ‘I thought you wanted me to socialise.’
‘I do. But not with the staff.’
Bewildered, Hannah stared at him, but Luca’s deliberately bland expression gave nothing away. He held a hand out to her to help her from her seat, and after a second’s hesitation she took it.
The feel of his warm, dry palm sliding across and then enfolding hers was a jolt to her system, like missing the last step in a staircase. Instinctively she started to withdraw her hand but Luca tightened his hands over hers and pulled her forward.
‘Come on,’ he murmured. ‘People are waiting.’
With his hand still encasing hers she followed him out of the plane, blinking in the bright sunlight as she navigated the narrow steps down to the tarmac. She was just thinking that she wished she’d packed her sunglasses in her carry-on rather than her suitcase when she heard someone call a greeting to Luca and then felt his arm snake around her waist.
Hannah went rigid in shock at the feel of his fingers splayed on one hip, her other hip pressed against his thigh.
‘Signor Moretti! We are so pleased to welcome you to Santa Nicola.’ A tanned, friendly-looking man in khaki shorts and a red polo shirt with the Tyson logo on the breast pocket came striding towards them. ‘And this is...?’ he asked, glancing at Hannah with a smile.
‘Hannah Stewart,’ Luca filled in smoothly, his arm still firmly about her waist. ‘My fiancåe.’
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_5304709b-3e8b-5c76-a896-3892d1f3ac31)
HANNAH STOOD BLINKING stupidly at the man who had come forward. He reached for her hand and numbly she gave it to him.
‘Signorina Stewart. So pleased to meet you! Signor Moretti mentioned he was bringing his fiancåe, and we look forward to getting to know you. I am Stefano, one of the members of Mr Tyson’s staff.’
Hannah could only stare at Stefano, trying to find the brain cells to string two words together. The only word she could think of was the one Luca had used with such confident precision. Fiancåe.
What on earth...?
‘Hannah,’ Luca murmured, and she felt the pressure of his hand on her waist, the warmth of his palm seeping through her skirt.
Still reeling, she forced a smile onto her face. ‘Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.’
As soon as she said the words she wished she hadn’t. Now she was complicit in this...whatever this was. A lie, obviously. A ruthless deception—and for what purpose? Why on earth would Luca pretend she was something she wasn’t?
Because he was pretending he was something he wasn’t.
The answer was so blindingly obvious Hannah couldn’t believe she hadn’t twigged earlier. Andrew Tyson was a family man, and this weekend was meant to be a social occasion. Of course. Luca Moretti, the famous womaniser, needed a woman. A fiancåe to show he was the kind of family man Tyson must want him to be. What other reason could he have possibly had for introducing her that way? For lying?
‘Come this way,’ Stefano said, beckoning towards the waiting open-topped Jeep emblazoned with the Tyson logo, a dolphin jumping in front of a sun. ‘Mr Tyson’s villa is only a few minutes away.’
Hannah walked like an automaton towards the Jeep, Luca next to her, his arm still around her. She wanted to shrug it off but she didn’t think she’d be able to; his grip was like a vice. She tried to catch his eye but he was staring blandly ahead. Damn the man. What on earth was she supposed to do now?
They got in the back of the Jeep and Stefano hopped in the front. Hannah was barely aware of the gorgeous surroundings: mountains provided a stunning, jagged backdrop to lush greenery that framed both sides of the paved single-track road. She’d read that Santa Nicola was virtually unspoilt, save for the resort, and she could see it now in the jungle of bright flowers that gave way to superbly landscaped gardens and high walls of pink sandstone.
‘Luca,’ she muttered meaningfully, although she hardly knew where to begin, how to protest. ‘You can’t—’
‘I already have,’ he murmured as the Jeep came to a stop in front of a sprawling villa, its pale stone walls climbing with ivy and bougainvillea.
‘I know,’ Hannah snapped. ‘And you shouldn’t have—’ She was prevented from saying anything more by Stefano coming around to open the door on her side and help her out onto the cobbled pavement.
‘Mr Tyson looks forward to welcoming you properly this evening, during the cocktail hour. In the meantime you can both rest and refresh yourselves.’
‘Thank you,’ Hannah muttered, although everything in her cried out to end this absurd charade. She was so angry and shocked she could barely manage to speak civilly to Stefano, who of course had no idea what was going on. Yet.
And Hannah wondered how on earth she could tell him, or anyone here, the truth. Luca had made it virtually impossible, and yet still she fantasised about coming clean and watching Luca Moretti get the send-up he undoubtedly deserved. How dare he put her in this position?
Stefano led them into the gracious entryway of the villa, a soaring foyer that made the most of the house’s unparalleled view of the sea. Down a long terracotta-tiled corridor, and then through double louvred doors into a spacious and elegant bedroom, a massive king-sized bed its impressive centrepiece, the French windows opened to a private terrace that led to the beach, gauzy curtains blowing in the sea breeze.
‘This is marvellous, thank you,’ Luca said, shaking Stefano’s hand, and with a murmured farewell Stefano closed the doors behind them, finally, thankfully, leaving them alone.
Hannah whirled around to face Luca, who stood in the centre of the bedroom, hands in the pockets of his trousers, a faint frown on his face as he surveyed the room with its elegant furnishings in cream and light green.
‘How could you?’ she gasped out. ‘How dare you?’
Luca moved his gaze to her. He seemed utterly unmoved, without a shred of remorse or embarrassment. ‘If you are referring to the way I introduced you—’
‘Of course I’m referring to that!’
‘It was necessary.’ And he strolled over to the windows as if that was actually the end of the discussion.
Hannah stared at his broad back, watching as he closed and fastened the windows. Finally she managed to say in what she hoped was a level, reasonable voice, ‘Do you actually think this can work?’
Luca turned around to face her, eyebrows arrogantly raised. ‘I don’t embark on ventures that are doomed to failure.’
‘I think you may be in for a new experience, then,’ Hannah snapped.
‘Why? Why shouldn’t Andrew Tyson believe you’re my fiancåe?’
‘Because I’m not—’
‘Are you not suitable?’ Luca steamrolled over her, his voice silky and yet underlaid with iron. ‘Are you not pretty or smart or sophisticated enough?’
A hot flush broke out over Hannah’s body as she glared at him. ‘No, I’m not,’ she answered flatly. ‘As you well know. I hadn’t even flown first class before today—or drunk champagne—’ Suddenly the memory of him pressing the flute into her hands, smiling at her with such gentle amusement, was enough to make her burst into tears. She swallowed hard before continuing furiously, realisation ripping away any illusions she’d had left. ‘So everything you’ve done has been to maintain this...this ridiculous facade.’ She glanced down at her varnished nails, her hands curling instinctively into fists. ‘The manicure and pedicure?’ she spat. ‘The hair and make-up...’ She remembered the look of approval in his eyes. You look good. And she’d inwardly preened at his praise. ‘You just wanted me to look the part.’
‘Is that so objectionable?’
‘This whole farce is objectionable! You tricked me.’
Luca sighed, as if she were being so very tedious by objecting. ‘I’m asking for very little, Hannah.’
‘Very little? You’re asking me to lie to strangers. To pretend to—to be in love with you!’ The words rang out, making her wince. She hadn’t meant it quite like that, and yet...that was what he was asking. Wasn’t it?
‘I’m not asking anything of the kind,’ Luca returned evenly. ‘Although surely it wouldn’t be too hard?’
Hannah recoiled, horrified at the implication. Did he think he was so desirable—or simply that she was so desperate? ‘Yes, it would,’ she said stiffly. ‘Since in actuality I barely know you. Which was the point of the little “getting to know you” spiel last night at dinner, wasn’t it?’ She shook her head, disgusted with both him and herself. She’d known something was off, but how on earth could she have suspected this? ‘Well, at least now you know I’m an only child. That’s something, I suppose. Make sure to mention it during the cocktail hour.’
‘You know me well enough,’ Luca answered, his tone deliberately unruffled. ‘You’ve worked for me for three years. In fact,’ he continued, strolling towards her, ‘you probably know me better than anyone else does.’
‘I do?’ She blinked at him, surprised and a little saddened by this admission. She’d known Luca was a solitary man, but surely he had closer people in his life than his PA. ‘What about your family?’
‘Not around.’
‘Where—?’
‘You’re the only person who sees me every day, Hannah. Who knows my preferences, my foibles and quirks. Yes, I think you know me very well.’
‘Yes, but you don’t know me.’ And she didn’t care whether she knew him or not. She wouldn’t want to play-act as his fiancåe even if they’d been best friends. Which they were most decidedly not.
‘I think I know you a little bit,’ Luca said, a smile curving the sensuous mouth Hannah suddenly couldn’t look away from.
‘What? How?’ He didn’t know anything. ‘You’ve never asked me anything about my life until last night.’
‘Maybe I don’t need to ask.’
‘What are you saying?’ He’d taken a step closer to her and her stomach writhed and leapt in response, as if she’d swallowed snakes. She pressed one hand to her middle, knowing the gesture to be revealing, and stood her ground even though she desperately wanted to take a step away from him.
Instead he took a step closer. ‘Let’s see,’ he murmured, his voice a low hum that seemed to reverberate right through her bones. He was close enough so that she could inhale the cedarwood scent of his aftershave, see the muscles corded in his neck. Some time since entering the room he’d loosened his silver silk tie and undone the top two buttons of his shirt, so she could see the strong brown column of his throat, the dark hairs sprinkling his chest below. She jerked her gaze away from the sight.
‘You don’t know me,’ she stated firmly. ‘At all. Because if you did, you’d know I’d never agree to something like this.’
‘Which is why I didn’t ask you, so perhaps I do know you after all.’
‘You don’t,’ she insisted. He was close enough to breathe in, to feel his heat. If she reached one hand out she could place a palm on his chest, feel the crisp cotton of his shirt, the steady thud of his heart, the flex of his powerful muscles...
Hannah drew her breath in sharply, horrified by the nature of her thoughts. What kind of sorcerer was Luca Moretti, to weave this spell over her so easily?
‘I think I do,’ Luca murmured. He stood right in front of her, his gaze roving over her, searching, finding, feeling as intimate as a caress. ‘I know you drink your coffee with milk and two sugars, although you pretend you have it black.’
‘What...?’ Her breath came out in a rush. It was such a little thing, but he was right. She added the sugar when she was alone because she was self-conscious about taking it. Every working woman in London seemed to drink their coffee black and eat lettuce leaves for lunch.
Somehow she managed to rally. ‘That’s not very much,’ she scoffed.
‘I’m only beginning,’ Luca answered. ‘I know you look at travel blogs on your lunch break. I know you have an incredible work ethic but you seem embarrassed by it sometimes. I know you’re determined to be cheerful but sometimes, when you think no one is looking, you seem sad.’
Hannah drew a deep breath, too shocked to respond or even to blush. How had he seen all these things? How did he know?
‘And,’ Luca finished softly as he turned away, ‘I know there is someone in your life named Jamie whom you care about very much.’
She stiffened. ‘Well done, Sherlock,’ she managed. ‘You’re obviously very perceptive, but it doesn’t change what I think—that this is wrong, and you never should have forced me into this position.’
Luca turned back to her, the warmth she’d just seen in his eyes evaporated, leaving only chilly darkness. ‘How exactly,’ he asked, his voice dangerously soft, ‘did I force you?’
‘It’s not as if you gave me a choice,’ Hannah exclaimed. ‘Introducing me as your fiancåe! What was I supposed to do, tell them you were a liar?’
He shrugged, the movement elegant, muscles rippling underneath his shirt. ‘You could have done.’ He lifted his gaze to hers, those dark, cold eyes so penetrating. ‘Why didn’t you?’
‘Because...’
‘Because?’ Luca prompted softly.
‘It would have been very awkward,’ Hannah said. ‘For both of us.’
‘What’s a little awkwardness?’
‘You might have fired me—’
He arched an eyebrow. ‘And be sued for sexual harassment?’
‘I could already sue you for that,’ Hannah dared to suggest. Luca’s eyes narrowed.
‘And then you really would lose your job, just as I would lose mine.’
She swallowed. ‘You could have paid me off.’
The smile he gave her was cynical and hard. ‘Is that what you’re suggesting?’
‘No.’ Appalled, Hannah wondered how on earth they’d pursued this line of conversation. She wasn’t going to sue him, even if part of her inwardly railed that she should, that Luca Moretti deserved everything he had coming to him, including a whole lot of awkwardness.
‘I don’t want money,’ she informed him stiffly. ‘I simply don’t want to be in this position, and I resent that you put me in it. Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘Because you would have refused.’
She stared at his calm expression, his hard eyes. He stood before her, arrogant and assured, utterly unrepentant. ‘You don’t have a shred of remorse, do you?’ she asked wonderingly.
‘No,’ Luca agreed, ‘I don’t. Because if you let go of your huffy indignation for a moment, Hannah, you’ll realise I’m not asking very much of you.’
‘You’re asking me to lie.’
‘And you’ve never lied before?’
She bit her lip. ‘Of course, everyone’s lied, but this is different—’
‘Andrew Tyson is putting unreasonable expectations on the real-estate developer who buys his precious resorts,’ Luca cut across her flatly. ‘I know I’m the best man for the job, and I shouldn’t have to be married to be selected. The injustice is his, not mine.’
‘How many other developers are bidding on it?’
‘Two, and they’re both married.’
Somehow she found the temerity to joke. ‘You weren’t tempted to say I was your wife?’
‘I was tempted,’ Luca admitted. ‘But I figured that would be too hard to pull off.’
‘How pragmatic of you,’ Hannah murmured. Her mind was still spinning but some of her self-righteous fury had deflated. She didn’t know whether it was simply the awesome force of Luca’s personality or because she actually sympathised with him a little. Or maybe it was because she was just too tired to keep it up.
Slowly she walked to a cream divan positioned in an alcove and sank onto its soft seat. ‘So how do you propose—no pun intended—to make this work? Not,’ she informed him with swift asperity, ‘that I’m actually thinking of going along with this idea.’
‘Of course not,’ Luca murmured. Hannah watched, mesmerised, as he tugged off his tie and then began to unbutton his shirt.
‘What are you doing?’ she squeaked.
‘Changing. We’re due for cocktails in less than an hour.’
‘Can’t you use the bathroom?’ She nodded towards the door that led to what looked like a sumptuous en suite.
‘Why should I?’ Luca’s smile was wicked. ‘We’re engaged to be married, after all.’
‘You’re impossible.’ Hannah closed her eyes against the sight of Luca shrugging off his shirt. Even so she’d had a glimpse of bronzed, burnished skin, rippling muscles, and crisp, dark hair that veed down to the waistband of his trousers.
‘You’re not the first person to say so,’ Luca answered. She could hear him undressing and even with her eyes closed she could imagine it, picture him kicking off his trousers, revealing long, muscular legs, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, perhaps in navy satin...
Good grief, but she needed to get a grip. Hannah took a deep breath. ‘So you still haven’t told me how this is going to work.’
‘We’re going to act like we’re engaged. Simple.’
‘Simple?’ She opened her eyes to glare at Luca; he stood across the room, buckling the belt on a pair of grey trousers. His chest was still gloriously bare. ‘It’s not simple, Luca. We’re not engaged. We barely know each other. If someone asks either one of us anything about our relationship or how we met, we’ll have no idea what to say.’
‘It’s best to keep as close to the truth as possible,’ Luca advised as he reached for a light blue shirt and shrugged into it. ‘You’re still my PA.’
‘And we just happen to be engaged. Convenient.’
He shot her a quick, hard smile. ‘It is, isn’t it? Now you should get ready. We’re due to meet Tyson for cocktails shortly.’
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_86da64ac-e6df-581e-b4ab-769a69048821)
LUCA STARED OUT at the setting sun turning the placid sea to gold and waited for Hannah to emerge from the bathroom. He tried to ignore the guilt that flickered through him, an unpleasant ripple of sensation. All right, so he’d tricked her. He shouldn’t have. But he hadn’t had any choice. Not that Hannah would be able to understand that, and he had no intention of explaining it to her. She didn’t seem to be quite so angry now, although she had shut the door rather firmly after flouncing in there to get changed.
Êîíåö îçíàêîìèòåëüíîãî ôðàãìåíòà.
Òåêñò ïðåäîñòàâëåí ÎÎÎ «ËèòÐåñ».
Ïðî÷èòàéòå ýòó êíèãó öåëèêîì, êóïèâ ïîëíóþ ëåãàëüíóþ âåðñèþ (https://www.litres.ru/kate-hewitt/moretti-s-marriage-command/) íà ËèòÐåñ.
Áåçîïàñíî îïëàòèòü êíèãó ìîæíî áàíêîâñêîé êàðòîé Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, ñî ñ÷åòà ìîáèëüíîãî òåëåôîíà, ñ ïëàòåæíîãî òåðìèíàëà, â ñàëîíå ÌÒÑ èëè Ñâÿçíîé, ÷åðåç PayPal, WebMoney, ßíäåêñ.Äåíüãè, QIWI Êîøåëåê, áîíóñíûìè êàðòàìè èëè äðóãèì óäîáíûì Âàì ñïîñîáîì.