The Italian's Marriage Bargain

‘We definitely didn’t. I happen to prefer my women conscious.’

Felicity chose to ignore that particular little gem and, blinking a couple of times, felt what was suspiciously like relief start to flood her veins.

Things were still salvageable!

Okay, staying out all night wasn’t going to go down particularly well with Matthew, and undoubtedly she’d have to omit to mention exactly whose bed she’d awoken in—after all, Luca was effectively Matthew’s business partner—but the fact she hadn’t slept with Luca offered at least a temporary reprieve. She would get her things and get the hell out, with hopefully no damage done.

Straightening her shoulders, she lifted her hair away from her eyes and flicked it back, forcing a tiny smile as she caught Luca still staring at her, even attempting to inject a flash of humour into this rather unusual situation.

‘Whoops!’

He didn’t smile back, just rolled over sideways, propping himself on his elbow, and resumed his blatant stare. ‘Whoops?’ he said in a very low, very sardonic drawl.

‘I’m sorry,’ Felicity ventured again, the watery voice now replaced by her more confident tones. ‘You see, I don’t normally drink—well, not spirits. The occasional glass of wine I enjoy…but as for spirits, well I don’t even like the taste. I just had a couple for courage, you know.’

He shook his head and Felicity gave a small shrug. ‘I’m sure someone like you doesn’t need any help in the courage department.’

‘I wasn’t aware you had been drinking.’ His words confused her, and she frowned as he continued, wondering if somewhere along the line she had misinterpreted him, if his English was really less fluent than it first appeared. ‘Just how much did you have last night?’

‘Two vodka and oranges.’ Felicity pulled a face. ‘And if this is what it does to me I’m glad that I don’t normally drink. How could people do this for pleasure?’ She was starting to ramble, the words spilling out from her mouth like a runaway train. She wished Luca would smile, look away, shrug, even—anything rather than stare at her with that slightly quizzical superior look.

‘You really think that two vodka and oranges could have that effect?’ he asked finally, but when Felicity opened her mouth to speak Luca got there first, his eyes never leaving her face, watching every flicker of reaction as his words reached her. ‘Do you still not realise that your drinks were being spiked?’

‘You spiked my drinks?’ Startled, she went to stand, but Luca let out a hiss of indignation, flicking one hand in a derisive Latin gesture and muttering something in Italian that Felicity assumed wasn’t particularly complimentary, as realisation with the help of a few extremely hazy recollections, finally dawned. ‘Matthew spiked them.’

The surge of anger that welled inside her didn’t bode very well for the pounding drums in her head, and Felicity screwed her eyes closed as she grappled with this latest vile flaw in Matthew’s personality.

Confirmation, if ever she needed it, of just how low Matthew would stoop to get what he wanted. The clanging gates of the prison door banged ever more loudly as she further realised the murky depths of his personality. Proof that the extreme lengths she was taking to curtail him were necessary.

Very necessary.

‘My staff alerted me to what was going on,’ Luca went on, but Felicity was only half listening—too busy concentrating on her awful predicament to concern herself with small details. ‘You will remember I was actually sitting at the next table to you?’

‘Mmm.’ She gave a small shrug, a vague shake of her head, but as her blush came back for an encore Felicity knew she wasn’t fooling him. The earlier part of the evening was still fairly fresh in her mind, and six-foot-four of Latin good looks at the next table certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed—even with a rather over-attentive Matthew at her side. The white-hot look that had passed between them when their eyes had met last night was scorched with aching clarity onto her mind, but she certainly wasn’t about to inflate Luca’s ego by admitting it.

‘You ordered the non-alcoholic summer berry beverage that was on the menu; in fact you ordered three of them.’

‘Yes, but like I said I had those wretched vodkas, and then there was wine with dinner…’

‘Well, what you actually got was a questionable version of a strawberry daiquiri—and, more pointedly, three of them. Your partner made his way to the bar each time you ordered and told the bar staff you’d changed your mind. He also made very sure that he got a different member of staff each time, and it wasn’t until he tried to change your order for the fourth time that one of the other staff overheard him.’

Felicity ran a hand through her hair, furious with Matthew, but more importantly furious with herself for not realising what was going on, for being so naive as to think that the illicit two drinks she’d partaken of earlier could have had such a huge effect. But her fury was starting to take a new direction now. It was all very well for Luca to take the high moral ground, all very well for him to dictate how his guests behaved, to dash in uninvited and play the proverbial knight in shining armour, but he didn’t know the circumstances—Luca didn’t realise just how significant last night had been for her and, more importantly, her father. She wished Luca had damned well stayed out of it and just let the night run its awful, inevitable course.

At least it would have been over and done with.

‘I will be having a few stern words with Matthew this morning. If this is the type of behaviour he indulges in then perhaps he should look for other employment!’

A small groan escaped her lips. ‘Please don’t,’ Felicity begged. It was essential Luca stayed out of it, imperative she persuaded him to leave well alone. ‘He really didn’t mean it. You know what Matthew can be like.’

‘I have no idea what Matthew is like. How can I when I have met him two, maybe three times?’ Luca shrugged dismissively but his features sharpened as he saw the question in Felicity’s eyes. ‘Has Matthew been saying any different?’

Oh, Matthew had been telling another story, all right. According to Matthew, he had a hotline to Luca—a hotline he was more than prepared to use if Felicity didn’t toe the line. But that wasn’t the issue here, Felicity realised. The issue here was damage control. She simply couldn’t risk upsetting Matthew, couldn’t risk her parents’ stab at, if not eternal happiness, at least some semblance of peace.

Luca just had to believe her.

‘Matthew and I—’ Felicity started, her blush deepening with each awkward word. ‘Well, we were going to…’ Her eyes shot up, pleading for Luca to put a halt to this, to raise his hand and say that he didn’t need details, that he’d got the message.

But Luca didn’t. Instead he stood there haughtily, his lips firmly closed, looking right at her, her obvious discomfort at the subject not bothering him in the least. Sinking her eyes to the ground, she settled for the less daunting sight of his feet as she mumbled what she hoped would be the conclusion to this embarrassing subject.

‘We were going to get engaged…’ Her voice was barely audible now, trailing off into a low whisper as she hopefully began to conclude this most difficult conversation. Casting a nervous glance up she saw the confusion in his eyes, listened as he took in a breath, opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind midway and closed it again. ‘That’s why I needed a drink. I was nervous,’ Felicity explained patiently.

But Luca, it would appear, was having trouble with his own jigsaw. Shaking his head, he opened his mouth again. Only this time the words that came out had none of his usual assured tones; instead he sounded utterly perplexed. ‘Why would you be nervous? Why would you be so daunted by something so nice?’

‘I just was.’ Felicity shrugged. She certainly wasn’t about to tell Luca the more personal details, tell him that Matthew had made his intentions very clear. There would be no more reluctant kisses on her doorstep, no more hiding behind her never ending excuses. Matthew was going to claim what he assumed was rightly his.

And there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it.

Deciding she’d already said way too much, she stood up and attempted a haughty flick of her hair. ‘Let’s just leave it there, shall we? Could you please ring Housekeeping and have my dress sent up? I’d really like to get dressed.’ She stood for what felt like a full minute, and when Luca made no attempt to reach for the telephone gave a shrug. ‘Fine, it that’s the way you want to play it then I’ll do it myself.’ Picking up the receiver, she ran a finger down the numbers before her, ignoring the holes being burnt into her bare shoulder as Luca blatantly stared. She didn’t have to justify herself to him. If he wanted to go around playing the hero, he’d better just look for another damsel in distress.

‘Okay, I can understand you might have been a little uptight,’ Lucas conceded, resuming their discussion as if the most recent part of their conversation hadn’t even taken place. Felicity hesitated momentarily, her hand poised over the number nine digit on the telephone. ‘But why would Matthew want to get you drunk? What sort of a man would want to propose to a woman when she wouldn’t even be able to remember it the next morning?’

She let out a low, hollow laugh, and Luca watched as her cream shoulders stiffened momentarily, her slender hand shaking slightly as it hovered over the telephone. He had to strain to catch the resigned and weary words, imaging those full lips pulled into a taut strained line. ‘A determined one.’

The defeat in her voice, the utter exhaustion, stirred something within him. Suddenly his feelings towards Matthew, the so-called man who had annoyed him last night, shifted from distaste to disgust, from scorn to a black churning fury. But not a trace of it was betrayed in his voice. He realised that one misplaced word would have her back on the defensive, would have her marching out of his room and out of his life.

He didn’t want her to go.

The realisation astounded him. Last night he had been concerned, as worried as he would have been at seeing any guest, any woman, being taken advantage of, being beguiled in such a way. But it was over now. He had done his moral duty, averted the problem. She was sober now, able to make her own calls. If she wanted her dress, wanted to go back to that snake’s room, then why shouldn’t she? What could it possibly matter to him what this woman did with her life?

But it did.

‘You’re not seriously considering going back to Matthew after what he did to you last night?’

‘Look,’ Felicity snapped, forcing a very standoffish smile as she turned briefly to face him. ‘Thank you for your concern. As misguided as it was, I’m sure you meant well, but the truth is I knew what I was doing last night and I certainly didn’t need your so-called help.’

‘I beg to differ.’

Felicity’s eyes widened, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise as his delicious Italian accent was replaced by a rather upper crust English accent.

‘That is my London manager’s favourite saying,’ Luca responded, noting her surprise, but the momentary lapse in proceedings didn’t last long. The onslaught continued in thick heavily accented tones that had Felicity scorching with shame right down to her toenails which she stared at in preference to the overbearing ogre that stood over her. ‘The only sensible thing you did last night was to beg me for help. Me!’ he shouted, cupping her chin with his fingers and forcing her eyes up to him. ‘Perhaps you would like me to refresh your memory?’

‘Perhaps not.’ Felicity cringed, but her humour was entirely wasted on him.

‘A colleague diverted Matthew’s attention while I took you to one side and told you that your drinks were being spiked. You, Miss Conlon, promptly burst into tears and begged me to get rid of him, begged me for help, left me with no choice but to bring you up here.’

‘You didn’t have to do it, though!’ Felicity interjected, brushing his hand away from her and facing him unaided now, but Luca hadn’t finished yet.

‘Believe me, I wish I hadn’t bothered! Had there been a spare room in the hotel it would have been yours. Do you not think I had better things to do last night than play babysitter to you? Not only did I have a ballroom of guests to take care of, I had the press about to run a story—Damn!’