Hired: The Italian's Convenient Mistress

‘There was a car accident—it ran off the road and caught fire on impact.’ He gave a hopeless shrug. ‘I was at work when the hospital called—in the middle of a meeting. Normally I would not be disturbed, but my PA called me out, said this was a call I needed to take. I knew it would be bad. I had no idea how bad, though—a doctor told me that Rico, Guido’s father, was already dead, and that my sister was asking for me. I came straight away. Guido had been at a crèche and they’d brought him to the hospital.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘She knew she was dying—she had terrible burns—but she was able to talk. She waited for me to get there so she could tell me what she wanted, so she could tell me herself the things Guido likes…’

‘That was the list you were reading?’

He nodded, but it was a hopeless one. ‘I love my sister, I love my nephew, but I have no idea how they really lived. I saw them often, but I have no clue with day-today things, I’ve never even thought of having children…’

‘Is there anyone else?’ Ainslie blinked, glimpsing how impossible it must be for him—for his whole life to be turned around, to be so suddenly plunged into grief and told you were to be a father.

‘There was just my sister—our parents are dead.’

‘But her husband’s family…’ It was never going to be the easiest conversation to have—sitting with a stranger who was engulfed by grief and exhaustion—it was always going to be difficult. But, watching his face harden, hearing his sharp intake of breath, even if she didn’t know him at all, Ainslie knew she had said the wrong thing.

‘Never!’ The venom behind the single world had Ainslie reeling.

‘Soon they will be here. Already they are making noises about taking care of Guido, and noises are all I will let them be. They are not interested in him.’

‘But they say they want him?’ Ainslie frowned, her mouth opening to speak again, and then she got it. As he flicked his hand at their impressive surroundings, she answered in her head the question she hadn’t even asked yet.

Elijah answered it with words. ‘They want this. And the insurance pay-out—and the property Maria and Rico had in Italy…’ He glanced over to her. ‘And in case you are wondering—I do not need it…’ He drained his mug. ‘Neither do I need a toddler. Especially one who spits!’ In the pit of his grief he managed to smile at the memory, and then it faded; his voice was pensive when next it came. ‘I hope Rico knew that I did actually like him.’

She didn’t understand, but it wasn’t right to ask—wasn’t right to demand more information from a man who had lost so much, a man who had just been plunged into hell.

‘You should try and sleep,’ Ainslie offered instead.

‘Why?’ He stared back at her. ‘Somehow I do not believe that things will be better in the morning.’

‘They might…’ Ainslie attempted, but it was pretty futile.

‘Thank you…’ He said it again, only it was more determined now. He was back in control and, ready to face the challenge of what lay ahead, he stood up. ‘Thank you for explaining about the medicine and for helping me to get him to sleep. I will be fine now. Can I get you a taxi…?’

‘Actually…’ Ainslie ran a worried hand through her hair. She had been so consumed with his problems that for a little while she’d actually forgotten her own.

‘Do you know a number?’

‘Sorry?’

He was picking up the phone. ‘For the taxi—do you know a number?’

‘I can walk.’ Ainslie’s voice was a croak, but she cleared her throat. Surely a youth hostel would still be open? Surely?

‘You’re not walking!’ Elijah shook his head. ‘I will take…’ He must have remembered at that point the sleeping toddler upstairs, because his voice trailed off. ‘I insist you take a taxi.’ Which was easier said than done. First he had to find a telephone directory, and then, as Ainslie stood there, he punched in the numbers and looked over. ‘To where?’

‘The youth hostel.’

‘Youth hostel?’ He frowned at her skirt and boots, at her twenty-eight-year-old face and glanced at his watch. In those two small gestures he compounded every one of her fears—she wasn’t a backpacker, and nine p.m. on a dark December night was too late to start acting like one. ‘How long have you been staying there?’

‘I haven’t.’ Ainslie gave a tight shrug. ‘I was on my way there when we met. I’m actually from Australia…’

‘I have just come from Italy—first class,’ he added, ‘and I looked more dishevelled than you when I got off the plane.’

Somehow she doubted it, but she understood the point he was making.

‘Well, I’ve been here for three months. I have a job—had a job…’

‘Working with children?’

‘That’s right.’

‘But not now?’ She shook her head, loath to elaborate, but thankfully he sensed her unwillingness and didn’t push.

‘Stay.’ It was an offer, not a plea. The phone rested on his shoulder as he affirmed his offer. ‘Stay for tonight—as you say, tomorrow things may seem better.’

Ainslie opened her mouth to tell him why she couldn’t possibly—only nothing came out.

Even if a hostel was open, even if she could get in one, the thought of registering, the thought of starting again, of greeting strangers, lying in a bed in a room for six, held utterly no appeal.

‘Stay!’ Elijah said more firmly. ‘Guido is sick—it makes sense.’

It made no sense.

Not a single scrap of sense.

But somehow it did.

CHAPTER THREE

THOUGH he never voiced it, Ainslie knew and could understand that he didn’t want to be alone. Jangling with nerves after the day’s events, while simultaneously drooping with exhaustion, she sat on the sofa, tucked her legs under her and stifled a yawn as Elijah located two glasses and poured them both a vast brandy. Even though she didn’t particularly like the taste, she accepted it, screwing up her nose as she took a sip, the warmth spreading down her throat to her stomach. She knew there and then why it was called medicinal—for the first time since she’d caught Gemma in between the sheets the adrenaline that had propelled her dimmed slightly, and she actually relaxed a touch—till he asked her a question.

‘You said you worked with children?’

‘I’m a kindergarten teacher—well, I am in Australia. Here I’ve been working as a live-in nanny.’

‘Why?’ Elijah frowned.

‘Why not?’ Ainslie retorted—though he was hardly the first to ask. Why would she give up a perfectly nice job, walk out on her perfectly nice boyfriend, and travel to the other side of the world to be paid peanuts to live in someone else’s home and look after their kids?

‘What were you running away from?’

‘I wasn’t running…’ Ainslie bristled, and then, because he had been honest, somehow she could be more honest with this stranger than she had been with her own family. ‘I suppose I was running away—only I didn’t know from what at the time. I had a nice job, a lovely boyfriend, nice everything, really…’

‘But?’

‘Something wasn’t right.’ Ainslie gave a tight shrug. ‘It was nothing I could put my finger on, but it turns out my instincts were right.’

‘In what way?’