From Florence With Love: Valtieri's Bride / Lorenzo's Reward / The Secret That Changed Everything

He hesitated at the door, and then just when she thought he was going to walk away, he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers, sending rivers of ice and fire dancing over her skin.

It was a slow kiss, lingering, thoughtful, their mouths the only point of contact, but then the velvet stroke of his tongue against her lips made her gasp softly and part them for him, and everything changed.

He gave a muffled groan and deepened the kiss, searching the secret recesses of her mouth, his tongue finding hers and dancing with it, retreating, tangling, coaxing until she thought her legs would collapse.

Then he eased away, breaking the contact so slowly so that for a tiny second their lips still clung.

‘Buonanotte, Lydia,’ he murmured unevenly, his breath warm against her mouth, and then straightening slowly, he took a step back and turned briskly away, gathering up the glasses and the bottle as he went without a backwards glance.

She watched him go, then closed the curtains and undressed, leaving the doors open. The night was warm still, the light breeze welcome, and she lay there in the darkness, her fingertips tracing her lips, and thought about his kiss …

He must have been mad to kiss her!

Crazy. Insane. If he hadn’t walked away, he would have taken her right there, standing on the terrace in full view of anyone who walked past.

He headed for the stairs, but then hesitated. He wouldn’t sleep—but what else could he do? His office was next to her room, and he didn’t trust himself that close to her. The pool, his first choice of distraction for the sheer physical exertion it offered, was too close to her room, and she slept with her doors open. She’d hear him, come and investigate, and …

So not the pool, then.

Letting out a long, weary sigh, he headed slowly up the stairs to his room, and sat on the bed, staring at the photograph of Angelina on his bedside table.

He’d loved her—really, deeply and enduringly loved her. But she was gone, and now, as he looked at her face, another face seemed superimposed on it, a face with laughing eyes and a soft, full bottom lip that he could still taste.

He groaned and fell back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. The day after tomorrow, she’d be gone, he told himself, and then had to deal with the strange and unsettling sense of loss he felt at the thought that he was about to lose her.

She didn’t sleep well.

Her dreams had been vivid and unsettling, and as soon as she heard signs of life, she got up, showered and put on her rinsed-out underwear, and then sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed thoughtfully as she studied her clothes.

She couldn’t join them for dinner—not if their neighbours were coming. She’d seen Elisa, seen the expensive and elegant clothes she’d worn for travelling back home from her daughter’s house, and the only things she had with her were the jeans and top she’d been wearing now for two days, including all the cooking she’d done yesterday.

No way could she wear them to dinner, even if she’d earn Gio’s undying gratitude and give Elisa something else to think about! She put the clothes on, simply because she had absolutely no choice apart from the wedding dress Carlotta had stuffed in a bag for her and which she yet had to burn, and went outside and round the corner to the kitchen.

Carlotta was there, already making headway on the lunch preparations, and the children were sitting at the table eating breakfast. For a slightly crazy moment, she wondered if they could tell what she’d been dreaming about, if the fact that she’d kissed their father was written all over her face.

She said good morning to them, in her best Italian learned yesterday from Francesca, asked them how they were and then went over to Carlotta. ‘Buongiorno, Carlotta,’ she said softly, and Carlotta blushed and smiled at her and patted her cheek.

‘Buongiorno, signorina,’ she said. ‘Did you have good sleep?’

‘Very good,’ she said, trying not to think of the dreams and blushing slightly anyway. ‘What can I do to help you?’

‘No, no, you sit. I can do it.’

‘You know I can’t do that,’ she chided softly. She stuck a mug under the coffee machine, pressed the button and waited, then added milk and went back to Carlotta, sipping the hot, fragrant brew gratefully. ‘Oh, that’s lovely. Right. What shall I do first?’

Carlotta gave in. ‘We need to cut the meat, and the bread, and—’

‘Just like yesterday?’

‘Si.’

‘So I’ll do that, and you can make preparations for tonight. I know you have dinner to cook for the family as well as for the workers.’

Her brow creased, looking troubled, and Lydia could tell she was worried. Exhausted, more like. ‘Look, let me do this, and maybe I can give you a hand with that, too?’ she offered, but that was a step too far. Carlotta straightened her gnarled old spine and plodded to the fridge.

‘I do it,’ she said firmly, and so Lydia gave in and concentrated on preparing lunch for sixty people in the shortest possible time, so she could move on to cooking the pasta sauce for the evening shift with Maria. At least that way Carlotta would be free to concentrate on dinner.

Massimo found her in the kitchen at six, in the throes of draining gnocci for the workers, and she nearly dropped the pan. Crazy. Ridiculous, but the sight of him made her heart pound and she felt like a gangly teenager, awkward and confused because of the kiss.

‘Are you in here again?’ he asked, taking the other side of the huge pan and helping her tip it into the enormous strainer.

‘Looks like me,’ she said with a forced grin, but he just frowned and avoided her eyes, as if he, too, was feeling awkward and uncomfortable about the kiss.

‘Did you speak to the hospital?’ he asked, and she realised he would be glad to get rid of her. She’d been nothing but trouble for him, and she was unsettling the carefully constructed and safe status quo he’d created around them all.

‘Yes. I’m fine to travel,’ she said, although it wasn’t quite true. They’d said they needed to examine her, and when she’d said she was too busy, they’d fussed a bit but what could they do? So she’d booked a flight. ‘I’ve got a seat on a plane at three tomorrow afternoon from Pisa,’ she told him, and he frowned again.

‘Really? You didn’t have to go so soon,’ he said, confusing her even more.

‘It’s not soon. It’ll be five days—that’s what they said, and I’ve been under your feet long enough.’

And any longer, she realised, and things were going to happen between them. There was such a pull every time she was with him, and that kiss last night—

She thrust the big pot at him. ‘Here, carry the gnocci outside for me. I’ll bring the sauce.’

He followed her, set the food down for the workers and stood at her side, dishing up.

‘So can I persuade you to join us for dinner?’ he asked, but she shook her head.

‘I’ve got nothing to wear,’ she said, feeling safe because he couldn’t argue with that, but she was wrong.

‘You’re about the same size as Serena. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you borrowed something from her wardrobe. She always leaves something here. Carlotta will show you.’

‘Carlotta’s trying to prepare a meal for ten people this evening, Massimo. She doesn’t have time to worry about clothes for me.’

‘Then I’ll take you,’ he said, and the moment the serving was finishing, he hustled her back into the house before she could argue.

He was right. She and Serena were about the same size, something she already knew because she’d borrowed her costume to swim in, and she found a pair of black trousers that were the right length with her flat black pumps, and a pretty top that wasn’t in the first flush of youth but was nice enough.

She didn’t want to take anything too special, but she didn’t think Serena would mind if she borrowed that one, and it was good enough, surely, for an interloper?

She went back to the kitchen, still in her jeans and T-shirt, and found Carlotta sitting at the table with her head on her arms, and Roberto beside her wringing his hands.

‘Carlotta?’

‘She is tired, signorina,’ he explained worriedly. ‘Signora Valtieri has many people for dinner, and my Carlotta …’

‘I’ll do it,’ she said quickly, sitting down and taking Carlotta’s hands in hers. ‘Carlotta, tell me what you were going to cook them, and I’ll do it.’