Her First-Date Honeymoon

It had to be.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_1eaa7862-fc18-5fde-bbdc-150ca049fa4a)

THE FOLLOWING DAY, mid-morning sunshine poured into Matteo’s office. He stood up from his desk and stretched his back, grimacing at the tightness at the bottom of his spine.

They said bad things came in threes. Well, he had just reached his quota. First, his exasperating but gifted designer had publicly insulted his most valued clients. Then his grandmother had invited a stranger into his home. And now his event co-ordinator for the Chinese clients’ trip had gone into early labour.

His designer was already in rehab.

He would have to put in extra hours to ensure the China trip ran perfectly...which meant even less sleep than usual.

And as for Signorina Fox... Well, he had news for her.

He walked down the corridor of the palazzo’s first floor, the piano nobile, his heels echoing on the heritage terrazzo flooring. He hadn’t seen or heard from Signorina Fox all morning. He had a sneaking suspicion that she was deliberately staying out of his way in the hope that he might let her stay.

The lounge balcony windows were open. Shouts of laughter and passionate calls tumbled into the room from outside. Stepping into the early springtime sunshine, he came to an abrupt halt.

Crouched over the balcony, her chin resting on her folded arms Emma was focused on the canal, oblivious to the fact that her short skirt had risen up to give him an uninterrupted view of her legs. Legs encased in thick woollen tights that shouldn’t look sexy. But her legs were so long, so toned, that for a brief moment the ludicrous idea of allowing her to stay and act as a distraction from all his worries flitted through his brain.

He coughed noisily.

She popped up and twisted around to look at him. A hand tugged at her red skirt. Over the skirt she was wearing another polo-necked jumper, today in a light-knit navy blue. Her chestnut hair hung over one shoulder in a thick plait.

‘I hope you found my note?’

‘Thank you—yes...it was a lovely breakfast.’

The exhaustion of last night was gone from beneath her eyes. She gave him a can we try to act normal? smile and then gestured to the canal.

‘There’s the most incredible flotilla sailing up the canal—you must come and see.’ Her smile was transformed into a broad beam, matching the excitement in her eyes. She beckoned him over.

He should get back to work. But it seemed churlish to refuse to look. The canal was teeming with boats, and onlookers were crowding the fondamente—the canal pathways.

‘It’s the opening parade of the Carnival,’ he explained.

For a few minutes he forgot everything that was wrong in his life as he joined her in watching the parade of gondolas and ceremonial boats sail past. Most of the occupants, in flamboyant seventeenth-and eighteenth-century costume, waved and shouted greetings in response to Emma’s enthusiastic waves.

Seeing the contrast between her upbeat mood now and the sobs that had emanated from his bathroom last night twisted his stomach, along with the memory of his grandmother’s words this morning. He had called her with the intention of lambasting her, only to be pulled up short when he’d learned that she had gone home because one of the homeless men she helped had been involved in an accident, and that she had helped Emma because she had found her in a desperate state in a café yesterday.

He pushed away the guilt starting to gnaw a hole in his gut. He had enough problems of his own. Anyway, he didn’t do cohabitation. He had never shared his home with anyone. And he wasn’t about to start with an emotional runaway bride.

Below them, the regatta started to trail off.

‘I have found alternative accommodation for you in the Hotel Leopolda.’

Her smile dropped from her face like a stone sinking in water. ‘Hotel Leopolda? The five-star hotel close to St Mark’s Square?’

‘Yes.’

She stared back at the canal, a small grimace pulling on her mouth. ‘I can’t afford to stay there.’

‘I’ll take care of it.’

She stepped away from him before meeting his eye. ‘I said it last night—I’m not taking your money.’

‘I can appreciate how you feel. If it makes you happier, you can repay me some time in the future.’

‘No.’ Those hazel eyes sucked him in, dumped a whole load of guilt on his soul and spat him back out again.

‘I’ll make some calls myself—check the internet again. I’ll find somewhere suitable,’ she said.

This woman was starting to drive him crazy. He had had to use all his influence to secure her a room. He doubted she would find anywhere by herself.

‘I want to resolve this now. My event co-ordinator for the Chinese trip has gone into early labour. I’ll be tied up with organising all the final details for the visit for the rest of the day.’

She stepped back towards him, her crossed arms dropping to her sides. Concern flooded her eyes. ‘I hope she’ll be okay. How many weeks pregnant is she?’

He had no idea. It had been a sizeable bump. Once he had even seen a tiny foot kick hard against the extended bump during a meeting. It had been one of the most incredible things he had ever seen.

That image had haunted him for days afterwards. Catching him unawares in meetings, distracting his concentration. Bringing a hollow sensation to his chest, a tightness to his belly, knowing he would never see the first miraculous stirrings of his own child. Knowing he would never be a father. Knowing he would choose the empty feeling that came with that knowledge over the certain pain of letting someone into his life, of risking his heart in a relationship.

‘I’m not sure...eight months?’

Did she have to look at him so critically? Suddenly he felt he had to defend himself. ‘I asked for flowers to be sent to her.’

‘I don’t think flowers are allowed in hospitals these days. Anyway, I reckon flowers are the last thing on her mind right now.’ She threw him another critical stare before adding, ‘I hope she and her baby will be okay.’

Why, all of a sudden, was he the villain in all of this? ‘Of course I do too. My employees’ welfare is of great importance to me. It’s why they all receive a comprehensive healthcare package.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Her tone didn’t match her words. Her tone implied he was a close relative of Wall Street’s Gordon Gekko.

‘About your accommodation...’

‘How long are your clients here for?’

Hadn’t she heard him? This conversation was supposed to be about her leaving. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Have you someone to take over from your event planner?’

A tight dart of pain prodded his lower back. He stretched with a quick movement, but it brought little relief. ‘No. My event management team are already stretched, co-ordinating the upcoming spring/summer shows. Most of the team are already in New York, getting ready for the shows there.’

She pulled her lips between her teeth as if in thought. When they popped back out they formed an even fuller pout, had turned a more sensual red than usual. Emphasising their cupid’s bow shape. She had a beautiful mouth...

A sudden urge to take her in his arms and taste those lips gripped him. Maybe he was more stressed than he’d realised?

* * *

Emma’s mind whirled. Could she drum up the courage to suggest she take over the event planner’s role? Work for Matteo Vieri? Without question it was what every ambitious marketing assistant dreamt of. She should be genuflecting right now in front of this business legend; this marketing genius, instead of deliberately trying to antagonise him. What was that about?