His For Christmas: Christmas in Da Conti's Bed / His Until Midnight / The Most Expensive Night of Her Life

Alannah sucked in a breath, trying not to be flattered at his persistence, but it wasn’t easy. Because she had been dreading this meeting. Dreading and yet longing for it, all at the same time. Ever since she’d slipped out of his Mayfair apartment on Tuesday she’d told herself that it would be safer to stay away from Niccolò and not pursue the affair any further. She liked him. She liked him way more than was sensible for what she was sure he’d only ever intended to be a casual hook-up. And she didn’t do casual. Just as she didn’t do the kind of affair which would end up with her getting her heart smashed into a hundred little pieces.

‘You’re my boss, Niccolò,’ she said.

‘I haven’t lost sight of that fact, mia tentatrice. But what does that have to do with anything?’

‘You know very well. It’s…unprofessional.’

He gave a soft laugh. ‘You don’t think we might already have crossed that boundary when you lay gasping underneath me for most of the night?’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘And on top of me at one point, if my memory serves me well.’

‘Stop it,’ she whispered, feeling colour flooding into her cheeks. ‘That’s exactly what I’m talking about. It blurs the lines and confuses things. I’m trying to concentrate on my work and I can’t when you—’

‘Can’t stop wanting a rerun?’

‘A rerun is what you do with movies. And it’s a bad idea.’

‘Why?’

She sighed. ‘What happened last week was…’ Her words tailed off. How best to describe it? The most amazing sex she’d ever had? Well, yes. She had certainly never realised it could be so intense, or so powerful. But there had been another blissful side to that night which was far more worrying. She’d realised that she could get used to waking up with Niccolò lying asleep beside her, his arms wrapped tightly around her. Just as she could get used to thinking about him at odd moments of the day and wishing he were there to kiss her. And those kind of daydreams would get her nowhere.

Because where would that leave her when the whole thing imploded? She’d just be another heartbroken woman crying into her gin and tonic, trying to resist the urge to send him a ‘casual’ late-night text. She would run the risk of making herself vulnerable and she wasn’t going to let that happen. She felt a new resolve steal over her. ‘A mistake,’ she said.

‘A mistake,’ he repeated.

‘Maybe that’s a bad way to put it. It was obviously very enjoyable.’ She pushed the cushion away and forced herself to face the truth, no matter how unpalatable it was. ‘But the fact remains that you don’t really like me. You told me that.’

He smiled. ‘I like you a lot more now.’

‘You described what you felt for me as, and I quote—“a wildness”. You made me sound like a mild version of the bubonic plague.’

‘I don’t think any plague feels quite like this—except maybe for the fever in my blood when I close my eyes at night and find it impossible to sleep because I can’t get you out of my mind.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘And you look incredibly beautiful when you’re being defiant. Do you do it because you know how much it turns me on?’

‘It’s not defiance for the sake of it,’ she said. ‘It’s defiance for a reason. I’m not doing it to try to entice you.’ She forced herself to say it. To put the words out there instead of having them nagging away inside her. ‘This relationship isn’t going anywhere. We both know that.’

‘So you’re not pregnant?’

His words completely shattered her fragile façade and she stared at him, her heart pounding. During the day, when she was busy working, it was easy to push that thought to the back of her mind. It was at night-time when it became impossible. That was when the fear flooded through her body as she tried to imagine just how she would cope with having Niccolò da Conti’s baby. That was when she had to fight to stop herself imagining a downy little black head, glugging away contentedly at her breast.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It’s too early to do a test.’

‘Which means we may be about to be parents together, sì? I think that constitutes some sort of relationship, don’t you?’

‘Not the best kind,’ she said.

‘Maybe not. But I need to know that if you are pregnant—if you are—whether I am the only man in the frame who could be the father.’ His black eyes burned into her, but he must have seen her flinch because his voice softened by a fraction. ‘Is that such an unreasonable request?’

She met his gaze, telling herself that in the circumstances he had every right to ask. But that didn’t make it hurt any less and some of that hurt came spilling out.

‘Yes. You are the only man in the frame. Did you think that because of my previous line of work that there would be a whole load of contenders?’ She shook her head in despair. ‘You really are fond of stereotypes, aren’t you, Niccolò? Well, for your information, there isn’t. If you really must know, I could count my previous lovers on one hand and still have some fingers free—and there’s been no one in my life for the last three years.’

Niccolò let out the breath he’d been holding, unprepared for the powerful hit of pleasure which flooded through his body in response to her words. He was the only man in the frame. There had been no one else in her life for the past three years.

He stared at her, his eyes taking in the way she was illuminated in the harsh winter light. Her thick hair looked blue-black, like the feathers of a raven. He swallowed. Dai capelli corvini.

In her jeans and loose shirt she shouldn’t have looked anything special, but somehow she looked unbelievably beautiful. Against her hair, her skin was creamy and her pallor emphasised the dramatic blue of her eyes. A little brooch in the shape of a dragon-fly glittered on her lapel and suddenly he found himself envying the proximity of that worthless piece of jewellery to her body.

What if there were a baby?

His mouth hardened.

He would cross that bridge when he came to it.

The shrill sound of the doorbell shattered the silence.

‘That’ll be one of the painters,’ she said. ‘He rang up to say he’d left his keys behind.’ Rising to her feet, she walked over and picked up a shoal of silver keys from where they lay on another window seat. ‘I won’t be long.’

Alannah was aware of his eyes burning into her as she left the room. Her shoes were squeaking as she went to open the front door where one of the painters stood. There were four of them in total and they’d been working around the clock—and although she’d stopped short of making cups of tea for them, she’d been friendly enough. This one had plaster dust in his hair and he was grinning.

She forced a smile as she held out the clump of keys. ‘Here you go, Gary.’

But after he’d taken them and shoved them into his dust-covered jeans, he caught hold of her wrist. His big, calloused fingers curled around her skin and his face had suddenly gone very pink. ‘I didn’t realise you were the Alannah Collins,’ he said suddenly.

Her heart sank as she snatched her hand away because she knew what was coming next. She wondered if it would be better to call his bluff or to slam the door in his face. But there were only a few days of the project left and it was nearly Christmas…why alienate one of the workforce unless it was absolutely necessary?

‘Will there be anything else?’ she questioned pointedly. ‘Because I have work to do.’

‘The schoolgirl,’ he said thickly. ‘With the big—’

A figure seemed to propel itself out of nowhere and it took a moment for Alannah to realise it was Niccolò and he was launching himself at Gary with a look of undiluted rage on his face.

Grabbing hold of the workman’s shirt collar, he half lifted him from the ground and shoved his face very close.

‘Che talii bastardu?’ he spat out. ‘Ti scippo locchi e o core!’

‘Niccolò!’ protested Alannah faintly, but he didn’t seem to be listening.

‘How dare you speak to a woman like that?’ he demanded. ‘What’s your name?’

The man blanched. ‘G-Gary.’

‘Gary what?’

‘G-Gary Harkness.’

‘Well, take it from me that you won’t ever work in this city again, Gary Harkness—I shall make sure of that.’ Releasing the shirt collar, Niccolò pushed him away and the man staggered a little. ‘Now get out of here—get out before I beat your worthless body to a piece of pulp.’

Alannah didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone look so petrified as the workman turned and ran down the corridor towards the elevator.

She lifted her gaze to Niccolò and met the furious blaze firing from his eyes as he clicked the door shut.