The Italian's Christmas Secret

‘Ready?’ she questioned as she sat cross-legged on the bed, with a blanket placed discreetly over her thighs as she faced him.

‘I guess,’ he growled.

They played Monopoly, which naturally he won—but then, he’d spent all his adult life trading property and had learnt early that there was no commodity more precious than land. But he was surprised when she suggested a quick game of poker and even more surprised by her skill with the cards.

Matteo wondered afterwards if he’d been distracted by knowing her legs were bare beneath the blanket. Or if he’d just spent too long gazing at her curling black lashes, which remarkably didn’t carry a trace of mascara. Because wasn’t the truth that he was finding his pocket-sized driver more fascinating with every moment which passed? She was certainly managing to keep her face poker-straight as she gazed at her cards and inexplicably he found himself longing to kiss those unsmiling lips.

He swallowed. Was she aware that her coolness towards him was fanning a sexual awareness which was growing fiercer by the second? He didn’t know—all he did know was that by the time they’d drunk most of the bottle of wine, she had beaten him hands-down and it was an unfamiliar experience.

He narrowed his eyes. ‘Who taught you to play like that?’

She shrugged. ‘Before I became a driver, I worked as a car mechanic—mostly with men,’ she added airily. ‘And they liked to play cards when the workshop was quiet.’

‘You worked as a car mechanic?’

‘You sound surprised.’

‘I am surprised. You don’t look strong enough to take a car to pieces.’

‘Appearances can be deceptive.’

‘They certainly can.’ He picked up the bottle and emptied out the last of the wine, noticing her fingers tremble as he handed her the glass. She must be feeling it too, he thought grimly—that almost tangible buzz of electricity when his hand brushed against hers. He crossed one leg over the other to hide the hard throb of his erection as he tried—and failed—to think of something which didn’t involve his lips and her body.

‘Mr Valenti,’ she said suddenly.

‘Matteo,’ he instructed silkily. ‘I thought we agreed we should be on first-name terms, given the somewhat unusual circumstances.’

‘Yes, we did, but I...

Keira’s words tailed away as he fixed her with a questioning look, not quite sure how to express her thoughts. The alcohol had made her feel more daring than usual—something which she’d fully exploited during that game of cards. She’d known it probably wasn’t the most sensible thing to defeat Matteo Valenti and yet something had made her want to show him she wasn’t as useless as he seemed to think she was. But she was now aware of her bravado slipping away. Just as she was aware of the tension which had been building in the cramped bedroom ever since she’d emerged from the bathroom.

Her breasts were aching and her inside-out panties were wet. Did he realise that? Perhaps he was used to women reacting that way around him but she wasn’t one of those women. She’d been called frigid by men before, when really she’d been scared—scared of doing what her mother had always warned her against. But it had never been a problem before, because close contact with the opposite sex had always left her cold and the one time she’d ended up in bed with a man he had been snoring in a drunken stupor almost before his head had hit the pillow. So how was Matteo managing to make her feel like this—as if every pore were screaming for him to touch her?

She swallowed. ‘We haven’t discussed what we’re going to do about sleeping arrangements.’

‘What did you have in mind?’

‘Well, it looks as if we’ve got to share a bed—so obviously we’ve got to come to some sort of compromise.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘And I was thinking we might sleep top and tail.’

‘Top and tail?’ he repeated.

‘You know.’

‘Obviously I don’t,’ he said impatiently. ‘Or I wouldn’t have asked.’

Awkwardly, she wriggled her shoulders. ‘It’s easy. I sleep with my head at one end of the bed and you sleep with yours at the other. We used to do it when I was in the Girl Guides. Sometimes people even put pillows between them, so they can keep to their side and there’s no encroaching on the other person’s space.’ She forged on but it wasn’t easy when he was staring at her with a growing look of incredulity. ‘Unless you’re prepared to spend the night in that armchair?’

Matteo became aware of the hardness of the overstuffed seat which made him feel as if he were sitting on spirals of iron. ‘You honestly think I’m going to spend the night sitting in this damned chair?’

She looked at him uncertainly. ‘You want me to take the chair?’

‘And keep me awake all night while you shift around trying to get comfortable? No. I do not. I’ll tell you exactly what’s going to happen, cara mia. We’re going to share that bed as the nice lady suggested. But don’t worry, I will break the habit of a lifetime by not sleeping naked and you can keep the sweater on. Capisci? And you can rest assured that you’ll be safe from my intentions because I don’t find you in the least bit attractive.’

Which wasn’t exactly true—but why make a grim situation even worse than it already was?

He stood up and as he began to undo the belt of his trousers, he saw her lips fall open. ‘Better close those big blue eyes,’ he suggested silkily, a flicker of amusement curving his lips as he watched all the colour drain from her cheeks. ‘At least until I’m safely underneath the covers.’

CHAPTER THREE (#u6c9c9aa9-502e-5c2a-8b3e-405ac413e69f)

KEIRA LAY IN the darkness nudging her tongue over lips which felt as dry as if she’d been running a marathon. She’d tried everything. Breathing deeply. Counting backwards from a thousand. Relaxing her muscles from the toes up. But up until now nothing had worked and all she could think about was the man in bed beside her. Matteo Valenti. In bed beside her. She had to keep silently repeating it to herself to remind herself of the sheer impossibility of the situation—as well as the undeniable temptation which was fizzing over her.

Sheer animal warmth radiated from his powerful frame, making her want to squirm with an odd kind of frustration. She kept wanting to fidget but she forced herself to lie as still as possible, terrified of waking him up. She kept telling herself that she’d been up since six that morning and should be exhausted, but the more she reached out for sleep, the more it eluded her.

Was it because that unwilling glimpse of his body as he was about to climb into bed had reinforced all the fantasies she’d been trying not to have? And yes, he’d covered up with a T-shirt and a pair of silky boxers—but they did nothing to detract from his hard-packed abdomen and hair-roughened legs. Each time she closed her eyes she could picture all that hard, honed muscle and a wave of hunger shivered over her body, leaving her almost breathless with desire.

The sounds coming from downstairs didn’t help. The dinner which Mary had mentioned was in full flow and bothering her in ways she’d prefer not to think about. She could hear squeals of excitement above the chatter and, later, the heartbreaking strains of children’s voices as they started singing carols. She could picture them all by a roaring log fire with red candles burning on the mantle above, just like on the front of a Christmas card, and Keira felt a wave of wistfulness overwhelm her because she’d never had that.

‘Can’t sleep?’ The Italian’s silky voice penetrated her spinning thoughts and she could tell from the shifting weight on the mattress that Matteo Valenti had turned his head to talk to her.

Keira swallowed. Should she pretend to be asleep? But what would be the point of that? She suspected he would see through her ruse immediately—and wasn’t it a bit of a relief not to have to keep still any more? ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘Can’t you?’

He gave a short laugh. ‘I wasn’t expecting to.’

‘Why not?’

His voice dipped. ‘I suspect you know exactly why not. It’s a somewhat unusual situation to be sharing a bed with an attractive woman and having to behave in such a chaste manner.’

Keira was glad of the darkness which hid her sudden flush of pleasure. Had the gorgeous and arrogant Matteo Valenti actually called her attractive? And was he really implying that he was having difficulty keeping his hands off her? Of course, he might only be saying it to be polite—but he hadn’t exactly been the model of politeness up until now, had he?

‘I thought you said you didn’t find me attractive.’

‘That’s what I was trying to convince myself.’

In the darkness, she gave a smile of pleasure. ‘I could go downstairs and see if I could get us some more tea.’

‘Please.’ He groaned. ‘No more tea.’

‘Then I guess we’ll have to resign ourselves to a sleepless night.’ She plumped up her pillow and sighed as she collapsed back against it. ‘Unless you’ve got a better suggestion?’

Matteo gave a frustrated smile because her question sounded genuine. She wasn’t asking it in such a way which demanded he lean over and give her the answer with his lips. Just as she wasn’t accidentally brushing one of those pretty little legs against his and tantalising him with her touch. He swallowed. Not that her virtuous attitude made any difference because he’d been hard from the moment he’d first slipped beneath the covers, and he was rock-hard now. Hard for a woman with terrible hair whose incompetence was responsible for him being marooned in this hellhole in the first place! A different kind of frustration washed over him as the lumpy mattress dug into his back until he reminded himself that apportioning blame would serve little purpose.

‘I guess we could talk,’ he said.

‘What about?’

‘What do women like best to talk about?’ he questioned sardonically. ‘You could tell me something about yourself.’

‘And what good will that do?’