The Boselli Bride

The Boselli Bride
Susanne James

The English rose and her Latin lover When devilishly handsome Giovanni Boselli sees prim and proper Emily strolling the cobbled streets of Rome he begins to undress her with his eyes – she is simply irresistible! Emily is stunned to be noticed by Giovanni, for his roguish smile and dark eyes make her pulse quicken. She came to Rome for business, and the last thing she expected was to be seduced. But her admirer isn’t just any man – he’s the notorious heir to the Boselli fortune!

Her mind was constantly tormented by the recollection of those few moments on the river. Giovanni’s magnetic animal energy as his lips had locked onto hers, the demonstration of his physical need for her, had shaken her equilibrium.

And the short-lived incident had left her vulnerable and open, hinting as it did of undreamed-of passion. She knew that despite all her reservations she was longing for something else-something even more beautiful with Giovanni. She had been kissed many, many times before, but not like that. It was the air of breathless intensity enveloping them which had excited her beyond all imagining. How was this all going to end?

Susanne James has enjoyed creative writing since childhood, completing her first-sadly unpublished—novel by the age of twelve. She has three grown-up children who were, and are, her pride and joy, who all live happily in Oxfordshire with their families. She was always happy to put the needs of her family before her ambition to write seriously, although along the way some published articles for magazines and newspapers helped to keep the dream alive!

Susanne’s big regret is that her beloved husband is no longer here to share the pleasure of her recent success. She now shares her life with Toffee, her young Cavalier King Charles spaniel, who decides when it’s time to get up (early) and when a walk in the park is overdue!

Recent titles by the same author:

THE PLAYBOY OF PENGARROTH HALL

THE BRITISH BILLIONAIRE’S INNOCENT BRIDE

THE MILLIONAIRE’S CHOSEN BRIDE

THE BRITISH BILLIONAIRE AFFAIR

The Boselli Bride

By

Susanne James

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/)

CHAPTER ONE

‘WHY don’t you go back to the hotel, Coral, and have a lie down…? It is pretty stifling today.’ Emily glanced sympathetically at her friend as they sauntered along the sunhot streets of the capital.

‘I think “pretty stifling” is a bit of an understatement—it must be all of forty degrees,’ Coral said plaintively, taking off her hat for a second to wipe perspiration from her forehead. She sighed. ‘Perhaps I will get a cab and go back…Do you have much more to do, Ellie?’

‘Not really-but I’ll look in on one more place before I call it a day,’ Emily replied. She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll be back before five o’clock, and then there’ll be time for me to have a rest and a shower before we find somewhere for dinner.’

The two girls were staying at a small hotel in Rome on the outskirts of Trastevere. Emily was on one of her normal working assignments, where she had the task of vetting certain hotels and restaurants for the travel firm who employed her, and this was the first time she’d ever been accompanied abroad while on business. But Coral’s long-term boyfriend, Steve, had recently dumped her and, in an attempt to cheer her friend up, Emily had suggested she come to Rome, too. ‘A complete change will do you good, Coral,’ she’d said and, after a little persuasion, Coral had agreed.

Although her grasp of Italian was rather poor, Emily was determined to become sufficiently fluent to make herself well understood by the staff at all the places she’d been asked to investigate—while also expecting that their English could cope with the continuous influx of visitors from Britain.

Stopping for a moment to buy herself a cappuccino ice cream, she started to stroll up a side street which appeared almost completely shaded by the tall buildings on either side. She paused briefly to lick her tongue quickly around and around the smooth, creamy ice cream as it threatened to melt before she could eat it, then wandered on again somewhat listlessly. Perhaps she should have gone back to the hotel as well, she thought—but there was this one other restaurant she needed to visit before finishing for the day.

Soaking up the atmosphere of the ancient city, she wondered whether her parents had actually walked up this very street when they had done all their travelling. The thought of her mother, who had died so suddenly four years ago when she, Emily, was twenty-one, made the girl’s eyes mist and she swallowed a painful lump in her throat. Even though her father, Hugh, had picked up the pieces of his life and carried on alone, she knew that he didn’t find it easy…They’d been such a close couple, and wonderful parents to her and her brother, Paul. Paul was just a few years older than her, but he had a rather serious nature and outlook on life—which might be partly explained by his work as a lawyer. Emily wished that he was here now, so that she could give him a hug.

Lost in her own thoughts, her reverie was brought to a sudden—and ignominious—halt as she almost fell over someone sitting on the pavement outside a small shop whose open-fronted entrance exhibited a colourful array of pottery and glass. Half-sitting, half-lying on a canvas chair with his long legs stretched out nonchalantly in front of him, his large-brimmed hat completely shading his face, he might have been fast asleep because he made no discernible movement as Emily paused to glance at the wares on offer. Slightly embarrassed at how close she’d come to nearly sitting on his lap, she cleared her throat and busied herself with picking up one or two items, even though she had no intention of buying anything. If she’d purchased something in every place she’d been sent to since working abroad, her small flat would be hopelessly overloaded. But then—there was always room for just one more jug, she thought.

Venturing just a little way inside the shop, she gingerly picked up a round, chunky marmalade jar—her father had started making his own marmalade, and she thought how he would love this.

‘Unique.’ The man’s voice was cruelly seductive.

Turning quickly, Emily found herself looking way up into the blackest of black eyes—eyes which twinkled mischievously into her soft grey ones…The inert figure outside had come to life! Standing now, he had removed his hat and his thick, dark and lustrous hair hung haphazardly over his forehead, while the deeply tanned skin of his outrageously handsome face shone slightly with perspiration.

‘I’m sorry…?’ Emily found herself fluttering inside like a silly schoolgirl! Come on, she thought, this isn’t the first Italian male you’ve met! Get a grip!

‘Unique,’ he repeated, averting his gaze from hers just long enough to pick up one of the jars and to slowly turn it around in his long, sensuous fingers. ‘Each one unique.’

Emily smiled inwardly. He was a man of few words, his somewhat sparse way of communicating clearly suggesting that his English was about as good as her Italian.

‘They’re…very…attractive,’ she murmured, speaking slowly. ‘How much…?’

Now he smiled down, his glistening, perfect teeth enlivening the density of his tan. Without taking his eyes from her, he pointed to the small price tag at the base of the jar, raising one eyebrow quizzically.

‘Of course—I should have spotted that,’ Emily said quickly, taking her purse from her bag.

‘No problem.’ He spoke carefully—and Emily thought, well, he’d obviously learned the necessary phrases to get by. So far he’d only uttered about six words, but he was doing all right. Quite well enough to run this small, unassuming shop. She smiled up at him, handing over her euros, conscious that his fingers seemed to linger on hers for several seconds longer than was necessary but admitting that she’d not objected to the feel of his hand on hers like that. He was not offensive in any way, just…just warm…warm and even affectionate. What she had seemed to need just then.

She watched as he carefully wrapped the jar in brown paper before putting it into a small bag. He handed it to her slowly.

‘For you?’ he asked.

Emily couldn’t help smiling at him again. ‘No. A gift,’ she replied, her comments as economically spoken as his. ‘For my father. He…he likes to make his own marmalade these days.’ Now why had she bothered to tell the man that? He was only being polite. He didn’t need to know her business.

‘Ah, yes.’ The dark eyes grew solemn for a moment. ‘Your father…He is alone, yes?’

She hesitated. ‘My mother died. Not so long ago,’ she said quietly, and suddenly his brown hand caught hers again and squeezed it gently-not like before, but impulsively, sympathetically.

‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured, letting her go and moving away. Then his eyes twinkled again and the moment had gone.

Emily turned decisively. ‘Thank you very much…for the jar,’ she said.

He bowed his head slightly to one side. ‘You are very welcome,’ he replied formally.

Emily walked away and up the street, admitting that she felt strange inside. What on earth was the matter-had she got sunstroke? But that unlooked-for encounter with possibly the most overtly sensuous Italian male she’d ever spoken to had shaken her up. Had made her feel quite giddy. What on earth had they put in that ice cream?

With slightly narrowed eyes he watched her as she walked away. Of course he’d seen her coming up the street towards him a few minutes ago, his natural antennae homing in on her delectable appearance, on the cool, straight dress just above the knee, revealing gently tanned slim legs, her long fair hair falling casually onto her shoulders, her glitzy strappy sandals twinkling in the heat as she strolled. She was obviously in no hurry, he’d thought as he’d observed her enjoying her ice cream. She’d paused briefly a couple of times as she’d licked at the ice cream, then he’d watched as she’d nibbled at the last piece of the biscuit before taking a tissue from her bag to wipe her lips. He’d recognized at once that she was not of his own nationality—probably English, he’d thought, or German—or Swedish. A familiar shiver of desire had rippled right down his spine as he’d seen the slight figure come nearer, and he’d deliberately lowered his head even further on his chest while still maintaining his undisturbed scrutiny of her. And then she’d given him the perfect opportunity to come and stand close to her as she’d stopped to examine some of the merchandise on display. And to buy something. He had taken his time wrapping up what she had chosen, inhaling the light, tantalizing drift of her perfume.

Now, he sighed as he watched her disappear out of sight. She had been like a welcome apparition in the rather sickly afternoon heat, and now she had gone. He glanced at his watch, feeling somewhat irritable. He only had another hour here before someone came to relieve him, and then he could go and have a long, satisfying drink to cool himself down.

Emily had some difficulty finding the restaurant on her list that she wanted to visit—no one seemed to know where it was—but eventually she tracked it down and had a brief interview with the manager. It seemed a friendly, well patronized place, just the sort she herself might like to eat in, she thought and, taking away some menus and other literature, she hailed a taxi and went back to the hotel.

Coral was lying on her bed reading a magazine.

‘Oh, good, you’re back,’ she said. ‘Did you manage to finish what you had to do?’ She stared at Emily for a second, thinking how pretty her friend looked. She had the same slim figure she’d had when she’d been in her teens. ‘You look as cool as a cucumber, Ellie—and you’re very lucky you don’t burn in this sun,’ she remarked. ‘Not like me. With your fair skin you ought to look like a lobster.’ She sighed. ‘There’s no justice.’ Coral’s red hair and freckled skin needed a lot of protection in these conditions.

‘Well, I may not look burned up, but I feel it right now—’ Emily smiled ‘—so it’s a cool shower for me.’ She took a long cotton skirt and fresh top from the wardrobe and went into the bathroom. ‘Shan’t be long.’