The Italian's Christmas Housekeeper - Шэрон Кендрик (2019)

He splayed his fingers over the rigid tautness of his thighs. He would wait until his hostess returned. Force himself to have a quick drink since she’d asked for one of the world’s most expensive wines to be opened, then retire to his room. He glanced at his watch. It was too late to go back to London tonight but he would leave at first light, before the house was awake. All in all it had been a wasted journey, with Lord Avery too inebriated to talk business before dinner. He hadn’t even been able to work because the damned Internet kept going down and because his thoughts kept straying to the forbidden... And the forbidden had proved shockingly difficult to erase from his mind. He sighed. How crazy was it that the wholesome housekeeper had inexplicably set his senses on fire, so that he could think of little but her?

He’d walked into the orangery before dinner to see her standing with a tray of champagne in her hands. She had changed into a simple black dress which hugged her body and emphasised every voluptuous curve. With her shiny brown hair caught back at the nape of her neck, his attention had been caught by those grey eyes, half concealed by lashes like dark feathers, which were modestly lowered as she offered him a drink. Even that was a turn-on. Or maybe especially that. He wasn’t used to modesty. To women reluctant to meet his gaze, whose cheeks turned the colour of summer roses. He’d found himself wanting to stand there studying her and it had taken a monumental effort to tear his eyes away. To try to make conversation with a host who seemed to be having a love affair with the bottle, and his disenchanted wife who was almost spilling out of a dress much too young for a woman her age.

‘Salvio!’ Sarah Avery was back, a look of determination on her face as she picked her way across the Persian rug on her spiky black heels. ‘Sorry about that. I’m afraid that sometimes Philip simply can’t hold his drink. Some men can’t, you know—with predictable effects, I’m afraid.’ She flashed him a megawatt smile. ‘Let’s go to the library for a drink, shall we?’

There had been many reasons why Salvio had left Naples to make his life in England and he had absorbed the attitudes of his adopted country with the tenacity he applied to every new challenge which came his way. These days he considered himself urbane and sophisticated—but in reality the traditional values of his Neapolitan upbringing were never far from the surface. And in his world, a woman never criticised her husband to another person. Particularly a stranger.

‘Just one drink,’ he said, disapproval making his words harsher than he intended. ‘I have a busy schedule tomorrow and I’ll be leaving first thing.’

‘But you’ve only just arrived!’

‘And I have back-to-back meetings in London, from midday onwards,’ he countered smoothly.

‘Oh! Can’t you cancel them?’ she wheedled. ‘I mean, I’ve heard that you’re a complete workaholic, but surely even powerhouses like you are allowed to slow down a little. And this is a beautiful part of the world. You haven’t really seen any of it.’

With an effort, Salvio forced a smile because he found her attitude intensely intrusive, as well as irritating. ‘I like to honour my commitments,’ he observed coolly as he followed her into the firelit library, where Molly was putting cheese and wine on a table, the stiff set of her shoulders showing her tension. He wasn’t surprised. Imagine being stuck out here, working for someone as rude and demanding as Sarah Avery. He sank into one of the armchairs, and watched as his hostess went to stand by the mantelpiece in a pose he suspected was intended to make him appreciate her carefully preserved body. She ran one slow finger over the gleaming curve of an ancient-looking vase, and smiled.

‘Are you looking forward to Christmas, Salvio?’ she questioned.