Page 27 of The Italian's Marriage Bargain

‘How long till we get there?’ Felicity shouted, but Luca shook his head. Fiddling in the chair, he handed her a pair of headphones.

‘Far more civilised than shouting.’ His voice was so low and clear when she put them on that Felicity blinked in surprise as he spoke, a grin spreading across her face. There was a certain comfort to be had, a delicious sense of intimacy, as his deliciously accented voice filled her, low and rich and for her ears only. She adored hearing him speak, lived for the telephone calls he made during the day, when she would lie on the bed as his deep, sexy voice surrounded her, only this was better. So much better, she could see him, stretched before her in his leather seat, a safety belt slung around his thighs, dark and brooding and infinitely desirable.

‘Say something,’ she grumbled, wanting to hear him again, wanting his lyrical voice to wash over her, wanting to hear a hint of suggestion, to see the excitement in his eyes as she responded. ‘Talk to me, Luca.’ He must have sensed the shift in her, the gentle throb of suggestion as her eyes met his, his bold invitation to join in the game.

He flashed her a decadent smile, stabbing her with his eyes, rolling his tongue in his cheek as he looked at her thoughtfully.

‘Quanto tempo finché arriviamo?’

She loved it when he spoke in Italian to her, loved the way he lowered his voice and made love to her with his eyes. She could feel her toes curling in her smart shoes, a flush of colour warming her rouged cheeks, and her tongue bobbed out on her full painted lips.

‘Circa quarantacinque minuti.’

Practically jumping out of her seat as a voice that definitely wasn’t Luca’s filled her ears, Felicity clapped her hand to her mouth, stifling a nervous giggle as Luca grinned wickedly at her.

‘According to Leo, we’ll be there in about forty-five minutes. Now…’ a tiny wink shuttered his eye momentarily ‘…what was it that you wanted me to talk about?’

Stinging with embarrassment, utterly unable to meet his eyes, she took a hasty bite of the pastry warming in her hot hands.

Big mistake.

Suddenly the snow-capped mountains didn’t look so gentle any more, and rather more alarmingly even Luca’s liquid gold voice was doing nothing to soothe her as the cabin seemed to close in around her. She could feel beads of sweat trickling between her breasts, and the stuffy confines of the helicopter were positively claustrophobic as Luca’s voice droned on mercilessly about air speed and wind direction.

‘Luca!’ Her voice was barely a croak. Running her tongue over her lips, she struggled to take deep breaths, dragging air into her lungs, forcing herself to keep her breathing even as she begged for his attention. But Luca wasn’t looking at her now; instead he was busy pointing out landmarks, as if he were a tour guide. She rummaged in her bag—for what, she didn’t know—and was sure that the paltry tissue she finally produced would prove woefully inadequate.

‘Luca!’ Her voice was more urgent now, forcing his attention, and his mouth opened in shock as he saw the state she was in. In one movement he pushed her head between her legs, calling in rapid Italian to Leo, who mercifully produced a bag as, reeling with mortification, burning with the indignity of it all, Felicity discovered at the rather late stage of twenty-six years that she didn’t like heights after all!

To add to her utter humiliation, Luca completely overreacted. Gone was the smooth businessman. In a second he had snapped into over-protective parent mode, rubbing her back enthusiastically when she wished he’d let her just die quietly—in fact, if Felicity hadn’t put her rather pale and shaking foot down, she was sure he’d have arranged an ambulance to meet them.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he demanded as he led her, pale and trembling, across the landing pad. The relative safety of solid ground was still unappealing, given they were on the roof of the hotel. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you hated heights?’

‘I only just found out.’ She managed a very thin, very watery smile. ‘Is there anywhere I can freshen up—before we go to your office, I mean?’

But Luca wouldn’t hear of it. Assuring her she looked just fine, he swept her down the hallway, determined to get her to the comfort of his suite, barely acknowledging the lift boy as he wrenched open the massive old-fashioned gates, holding her tightly as the lift took a plunge and Felicity’s stomach did the same.

It wasn’t the best way to meet one’s nemesis.

Anna, dressed in a blood-red suit, the skirt impossibly short, showing a massive expanse of bronzed thigh, gaped in open-mouthed astonishment as Luca led her into the massive suite, thankfully bypassing the massive mahogany desk and array of leather seats and taking her through a wooden door where—heaven of heavens—a giant four-poster bed begged her to lie down. Not wanting to argue, Felicity sank gratefully into the fluffy eiderdown, willing the room to stop moving as Anna moved in for a closer inspection.

‘Che c’è?’

‘We will speak in English,’ Luca responded tartly, which should have made Felicity cheer, but for the first time since landing in the country she would have been grateful to have him hang politeness and just talk about her in Italian. There was absolutely no desire on her part to hear in graphic detail this morning’s embarrassing tale.

They nattered on for a moment and slowly the world came back into focus. Taking a grateful sip of the water Luca had poured, she sank back into the pillows, scarcely able to believe something as simple as fear of heights could have had such a devastating effect.

Utterly and completely worn out, she watched as Anna sat down beside the bed, and to Felicity’s eternal disgust not even a single globule of cellulite marred those thighs as she crossed her legs and addressed Luca in a formal voice.

‘I wish you’d told me you were bringing Felicity.’

Luca didn’t even look up. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he gently dabbed at a wayward river of mascara before responding. ‘We only decided this morning.’

‘Still, it would have been better if you’d told me.’ Sighing deeply, Anna raked a hand through her impressive dark curls, chewing on the end of her pen with her ruby-red lips till Luca finally turned to her. ‘The reason I asked you to come directly is because we’ve got some dignitaries from Saudi flying in. They want you to show them around the city and meet them for lunch.’

‘Deal with them,’ Luca said dismissively.

‘They’d rather see you, Luca. They’re talking about taking out a permanent rental on a couple of the penthouse suites.’

‘My wife is sick and you are asking me to play chaperone to these people? Tell them to give more notice next time—tell them I am unavailable. Tell them what the hell you like. That is what I pay you for, is it not? Now, if you would give us some privacy, I would like to see for myself that my wife is okay.’

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