The Ruthless Italian's Inexperienced Wife

She intrigued him, and he could hardly wait to get her in his arms again. Miss Cheryl Lane was so different from the nerveless, hard-faced celebrity women he’d left behind in the city. Perhaps it was something to do with relief, and finally getting back here to his secret retreat. If only she wasn’t on his payroll…

He treated his staff so well that core members were loyal to the point of obsession. But new arrivals like Cheryl were a different matter. They were untried and untested. If she walked, it might be straight into the offices of a tabloid newspaper. Marco usually laughed off ‘kiss and tell’ stories. But things were different now he had Vettor to think about.

He looked down, deep down, into Cheryl’s eyes. They were dark pools of arousal. She wanted him. He wanted her. It took superhuman powers to resist brushing that soft cloud of hair back from her brow. Everything about this little beauty sang to him. It must be three months since he had bothered to take a woman to bed. That was an unheard of spell of celibacy for him. But other things had seemed more important—until now.

Here was the perfect opportunity to put that right—if he wanted. He could tell there was a conflict between her mind and her body. Despite the invitation in her eyes, her hands were clenched and her brow was troubled. To put his thoughts into action was obviously going to take some delicate persuasion. Marco felt his body kick with the idea of another challenge. He smiled.

‘Don’t worry, cara. Anything that may or may not happen from now on will be completely between ourselves…’

Bending forward, he whispered into the sweet-smelling cloud of her hair. He already knew what it was like to have his hands moving slowly over her voluptuous body, melting her. From there it was a small step to imagining her softening beneath his touch, moulding herself into his arms as she relaxed into the rising tide of desire flowing between them. His fingers would travel back to the soft luxuriance of her hair, and from there flow down across the smoothness of her cheek. His caress would glide over her skin like silk on silk…

And then a thin cry pierced the night. It was Vettor.

Marco answered immediately, breaking the spell. ‘I’m coming!’

Cheryl flinched, waking from her trance.

‘I’ll go!’ She jumped to answer the call, still worried that larger-than-life Marco might overwhelm the little boy. He was only half a stride behind her as she rushed back into the sickroom.

‘It’s a dream!’ Cheryl whispered, putting her secret thoughts into words as she soothed Vettor.

She told herself she ought to be grateful. He was still as febrile as she was, and this interruption gave her a chance to cool down. She definitely needed it. Had she lost her mind? Marco was filling her body with sensations that threatened to sweep aside all her good sense. But he had to be resisted. He was her boss, and Vettor’s uncle. She couldn’t allow herself to be seduced, however desperate she might be for his body. And there was bound to be something in the European Working Time Directive forbidding this kind of thing!

It’s a bit late to start checking my contract now, she thought with growing horror. This is a nightmare situation, and it’s all my own fault. If only I hadn’t thrown myself at Marco so recklessly in the first place!

That had been a genuine mistake, but what sort of impression had it given her new boss?

Cheryl didn’t have to ask. It was obvious. She could blame the storm, or the stress of being on her own, but what she had done was wrong. This very male man had seen it as an open invitation to tempt her with his eyes, his voice and the brush of his hand in passing. She could hardly expect him to do anything else after the reception she’d given him, but he must be put right straight away.

She sponged Vettor again, and gave him a cold drink. After settling him down, she sat on the edge of the bed and stroked his face until he was deeply asleep. It took quite a while. When she got up to creep out of the room, she was amazed to see Marco was barely a handspan away from her, a lazy smile in his eyes. He had been there all the time, watching.

Everything within Cheryl wanted him to pull her into a world of shameless passion. The feeling of relief when she’d fallen into his arms on the doorstep had been indescribable. Being held in that firm grip and reassured by his warm voice had been one moment of perfect calm in the midst of the storm. Now her body was throbbing with his presence. Strange sensations were making themselves felt, low down in her body. She had to fight the urge to brush her hand over a place that was fast filling up with liquid warmth.

The nearness of Marco reminded her of things she had wanted to experience a long time ago. But none of her dreams had come true, only nightmares. Her relationship with Nick had ended in disaster. That love rat had treated Cheryl’s emotions as badly as he’d treated her body. The experience had made her retreat from life, hiding away in her work among children. It was the one place she could be sure no one would ever hurt her again. Now this pirate of a man, Marco Rossi, seemed to promise things she was scared to experience.

His eyes focused on her full lips, and Cheryl felt her cheeks begin to pinken. ‘It looks as if you’re going to be one of my most capable members of staff.’ He spoke with easy charm, glancing back as he strolled towards the bedroom door.

Cheryl stared after him, finding his voice softly arousing. What did it all mean? Every word he spoke acted like an aphrodisiac on her. She had never received any praise from Nick. Marco’s confidence in her sent Cheryl’s spirits into overdrive.

Her mind and body tussled for control. She felt like kicking against every rule. Marco Rossi’s warm stability and the promise of his kisses made her want to go and offer herself to him right now. But her past cast such a long shadow. She had been a total failure in her one and only relationship, and now it looked as though she had totally misread the signs. Marco didn’t want to kiss her at all. If he had, he would have taken up where he’d left off, wouldn’t he? Her mother must be right. Thinking about sex blinded Cheryl to common sense.

I have had a very narrow escape, she thought. Making a fool of herself in front of Marco would have been agony. She couldn’t bear to be hurt again, so instinct quickly chained up her impulses. It nailed her feet firmly to the ground, and right now that was exactly what she needed. But still her nerves taunted her. How could she trust her reactions to him? He would be spending the rest of the night here. Not far from Vettor’s room, she thought, putting one hand to the neck of her shirt as though it was suddenly too hot and restricting.

Behave yourself! Girls like you never… Her mother’s voice suddenly rang through her head, leaving Cheryl to fill in the rest. It was the voice of cold, hard reality and it punctured all her dreams. As usual.

Once again Cheryl retreated into her work. There was no alternative. She knew she was brilliant at her job, and it was so much safer to stick with what she knew.

According to Nick, she was frigid. He had called her a total loser in love. It had been horrible enough to fail with a bully like him. She ought to be thanking her lucky stars Marco Rossi hadn’t kissed her after all. How much worse it would be to let a gorgeous man like him discover how bad she was at…

Cheryl swallowed hard. She couldn’t even bring herself to think the word. She would just have to put a lid on her lust. If she didn’t, it was sure to lead to disaster.

Thinking back to the tour she had been given earlier in the day by his chef, Cheryl followed Marco out of the nursery suite. Only then did she remember the laundry room was in the same direction as his suite. It might have been better to give Marco a head start. But it was too late now—he must have heard her close the door. She could hardly hang around in the corridor. It would seem suspicious. Keeping her head down, and without looking in the direction he had gone, she put on her most efficient voice.

‘I’ll put some towels out for you in your suite…Marco.’

His name was the only informality she could manage.

‘Fine.’

She expected to see him stride off. That would have given her a good excuse to hang back. She was so much shorter than him, and the distance between them would stifle her embarrassment—or so she thought. Instead, Marco waited for her to catch him up. Shortening his stride, he fell in step beside her. He was close enough for her to sense the musky, warm male smell about him. It tantalised her nostrils until she had to glance at his face. As usual he was smiling, but it was to himself now, not her.

‘I never thought it would be a relief to find a woman whose eyes don’t light up every time she says the word Marco!’ he murmured.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not unique. Graduates from the academy for advanced childcare professionals I attended are trained to deal with celebrity parents at close quarters,’ Cheryl replied, glad he had hit on a bland subject. ‘Our illusions soon go. We stop noticing people like you as individuals. In my experience, they all treat their children the same way in any case,’ she finished, managing a barb.

‘Oh? And you’re so much better than they are, I suppose?’ he probed.

‘That’s why they employ top-class nannies like me, yes,’ Cheryl retorted, but regretted it straight away. Marco Rossi’s expression had hardened. She knew then it was a mistake to go on digging in the knife over Vettor.

Luckily, they reached the door to Marco’s suite before either of them could react to her words. Cheryl stood aside. It was a good excuse for another change of tone.

‘I’ll go and fetch you some towels and pyjamas—’

He exploded with laughter. ‘I don’t need pyjamas! I haven’t worn those since I left home as a teenager!’

‘Then what—’ Cheryl began, and stopped. What else would Marco Rossi wear to bed, apart from that crooked smile of his? Flustered, she looked down at the toes of her shoes and blushed.

He stopped laughing the moment she realised her mistake. ‘Just towels will be fine.’

Only gentle amusement tinged his words now. It gave Cheryl the confidence to look up and carry on.

‘I’ll be as quick as I can, although I must look in on Vettor every few minutes. He’ll be so pleased to know you’re here when he wakes up properly!’ she said, hoping it was true.

‘When are the electricity people turning up?’ Marco strolled past her into his room, already peeling off his sodden jacket.

‘They wouldn’t give me an exact time.’

‘In that case, you concentrate on Vettor. I’ll tackle the workmen when they get here.’

‘But you haven’t had any sleep!’

‘Don’t worry about that. A shower and something to eat will keep me going for a while longer.’

Cheryl gazed at him, half afraid to see how much more he might take off while she was standing on the threshold. ‘I hope there’s something in the kitchen for you to eat. Things went a bit haywire when the staff left, and with Vettor being ill…’

Marco nodded. ‘I’m glad you were here to look after him, Cheryl. I’m grateful. Your glowing references weren’t exaggerating, were they? You really are a remarkable woman.’

Cheryl took a second step back, away from him. It was another compliment. This could only mean trouble. She began to wonder if perhaps her instincts were right—that only a split second had separated Marco’s silver tongue from feeling so sweet against her lips. The next time they were alone together her resistance might crumble altogether. She could not afford to fall under his spell again.

‘That’s why you pay staff like me such good rates,’ she said, emphasising the social divide between them on purpose. ‘People who only offer peanuts get the monkeys they deserve. And now I really must go and look for those towels.’

Her excuse was as feeble as her will-power. The only reason she had to get away was to escape the torment of his presence.

CHAPTER FOUR

CHERYL cooled down for long enough to remember where the airing cupboards were. She half hoped time away from Marco would allow her mind to clear properly. When she was in his orbit he filled her senses and turned her to marshmallow. While he was out of sight she wouldn’t have the distraction of those clean-cut features and his sinuous movements. She could concentrate and become efficient, dependable Cheryl again.

Arriving back in Marco’s suite, she found it almost silent. The only sound was the faint hiss of running water, coming from his en-suite bathroom. What Cheryl should have done was march straight into his dressing room, deliver the towels and go. But Marco would be busy in the shower for as long as she could hear the water run. That reassured her, and the temptation to explore his kingdom was too great.

This master suite was one of the few completed parts of the Villa Monteolio. Marco’s chef had showed her around earlier in the day. Greatly daring, Cheryl risked taking another quick look. The rooms were practically empty of furniture, but they were full of sweet fragrances. All the woodwork was freshly painted in white, and the walls had been given coats of pale, neutral colours. There were no drapes at the windows yet. Chef had told her in hushed tones that they were still being made—in Milan, of all places. A single large abstract painting hung over the reception-room fireplace. Its organic shapes in shades of copper and gold picked up the colours of the original light fittings and the hearth. It put a contemporary twist on gracious living, and Cheryl decided Marco Rossi’s craftsmen and interior designers must really know what they were doing.

Still the shower powered on. She edged farther into the suite. There were built-in wardrobes along one whole wall of Marco’s dressing room, and a door had been left open, giving her a glimpse into a walk-in space the size of a small bedroom. She could see designer suits in every weight from linen to wool, and dozens of shirts.

Looking nervously over her shoulder, she took a few more steps. A chest stood against the back wall of the massive cupboard. Its drawers had been pulled out from the bottom upwards in his search for clothes. They had been left open like steps, burglar fashion. Craning her neck, Cheryl could see casual tops neatly folded and laid out according to type, style and colour. It was hard not to wonder how much it had all cost. The rich certainly are different, she marvelled, then realised she should be making her escape.

Alert to the still crackling patter of water from the shower room, she walked over to deliver the warm towels she had brought. She would leave them just inside the door. As long as she was quick, she could be in and out without him knowing. But the moment she entered she saw his wet clothes, discarded in a heap. Her mind began to work, and those strange feelings started tormenting her again. He

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