Italian Escape

And he was easier to handle when he was cross with her. Less dangerous.

‘I’ve never needed one before; I never had to formally apply for anything,’ she said. ‘But I do have a lot of varied experience. I’ve crewed a boat halfway around the world, run a Greek taverna, taught English in Bangkok and was a cow girl in Texas for a while.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’m aware none of these are particularly relevant but—’

‘Relevant to what?’ Luca interrupted. ‘Sales, finance, reception, milk maid?’ To Minty’s indignation the amusement was back in his voice. Damn; she had tried so hard not to be alone with him before the meeting because she knew he would be like this: superior; condescending. He wouldn’t hear her out.

It was all too familiar. She carried on as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘But they do show that I am adaptable, versatile and not afraid of hard work. I know you think it’s time for Di Tore Dolce to expand beyond the continent, into the English-speaking countries. I’m half-American and half-English—I can help you see the real differences in the two markets beyond the superficial accent and spelling differences. Also, don’t forget I founded a small cupcake chain in West London. I know all about stock management, sales and marketing. Oh, and budgeting too.’

She sat back, ankles crossed, hands folded in her lap. Excitement fizzed in her veins; she had said her piece, made her pitch. Had shown that she was abreast of current plans and developments. And in stark contrast to a minute ago Luca was looking engaged, interested.

He remained silent for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. She tried not to stare at him hopefully, to appear nonchalant, relaxed.

As if this didn’t really matter at all.

And then he leant back again. ‘If you have a business back in England why do you need a job here?’

And just like that her mood went flat. ‘England and I need a break from each other,’ Minty said.

‘Come on, Minty. You need to do better than that.’

Only four years older. And yet he had always acted as if he were an adult and she an annoying child. She suppressed a scowl. It looked like nothing had changed. ‘Three cupcake shops in South London is fun but Di Tore Dolce is in a different league altogether. You’re already international; if the board goes ahead with the expansion, you’ll be close to global. Who wouldn’t want to be part of that?’

Luca raised an eyebrow. ‘Such enthusiasm from somebody who has been absent for so long the receptionists didn’t even recognise her. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be expanding your cupcake empire?’

‘Quite sure,’ Minty said. ‘Besides, the shops were funded through my trust fund. I am trying to rely on it less.’

That was one way of putting it.

His brows drew together, puzzled. ‘You are?’ He looked pointedly again at her expensive bag, his eyes travelling to her equally expensive shoes. ‘How novel for you. Inspiring, even. Unless...’ There was a speculative gleam in the amber eyes. ‘Unless you can’t rely on it. Just how upset was your father?’

Minty mentally went through the weapons at her disposal and dismissed them all. She doubted he’d be moved by tears, nor impressed with flirtation. There was no way she was going to plead.

She’d have to settle for honesty.

She looked down at her right hand and twisted the moonstone ring she wore on her middle finger round and round. Her left hand felt bare; yet another engagement ring removed. She’d liked the latest one too—not big, not ostentatious, not a family heirloom.

She took a deep breath. Right, honesty. How hard could it be? She looked back up, directly at Luca. ‘Daddy was furious,’ she said. ‘Not that he particularly liked Joe, but he wanted me settled. And he hated the publicity. Although I think that’s more because the press always drag up his three divorces, which kind of bursts his “happy family” bubble. Anyway, he decided I needed some tough love and cutting off my trust fund was the kindest thing he could do. Because I used my trust fund to start the first shop, he banned me from entering the premises. Too easy, he said.’

It took some work to keep the bitterness from her voice. Tough love. That was a good one. It would have been nice if he’d tried unconditional love first.

‘So you came to us in desperation?’ Luca said drily.

Ouch, that cut far too close. ‘Oh, no,’ Minty assured him, making sure she kept her voice light and breezy, not letting him see how much she wanted this, needed this. ‘Desperation would have meant accepting one of the reality TV shows I keep being offered, or pretending to write a book. And there are a lot of art galleries who would snap me up. Pearls, a little black dress and an expensive education are all they require, and I have all three in abundance. But, believe it or not, I want more; I do always read the board’s papers. I think this expansion is a good idea, and I want to be part of it.’

Minty put as much conviction as possible into her voice.

‘I’m glad our plans have your approval.’ Why did he have to sound so scathing? ‘But your sudden desire to contribute still seems a little suspicious. After all, apart from collecting your annual cheque, you haven’t shown any interest in Di Tore Dolce—or Oschia—for years. And now you want to...what? To move here? Or do you see your role as being more ambassadorial? Wining and dining prospective clients? Parties?’

Minty bit her lip. This was what she’d been afraid of—her plans dismissed out of hand, her ideas rejected unheard. And now she was here, actually back in Oschia, she was suddenly unsure. After all, he had shown her more than once how little he valued her. That he thought her nothing but a spoilt child.

He wasn’t the only one who thought that, yet somehow, even now, his disapproval stung that little bit more.

She stared unseeingly out of the window, at the landscape that used to feel like home. It hadn’t been for a long, long time. Maybe she should go back to London. Stop fighting her birthright, her destiny. Take a job in a West End gallery and share a flat with one of her trustafarian friends. Rejoin society—go to Henley, Ascot, shooting parties and hunt balls; see if she could attract the kind of husband who asked for little more than the right family and the ability to throw a good party. She’d managed it once, after all. Maybe this time she could actually go through with the wedding.

‘No, I want more than that.’ The conviction in her voice surprised her, and she could see Luca looked taken aback too. ‘I know this seems like a whim to you. And it is sudden. But I have thought it through; I’ve planned a role which fits in with the board’s objectives.’

‘Come on, Minty.’ Luca pushed his chair back and got up, walking over to the window and looking out. He stood there for one long moment then turned back to face her. ‘You can’t just swan in after all these years and expect us to fit in around your half-baked ideas. You’ve read the papers? Great. You’re a shareholder; you should know what’s going on. But that doesn’t mean that because you are bored with your shallow London life you can create a job here. We need people we can rely on, not people who run away in the middle of the night without even leaving a note.’

The room seemed distant, fuzzy. Her stomach churned as heat enveloped her, her palms clammy, her throat dry. Minty opened her mouth and then shut it. What could she say? She couldn’t believe he was even mentioning that night.

After all, she had spent six years trying to forget every single second of it.

But there was no way she was going to let Luca Di Tore know just how his actions had affected her.

She barely admitted it to herself.

Minty lifted her chin and looked directly at him, as if it didn’t matter at all. ‘I was young, Luca. Scared. Grieving. I didn’t know what I was doing.’

Hadn’t known what they were doing. Hadn’t known how her childhood adversary had suddenly become someone she was so, so tempted to cling to. Someone she needed. Wanted. Trusted.

He’d soon proved her wrong.

‘Not that young, Minty. You were engaged a month later. That was your first engagement, I believe,’ he added.

Minty swallowed a half-hysterical giggle. As if her engagement to Barty could be compared to what had nearly happened with Luca. Barty had been safe, undemanding, still a boy. She hadn’t needed him, hadn’t expected anything from him other than fun and flirtation.

She had wanted everything from Luca.

Until the moment he’d pushed her away. Until she had looked up to see nothing but horror in his eyes.

She pushed the unwanted memories away. She needed this to work; needed to find out if she was anything more than a pretty face and an old name, more than a trust-fund baby with a tabloid-friendly romantic history. ‘Rose wanted me to be part of the business,’ she said softly. ‘That was why she left me half her share.’

Luca stared back, indecision in his eyes. She knew he wanted nothing more than to give her her marching orders, put her back on a plane and order her to never set foot in Oschia again. But she had played her trump card, gambled it all on his sense of honour, his respect for the woman who had raised him.

He shut his eyes then they snapped open, all indecision gone. ‘Okay,’ Luca said. ‘You have two weeks. Two weeks to show me you can do the job. If you do, you can stay.’

Jubilation filled her. He was giving her a chance. Minty jumped to her feet and ran round the desk, flinging her arms around the tall figure. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you, you won’t regret it.’ She leant in, her face pressed against the cotton of his shirt, and before she could stop herself she inhaled. The fresh fragrance of his clean shirt mingled with the sharp freshness of his aftershave, mixed up with something warm, spicy. Something uniquely male. The smell shot through her, sending a jolt of sensual awareness right down to her toes.

She was all too aware of him, of the muscles under her hands, of his height, his strength. The leg pressed against hers, the flatness of his belly. If she raised her head just a little, she knew her mouth would be tantalisingly close to the pulse at his throat.

What was she doing? She dropped her hands and stumbled back.

He was as still as the Renaissance statue he resembled. His was face unreadable, his eyes shuttered.

Minty swallowed and moistened her lips. ‘It means a lot,’ she said. ‘Your faith.’

‘Don’t get carried away.’ She flinched. Was that a reference to her inappropriate bodily contact? ‘I have very little faith in you. And don’t think you can just start at the top. I served an apprenticeship here while you lazed by the pool and chatted up all the local boys. I have worked in every single department, from deliveries to stock management, learned how everything works. You’ll do the same over the next two weeks. One bad report, just one, and it’s all over. You sell your shares back to me and never come near me or my company again. Is that understood?’

A gamble. This was Minty’s language. Her ancestors had won—and lost—fortunes on the turn of a dice or a card. A Davenport never refused a wager. And they always played to win.

‘Understood,’ she said, holding her hand out to him. ‘We have a deal. If I lose, you buy my share at full market price, not a penny less. Not that I intend to lose.’ She grinned, all her old confidence rushing back. This was a challenge she could sink her teeth into. This was going to be fun.

‘In that case...’ Luca’s expression gave nothing away. ‘We’d better go and introduce you to the board. After all, many of them have no idea who you are. If you’re ready?’ He gestured to the door, keeping a clear distance between them.

Maybe he had been more affected by their brief contact than he had let on.

Or maybe he just didn’t want her to embarrass herself again. He really didn’t need to worry. That lesson had been well and truly learned.

‘Ready.’ She walked over to the door and picked up her bag, swinging it jauntily from her arm. This was it. ‘Just one more thing—I haven’t got anywhere to stay, and I’m a little short of cash and credit, which is less fun than I imagined. Could I stay in my old room at the farmhouse? Just for a few weeks? It’s what Rose would have wanted,’ she added, perhaps unwisely.

Luca moved so fast she barely saw him towering over her, his body between hers and the room. He put both hands on the wall either side of her, pinning her in place. ‘Don’t push me, Minty,’ he warned, his voice low and gravelly, the accent more pronounced than ever. ‘Don’t ever try to play me again. Consider this a warning.’

She was momentarily paralysed by his proximity; by the heat burning in the molten gold of his eyes; by her body’s traitorous reaction to his display of strength. But she was older, if not wiser; stronger. She summoned up all her attitude and stared brazenly back at him, a smile playing on her lips. ‘I take it that’s a no?’

He released her abruptly. ‘Your room is still as you left it. Gio insisted. You tidy up after yourself, you cook for yourself and you stay out of my way. Clear?’

‘As crystal,’ she said.

She gathered up her bag and followed him meekly out of the room, trying not to let her eyes linger on the length of his legs, the power in his stride. She had two weeks to work hard and keep her head down.

It had to be enough. She couldn’t afford to lose. Not this time.

CHAPTER TWO

LUCA WATCHED MINTY as she preceded him into the boardroom. He had seen her in many guises but this prim, butter-wouldn’t-melt look was a new one to him. And to her too, he thought, noticing her hands pull nervously at her skirt, rising to her head as she fiddled with the neat bun her usually flowing hair was pinned back in. Her demeanour might be cool and collected but she was nervous.

What on earth did she have to be nervous about? What was she planning?

She had her two weeks, didn’t she? What else did she need?

The large room was still empty. Adapted from an old hay loft, it had huge skylights all along the slanting roof allowing the morning light to flood in. The west wall was a lightly tinted screen of glass, shielding eyes from the bright sun whilst allowing those inside to admire the pastoral view beyond. The back wall was timber and brick and hung all over with posters from old advertising campaigns. One half of the room was taken up with a traditional oval wooden conference-table, large enough to sit twenty, the other half with comfortable chairs and sofas for more informal gatherings. Today’s meeting would begin with coffee and chat as usual, and the cups and steaming jugs were already laid out, along with plates of breakfast pastries, fresh fruit and a variety of other snacks.

One plate really stood out amongst the more traditional pastries, rolls and cheeses: a chilled platter of tiny frozen spheres in a variety of pinks, creams and reds. Luca watched in amusement as Minty picked up a particularly inviting-looking pink and cream affair and popped it into her mouth with a fervent, ‘Oh, good, food. I’m starving.’

He waited. It didn’t take long.

‘Eurgh.’ Looking about her wildly, Minty groped for a napkin and inelegantly spat out the remains of the canapé into its white folds. ‘That’s not strawberries and cream! Or if it is there is something seriously wrong with your recipes, Luca.’

‘No,’ he said, trying without much success to keep his face straight. ‘We usually have a tasting session before each meeting. This is our new line of canapés: frozen savouries. That one, I believe, was smoked salmon and cream cheese.’

‘That explains the fishy aftertaste,’ Minty said, her face still screwed up in disgust.

‘Try it again,’ he said, picking up another pink and cream canapé and offering it to her. ‘Now you know what it is, see what you think of the flavours.’

‘What’s wrong with a nice blini? Some fresh black pepper, a dollop of sour cream, just a hint of lemon: there’s a reason it’s a classic,’ Minty grumbled but took the ball cautiously between her finger and thumb and nibbled at it. Her face gradually relaxed as she savoured the taste and she took a larger bite. ‘Now I know what it is, it isn’t bad,’ she said. ‘Subtle. Texture’s nice too, not slimy. How did you manage that? What are the other flavours?’

‘The red one is tomato mixed with ciabatta crumb, the pale pink one ham, parmesan and caramelised onion. Try one.’

‘People will seriously buy this stuff?’ Minty picked up the ham and parmesan and sniffed it gingerly. ‘I mean, I like a nice Earl Grey sorbet as much as the next girl, but savoury ice-cream canapés?’

‘You are behind the times, Araminta cara.’ Luca popped one of the icy tomato balls into his mouth and tasted the sharp, sweet hit of tomato, the herby crumbs tempering the sweetness. Delicious. It had taken months to get the texture right, not so sloppy a sorbet that it couldn’t be finger food, nor so creamy that it overshadowed the taste. ‘Food experimentation, playing with perceptions, sweet and savoury combinations, is huge right now; this product allows any party-giver to show how modern and sophisticated they are. However, a girl whose idea of a perfect meal is a fishfinger sandwich can’t be expected to appreciate something so adventurous.’ He waited, an eyebrow raised, for the inevitable reaction.

‘Actually...’ Luca grinned as Minty rose to the bait just as he had known she would. Some things never changed. ‘I think you’ll find that fish goujons served with rocket, aioli and ciabatta is a staple in any self-respecting gastro-pub.’

He repressed a shudder. ‘And that is why I will never eat in England.’

‘Snob.’

‘Philistine.’

The tension crackled between them. Minty was standing close, so close it would take less than a second to pull her to him, to silence her the only way that had ever proved effective. The blood thrummed in his ears as his eyes fastened on the full curve of her mouth, wide, provocative, tempting.

It would be a lie to say that the memory of kissing Minty Davenport had haunted him for the past six years; a lie to say that he had wasted those years yearning to taste her again. And yet the oddest things would remind him of that night; remind him how gloriously right it had felt, how right she had felt.

How right they had felt, as if all the years of competition and antagonism had led them to this point.

But she had been too young. Grieving. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t, have taken advantage of that. Of her. Stopping might have been hard but it had been the right thing to do.

And in the morning she had gone. No note; no word for six long years. Until today, waltzing in as if she had never been away, as unpredictable, as selfish, as ever.

And just because the memory of that night, that kiss, hung heavily in the atmosphere didn’t mean he had to act on it. Not at all.

Luca had a plan for his future, for his business, for his home. Minty didn’t figure anywhere.

Just two weeks and she would be gone. He needed to keep his distance and never, ever let himself forget who and what she was.

It was time for him to take control.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later the room was filled with the remaining board members. Luca, his Uncle Gio and Minty were the only stockholders. Having taken up the reins at such a young age, Luca had carried on with Gio’s practice of having an independent board made up of professionals with very different skills, from an expert in international law, whose only connection with Di Tore Dolce was these meetings, to Giovanna, a woman in her early sixties who had made gelato for the Di Tores since her teens.

He might not always take their advice but he valued it.

The meeting began informally, as always, and the room was filled with the usual hubbub of chit-chat, greetings and animated conversation as the board members caught up whilst sampling the food on offer. With one eye on the clock, Luca managed to back Minty into a corner, keeping her engaged in conversation and making it hard for her to mingle. By the time the others had taken their places at the table, she was well and truly relegated to the position of visitor, the object of everyone’s gaze and curiosity.

Thank goodness Gio was running late; he would have swept her into the midst of the conversation before Luca could say ‘ciao’.

‘Everyone,’ Luca said in English, ‘I would like to introduce Araminta Davenport. Although you may not know her by sight...’ He bestowed a smile on the silently fulminating Minty. That was right; mark her out as an outsider from the off. ‘You may be aware that she was left a sixth of the company by my aunt. It’s lovely to see her take an interest in the company at last. Come on, Minty, let’s find you a seat.’

Luca took care to spend some time ensuring she was comfortable, deliberately continuing to emphasise her visitor status. ‘Would you rather we held the meeting in English?’ he asked solicitously and had the pleasure of seeing her practically bare her teeth at him as she assured him that, really, her Italian was quite adequate, thank you.

One-nil to Luca.

Over the next half-hour Luca almost forgot that Minty was in the room. Almost. The occasional glance of her neatly coiffed head nodding earnestly as someone made a valid point; the sight of her typing rapid notes onto her iPad; the small wrinkle at the bridge of her nose when the conversation became more animated or technical than her rusty Italian could follow would make him falter, check his notes, regroup.

But so far she had said nothing. Not even a murmur of agreement. Luca felt the slight weight of worry lift. Maybe she was just here to observe; maybe he had seen trouble where there was none.

The niceties were soon dealt with: apologies, minutes, agendas, a few small points all despatched. It was time for the main event.

It was time to address the international expansion, the biggest change to Di Tore Dolce since they had made the decision to produce not just the traditional gelato but the full range of Italian desserts. And this expansion was all Luca’s.

He pressed a button on his laptop and pulled up the presentation, adrenaline flooding through his veins. The business was profitable, successful and flourishing under his leadership despite the difficult financial conditions. It was time to take it global. He smiled confidently at the table and opened his mouth, ready to begin. But before he could speak the first carefully prepared word, the door opened.

Gio had arrived, smiling, full of apologies, bestowing embraces all round. Minty rose to her feet, ready for his embrace as he walked in, but Luca could tell that behind her smile and hug she was shocked. Shocked at how the bear of a man had shrunk, at the lines on his face, the greyness of his hair. Shocked that the twinkle in his eyes was just a faded reflection of the real thing. Luca recognised the shock; he felt it too every time he saw his uncle.

When Rose had died, Gio’s heart had died too.

What did that feel like, to be halved like that? Luca knew what he wanted and it wasn’t such grand emotion, such all-or-nothing passion.

He wanted compatibility, comfort.

Almost against his will, his glance slid over to Minty, still enfolded in Gio’s arms. Resolutely Luca wrenched his eyes away again.

Minty was many things but she had never been comfortable.

‘Okay, everyone.’ It was time to call this meeting back to order. ‘Gio, lovely to see you.’ He tried not to allow the anxiety his uncle’s appearance caused him to show in his voice. Was he eating enough? Drinking too much?

When would he stop grieving for a woman who had been dead for six years?

‘As you know, I have been investigating expanding into some of the English-speaking territories,’ he began, projecting confidence as he spoke, looking round the table to catch and hold every single person’s eye. They were all nodding and smiling back at him. All except Minty, who was frowning down at her iPad. A surge of irritation ran through him. She had seemed so keen on the expansion back in his office.