The Tuscan Tycoon's Pregnant Housekeeper

Michelle set her alarm clock for 4:00 a.m., but was awake in time to switch it off. It would have echoed through the peace and quiet of the Jolie Fleur estate. The memory of Alessandro’s midnight visit was still hot in her mind.

It took her no time at all to pack. When she had stacked her few possessions on the doorstep of the studio house, she showered and then dressed in her bikini. It had been a long night, with not enough sleep. A swim before breakfast would perk her up. Dawn in the garden was as magical as dusk, and she could hardly wait to experience it again. She pulled on her dressing gown for the short walk to the villa’s outdoor pool. The sun was still low, and filtered by a slight sea mist.

Leaving her studio apartment for the last time, she immersed herself in the chilly dawn. Rounding the hedge sheltering the pool she stopped and stared. Alessandro was already in the water, moving through it as though he owned the element.

‘Buongiorno, Michelle.’ He raised a hand to her. Water cascaded from his long, muscular limbs. He swam to the side of the pool in a few strokes. Folding his arms on the edge, he looked up at her appreciatively.

‘The water is cold, but this is a great way to kick-start your system first thing in the morning. Come on in.’

‘Er…no, thanks. I’m not here to swim. I—I only came for a walk around the grounds.’

Alessandro threw himself backwards in a creamy foam of water. Michelle knew only too well where to look, but didn’t. The temptation was unbearable, but she tried to act as though muscular men stripped down to their Speedos were an everyday part of her life.

‘If you didn’t come to swim, why are you wearing that bikini?’

Michelle dropped her attention to the tiles at her feet. As she did so, she saw that the ties of her dressing gown had worked loose during her headlong dash to the pool. Wrapping it tightly around herself, she secured it with a firm knot.

Alessandro slid through the water like a seal to take up a position at the side of the pool again. Heat flared in Michelle’s cheeks. She went over in her mind everything that had gone on between them the night before. The embarrassment had all been on her side, the easy charm on his. As she burned, she wished with all her heart she could come up with some wonderful remark. Anything—anything—to recapture the magic of last night…

‘So? What are you waiting for? Join me.’

She twiddled the tie of her dressing gown. ‘I couldn’t possibly…I only work here. You’re a guest.’

‘And I’m only inviting you into the water. There’s no rule that says staff can’t come in with me, is there?’ He shrugged.

With her body reacting to everything Alessandro had on show, Michelle didn’t know what to do. Instinct told her to take a chance, but her sense of decency said run. She stared down at a ladybird creeping across the tiled surround of the pool. It was heading for her toes with the sort of determination she desperately needed.

‘I’m sorry, Alessandro,’ she said, with more truth that he could ever have imagined. ‘It’s not my place.’

He was floating on his back, watching her. When she said that, he stood up in a shower of droplets. Michelle’s eyes were instantly riveted on him. She couldn’t tear them away. He looked magnificent. Two metres of tightly packed muscles and smooth, flawless skin. He had the pale colouring of someone who spent all day behind a desk, but who would toast to a golden tan in no time at all. Michelle was imagining the effect already. Tiny trickles of water led her gaze down over his bunched pectorals and his flat, muscular belly.

Laughing at her expression, when he said his next words he gave her exactly the push she needed.

‘If you’re determined to be a member of staff, then I’ll stick to the rules too. I’m going to give you a direct order. It’s OK to enjoy life—so get into this pool and start,’ he called to her.

Every second of Michelle’s upbringing had been geared towards following orders. But this one sent a thrill through her.

Throwing off her dressing gown, she dived straight into the water. Once beneath its surface, the simple feeling of freedom relaxed her in a rush. The chill shock invigorated her, as Alessandro had promised. She surfaced, laughing and splashing. Looking around to orientate herself, she saw his dark head dip beneath the water again. Suddenly she felt his hands on her legs. Frictionless, they glided upwards over her body. Flipping onto her back, Michelle kicked away towards the side of the pool with frantic strokes. When she reached it, gasping, he was right beside her.

‘No—please don’t fool about, Alessandro. I’m not a very good swimmer!’

He smiled, his white teeth as perfect as his reply. ‘That dive looked pretty impressive to me.’

Michelle giggled. ‘It gets the shock over quickly. I’d rather do that than suffer inch by inch, edging down the steps.’

As she spoke, he looked down at her legs through the shimmering water. She blushed.

‘You’re an athlete.’ He nodded at the pale marks exposed by her bikini. ‘I can tell from your bronzage.’

During her few precious weeks of freedom Michelle had heard plenty of French spoken with a local accent. She had heard it spoken with an English accent, too. But this was the first time she had heard it given an Italian glow. She couldn’t help laughing at the sound.

‘No, I’m not! I just run whenever I get the time. It helps me think through my problems.’

‘I’m amazed a pretty young woman like you has any problems. The immaculate state of the villa shows how good you are at your job. What else is there to worry about?’

‘My mother died in April.’

His expression softened. ‘I’m sorry.’

Michelle mentally kicked herself for troubling a guest with her affairs, and spoke quickly to defuse the situation. ‘There’s no need to apologise. We were never exactly close.’

‘Close?’ Alessandro’s face compressed. He looked down at the fingers of his left hand as they spread out beneath the water. ‘Some relationships are a waste of good working time. My own mother couldn’t have picked me out of a police line-up.’

Michelle was so stunned she forgot to be polite. ‘You can’t mean that?’

He gazed across the water to the villa’s herb garden. She guessed it wasn’t because he was admiring the ornamental thyme.

‘Everything I’ve achieved in my life has been in spite of my family, not because of them.’

Michelle wondered if his remark had anything to do with those sacked relatives. She decided it was better not to ask.

‘Then I’m sorry for you. Even my mother wasn’t as bad as that.’

His attention snapped straight back to her. ‘Don’t waste your sympathy on me. It will only lead to trouble.’

Curious, she put her head on one side. ‘What do you mean?’

His eyes were twin pools of mystery. ‘If you keep looking at me like that, Michelle, you’ll soon find out.’

Chilly rivulets of water trickled from her hair and she shivered. The points of her nipples were rising—and not only from the cold. It was the way Alessandro’s gaze was totally focussed on her eyes. She could almost feel him searching her soul. No one had ever studied her so intently—not in her whole life. If she was honest, no one had paid any attention to her at all. They only noticed when she hadn’t done something. The interview she’d missed because her mother had destroyed her portfolio, the single occasion she had been too sick to turn out for Spicer and Co…

‘You have a fascinating face, Michelle. Let me draw you,’ he said abruptly.

In all her years of sketching Michelle had never had the nerve to ask a stranger to pose for her. She thought of all those lost opportunities and wished she could be spontaneous, like Alessandro. He had come straight out with a suggestion she would never have been brave enough to make in a million years. So many times she had felt the urge to sketch or paint a person, but had been too shy to do anything about it. Now he was showing her how it should be done.

‘I—I don’t know.’ She scraped her wet hair back from her face to give herself time to think. ‘I work for Mr Bartlett, really, and if he found out I was lounging around being drawn, when I should be busy in the house…’

Alessandro threw off her objection. ‘You’re working for me at the moment. Not Terence.’

Michelle paused. There was nothing she could say except, ‘If you put it like that, I can’t refuse.’

He smiled. ‘Yes…’ he said thoughtfully. ‘The more I see of you, Michelle, the more I realise you’re wasted here. You ought to be immortalised somehow. And I’m exactly the man to do it. Wait here. I’ll go and fetch my things.’

She had no choice. He vaulted out of the pool and picked up a robe from one of the poolside chairs. He pulled it on and walked quickly into the villa.

Michelle knew she should be feeling cold. She wasn’t. The sight of his muscles sleek with water had brought a slow-burning fire to life deep within her body. Alessandro Castiglione had a lot to answer for. From the moment he’d landed he had invaded every part of her life. First he’d stopped her sleeping. Then he’d aroused her by touch, outside the studio house. Now he had persuaded her to wait for him, wet through and waist-deep in water.

As he disappeared from sight, a chill wind rippled across the pool. Michelle’s skin contracted with the cold. Sinking beneath the wavelets, she let the water waft her feet off the floor of the pool. She knew she ought to thrash through a few lengths to warm herself up. Her heart wasn’t in it. Exercise no longer had the power to distract her. All she could think of was Alessandro. Big, strong Alessandro Castiglione. He acted the part of blasé tycoon to perfection, but his bitter-chocolate eyes told a different story. When Michelle shivered now, it was at the thought of his deep brown gaze. If only she could decode its meaning.

Twisting in the water, she saw Alessandro walking back towards the pool. He was dressed now in jeans and a tight white tee shirt. His muscles were still on display, and Michelle felt them through her fantasies. Those jeans were so well cut they were obviously made for him. ‘Casual’ still meant ‘designer chic’ in his circles. The sketchbook under his arm was bound in leather, and he was carrying a long metal container. He put this down beside one of the poolside chairs.

‘If you could swim a few lengths for me, Michelle, I’ll try out a few ideas…I need something to make my working days worthwhile. Art is my therapy.’

‘And mine. I always wanted to go to art college, but it wasn’t possible for me to finish the course,’ Michelle said shyly.

He was already rifling through the contents of his art box. Selecting a piece of willow charcoal, he made a few swift, sweeping strokes across his sketchbook.

‘A little taster for you.’ He showed her the pad. She was amazed. In a few strokes he had laid her down on his plain white sheet with nothing more than a sliver of burnt wood.

‘You swim slowly, up and down.’

As he sketched, he asked her all sorts of questions about her own work. His conversation was light and insubstantial—until he asked her something that really burst her bubble.

‘What made you give up your art course?’

She didn’t answer for a while. Then she rolled onto her back to watch him.

‘The answer to that is the same as it is to most of your other questions—my mother,’ she said at last. ‘Mum didn’t consider art to be a proper job. There was no room for anything in my life unless she thought it had value. As a child, I was a disappointment to her. If I couldn’t be beautiful, then I had to be useful.’

Alessandro frowned. Michelle was struggling to keep her mind on their conversation, but his disapproving expression helped keep her on track.

‘“Art isn’t a job, it’s almost as much a waste of time as reading.”’ She quoted one of her mother’s favourite sayings.

Alessandro’s mood darkened further. ‘I thought you said in the studio house that you had some books?’

‘I do—and that was the problem. They’re art books, and Mum hated them most of all. If I wasn’t painting or drawing then I was reading about it. She thought I was doing it to spite her.’

This softened his expression, but only a fraction. ‘It might be for the best. I’m in the trade, and art colleges turn out far too many indifferent graduates, in my opinion.’

Alessandro worked quickly, changing medium and trying out several grades of paper. He was enjoying this. Any man could take a woman—Alessandro did, frequently—but this was something altogether different. The more he worked on his sketches of her, the more relaxed he became and his stress fell away. It was a circle of satisfaction.

Eventually he put down his work and stretched, long and luxuriously. The sun felt good.

‘Shall I stop swimming?’ Michelle called as he stood watching her, hands on his hips.

‘Yes. Come and lie on one of these loungers for a while.’

The water accepted her once again, showering her with a thousand droplets at she swam towards the steps. Alessandro watched them tumbling over her smooth wet skin. Each time she raised her arm he marvelled at the perfect curve, the sleek, easy beauty of her. Stepping out onto the hot white tiles, she slicked her wet hair back from her face. He felt his body rise in anticipation.

Grabbing a towel, he enveloped her in its folds. Michelle immediately pulled up a corner and made to rub at her hair.

‘Wait—leave that. I want you to look as though you’ve just left the water. Relaxed, and soaking up the sun.’ He took her hand to lead her over to the seats.

In a flash Michelle was swept right back to his good-night kiss. Alessandro took away her towel and, dropping it in a heap, told her to sit down on the sun lounger.

‘Do you want me to do anything special?’

‘You look just fine as you are.’ His gaze grazed her body appreciatively. ‘All you need to do is lie back and close your eyes.’

It took Michelle a little while to get comfortable, and longer to relax.

‘I feel a bit self-conscious,’ she said apprehensively. She often wore a bikini, but this was the first time she had been within touching distance of a man as gorgeous as Alessandro.

‘Don’t worry. I’ve drawn dozens of women—most of them wearing less than you are now.’

Michelle giggled. That made her feel so much more comfortable in his company. But still, when his hand reached out to arrange her wet hair, she flinched.

‘Did I hurt you, Michelle?’

‘No—not at all. I just have this thing about being touched, that’s all. I know I’m never going to be struck again, but my body isn’t so sure.’

She tried to laugh it off, but Alessandro was shocked. He withdrew a fraction, until her smile reassured him.

‘Then I shall be very careful how I position you,’ he smiled.

He was more than careful. Each time he reached out to touch her, he hesitated before making contact. She had the double pleasure of anticipation and effect. His touch when it came was so light it was evocative of their evening in the starlight. She could hardly bear it. She knew exactly how each touch would feel, because she had already imagined the grain of his fingertips drifting across her skin. When she reacted with goose pimples, it wasn’t from any chill.

Alert as ever, Alessandro fastened his attention on a droplet of water coursing over the downy skin of her forearm.

‘Tell me if you get too cold,’ he murmured, reaching for the towel. With one long, slow movement, he stroked down the entire length of her arm.

As his touch trailed away, she sighed. It was a sound of total contentment. She leaned back against a cushion and closed her eyes.

‘Before you settle down, I think I’ll have your hair over this shoulder…’ He swept her wet hair around and settled it, lock by lock.

Feeling his fingers stroking each strand into place sent shimmers of energy through Michelle’s body. Alessandro had started wiping droplets from her skin and she shivered. As a trickle of water meandered over the generous curve of her breast his fingertips reached out to trace it…

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.