An Inconvenient Desire (21 page)

To add to her joy, Sophia and Luca were at their villa for a couple weeks’ holiday from the hotel project. Olivia was looking forward to spending some time with her best friend and getting lots of cuddle time with her new godson. It would be good to get some experience with a tiny baby as, once her perfume contract was complete, Olivia was contemplating taking a year off to have a baby—Jonathan’s baby. Just thinking about carrying his child flooded her body with warmth and happiness.

She glanced at her watch. It was almost ten so Hannah would already be asleep. And Jonathan would be waiting for Olivia on the terrace, with a glass of wine and a kiss that would intoxicate her more than any alcohol. He’d lived up to his promise to care for her and support her and had done the majority of the legwork in setting up her charity and organizing the program. It has been such a success that there was talk of expanding it out of London into other parts of Britain.

She left her bag by the bottom of the stairs, released her hair from the tight bun it had been in all day, and headed out to the terrace. Jonathan had still been asking her every day for a promotion to fiancé and it was time she granted his request.

Stepping through to the kitchen, she was surprised to see the door to the terrace closed. Through the window, hundreds of flickering lights lit the night. Candles were everywhere, including hundreds floating in the pool. What was Jonathan up to?

The door opened as if by magic and the lilting voice of Ella Fitzgerald filled the air. “At Last.” Their song. The whole terrace was covered in flower petals and at the end of a red runner, Jonathan was on one knee. Hannah stood at his side wearing the fairy wings she refused to take off except for bathing and sleeping.

Slowly, Olivia approached the pair. Her heart beat so loud she was sure they could hear. She couldn’t get any words past the lump in her throat.
How could I ever have imagined living without these two people in my life?

“Daddy, what am I ’posed to say?”

Jonathan whispered in Hannah’s ear. “Bibya, will you be my mummy?” Hannah jumped up and down as she asked the question, the wings on her back flapping madly.

“I would be honored to be your mummy, Hannah.” Olivia dashed away the happy tear that streaked down her cheek so the little girl didn’t think she was sad.

“Wha’d she say?” Hannah turned to her daddy again.

“She said yes,” Jonathan reassured her. “My turn now.” He held out his hand and Olivia put hers into it. “Olivia Chapman, will you please marry me?”

“Yes.” Her throat was so tight she could barely speak.

Jonathan stood and swept her into his arms. Hannah hugged her legs until she bent down and picked the little girl up so they could all embrace together.

“You know, if you had asked me like this seven months ago, I probably would have said yes then,” she finally managed to say.

“I know. But I wanted you to be sure we are what you want. Because this is a life-long commitment I’m asking for. Besides, I’ve enjoyed our
interviews
and climbing the Chapman corporate ladder, but now I’m looking for tenure.”

“You’ve got it.”

He kissed her then until Hannah’s loud yawn broke them apart. A minute later, the terrace was filled with people. Sophia and Luca and their three-month-old son, Dante, came first. Then Jonathan’s parents, his brother and sisters and their spouses and children next. Even Maxine, her agent, was there. Dazed, Olivia hugged each person and listened to the chorus of congratulations and the popping of champagne corks. Patricia took Hannah out of her arms and Jonathan led her over to the love seat. He handed her a letter from her mother who had successfully completed her stint in rehab. She was going to stay in Scotland and start a new life there. She wished Olivia happiness. No declaration of love or request for forgiveness. Her mother hadn’t changed that much. It didn’t matter. She had Jonathan, and his family. Her family soon.

Olivia wiped another tear from her eye. Jonathan’s arm held her to his side, his warmth and strength hers whenever she needed it. “Where did all these people come from? Were they hiding upstairs?” She sipped champagne to ease the lump in her throat.

“No, over at Sophia’s. I texted them when I heard the taxi arrive,” Jonathan said.

“That was very presumptuous of you. What if I’d have said ‘no’?”

He raised an eyebrow as though she’d just said the most ludicrous thing. “Then all these people who love you would have been called upon to convince you to change your mind.”

All these people did love her. But none more than the man at her side. And she loved him right back. She knew he’d be a model husband. That was all a girl could ask for.

F2. Deal again.

The workday was endless when your biggest decision was FreeCell or solitaire. Today solitaire was the game of choice, and Sophia was already $830 down. Damn Vegas scoring. At least she didn’t have to worry about anyone knocking at her door to collect that debt.

The front doorbell buzzed, and she switched the display on her monitor from the game to webcam. Metal chair legs scraping against the wood floor indicated that the elderly porter had been awakened from his nap and was on the way to answer the summons.

Look up, look up
, she mentally willed the man standing at the door, waiting to be let in. Her telepathy not working, she tried adjusting the camera angle to get a better view, but all she could see was the top of his head. Dark hair, that was all. Useless angle, useless camera.

Not that she held out much hope that he would be worth looking at. The managing partner had mentioned as he passed her desk this morning that an important Italian property developer was coming to meet with him. An image of a short, middle-aged man with a Donald Trump hairstyle came to her mind, and she suppressed a giggle.

The visitor eventually arrived at the reception area. A Georgian house didn’t lend itself to the most efficient layout for an office. Trying to at least appear busy, Sophia pretended to save a document before turning to greet the man. She looked up, way up. Okay, so not short. And his black, slightly curly hair was brushed back from his face and bore absolutely no resemblance to Donald Trump’s. In fact, her fingers itched to run through it and release the curls further. His strong jaw and Roman nose looked like an advertisement for some amazing facial makeover. Dressed in a dark gray suit, he had an air of power. Even dressed more casually she was sure he would still have an aura of command.

This was no middle-aged specimen. The man standing before her was definitely in his prime. If he were a steer, he’d have AAA stamped on his left buttock, another image that left her battling the giggles. Until his dark eyes met hers, and all the air was sucked out of her lungs. He was so gorgeous, she clamped her lips together so she didn’t accidently drool on her keyboard.

“Luca Castellioni to see Walter Bodman.” His deep voice held only a hint of an Italian accent.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Castellioni. If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll let Mr. Bodman know you’re here.”

The guest smiled, as if distracted by a pleasant memory, and sat across the room in direct sight of her desk. Her suddenly nervous fingers had to twice dial the senior partner’s secretary, and her voice came out all breathless when she announced the visitor.

“Mr. Bodman is just finishing up a conference call. He’ll be down shortly.” At least she managed to sound a little normal.

The enigmatic visitor acknowledged her statement and picked up a magazine from the table next to him. But every time she looked up, he was staring at her rather than reading. He made no effort to look away, and it was Sophia who broke the eye contact each time. She was sure he could hear her heartbeat pounding from across the room. The more she tried to ignore his presence, the more acutely she became aware of his every movement.

Walter Bodman’s gruff voice booming across the room had never been so welcome. “Luca! Sorry to have kept you waiting. How wonderful to see you again. It’s been what—three years?”

“Five,” the Italian corrected. “You are doing well. Very nice offices … ” His voice trailed away as he followed his host.

A sharp stab of pain made Sophia aware she’d been clenching her toes. She kicked off her sensible ballerina flats and dreamed for a moment of the handsome Italian massaging her feet. There was no way she was going to be able to go back to her game of solitaire now.

Her mobile phone vibrated on the desk beside her. The bank was kindly advising that her account was now down to fourteen pounds fifty pence, and still six days to payday. With the tuition due for the next term of her interior design studies, her finances wouldn’t be much better even after she was paid.

She logged on to a job finder website, but there wasn’t much call for a receptionist with minimal experience and no real desire to do the job. And none paid more than what she was making now. Her desk phone buzzed, and she shut down the webpage. Might as well do the job she had, rather than worry about the one she couldn’t get.

An hour later Sophia was transcribing a letter one of the secretaries sent down when a shadow crossed her screen and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. A hint of sandalwood and citrus tickled her nose. Looking up, she wasn’t surprised to see the Italian businessman standing at her desk.

“I look forward to seeing you tonight, Miss Stevens.”

“I … ah … I … how do you know my name?” She latched onto the first thing that came to mind while she tried to make sense of his words.

He pointed at the small plaque on her desk with her name inscribed. “Walter has invited me to the company party. I hope we will have the opportunity to talk. Until tonight … ” Turning on his heel, he strode from the room.

Why would a gorgeous Italian millionaire want to talk to me?
Her toes curled again.

• • •

Luca entered the marquee in St. James’s Square and searched for Walter. At least that’s what his brain told his eyes to look for. They decided to hunt down the blonde receptionist instead. She was beautiful. But he knew lots of beautiful women. Maybe it was the laughter in her green eyes or the way she’d tried not to notice him that intrigued him. Whatever it was, he couldn’t relax until he spotted her.

She stood twenty meters away, chatting with a couple of other women, a glass of champagne in her hand. Her simple black dress was elegant and alluring, hugging her curves rather than pushing them up for all to see. His pulse quickened, as it had when he had seen her in the office. Before he could approach her, Walter’s over-loud voice stopped him.

“Luca, glad you could join us. I want to introduce you to Chet Wilkins, an American business acquaintance. He’s scouting new locations for his boutique hotel chain. He’s looking for rural properties to turn into luxury spas where stressed executives can go to relax. But I’ll let him tell you all the requirements.”

Walter led him to a tall, thin man in his early sixties, standing beside a woman of similar age who was wearing too little dress and too much makeup. Luca glanced to where Sophia had been chatting, only to find she was no longer with the group of women. Forcing his mind back to business, he smiled at the American couple.

Thirty minutes later, his smile was strained and he shifted another couple centimeters away from Mrs. Leslie Wilkins. She stood so close, he was in danger of suffocating on her cloying perfume. And he was pretty damn sure it wasn’t by accident she kept brushing his thigh or backside with her hand. Her husband continued to drone on about the ideal properties he was looking for, completely ignoring his wife. Walter had excused himself ten minutes ago, so it was just the three of them, penned into a corner. A waiter passed and Leslie grabbed yet another glass of champagne.

“Luca, there you are. I wondered where you’d got to.” The sexy voice of Walter’s receptionist halted the glass halfway to the American woman’s lips. Sophia’s small hand slipped into his, and he gave it a squeeze of appreciation.

He glanced down at her upturned face and had to stop himself from bending down and kissing her slightly parted lips. Sophia did weird things to his self-control. He was probably in more danger from her than Leslie Wilkins. “My apologies,
amore
. Walter introduced me to Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins, and we got so engrossed in our conversation, I lost track of time. Leslie, Chet, do you know Sophia Stevens?”

Leslie Wilkins downed half the glass of champagne in one go and turned to her husband. “I’m going to get something to eat,” she said before walking away, her steps wobbly.

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Wilkins. Pardon me, I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation,” Sophia added. “I’ll make sure Mrs. Wilkins finds the buffet okay.”

As quietly as she’d arrived, Sophia left, a light, lingering scent of fresh fruit and an odd tingle in his palm the only remnants of her appearance. Without missing a beat, Chet Wilkins continued his property wish list.

“I know of three properties that would suit your needs. When will you be in Italy?” As much as he’d love to cement a relationship with Chet, he couldn’t keep his mind off Sophia. Maybe she’d been checking him out and noticed his discomfort? His breath caught in his chest. What other hidden talents did the beguiling receptionist possess?

Chet’s voice interrupted his contemplations. “We’ll be there in about six weeks. My wife is accompanying me.”

Luca took a sip of his drink to expunge the bad taste in his mouth at the thought of more time in the company of Leslie Wilkins. “Here’s my card. Call me when you firm up your plans. I believe we can enjoy a mutually beneficial business partnership.”

Chet Wilkins pocketed his card and shook hands. “I look forward to working with you. Guess I’d better round up Leslie,” he said, then wandered toward the bar area rather than the buffet. Apparently, the man knew exactly where he’d find his wife.

Luca scanned the crowd, ignoring the open invitation on several of the women’s faces. Eventually he found Sophia, standing alone by the ice sculpture. The tiny white lights strung through the marquee danced off her golden hair, drawing him like a moth to a flame.