The Italians: Luca, Marco and Alessandro. Natalie Anderson
the life she’d had back at home. She wanted to live her own life and as part of that she didn’t want to work in retail any more. All she had to do now was figure out what job she did want—not so easy. But she’d saved hard, could live frugally and so could take more time to think.
She wandered through the sights and streets, just chilling and absorbing the scene. She knew she didn’t want to return to New Zealand, but she wasn’t sure she’d stay in London either. So she explored the city while she could.
It was a strange feeling—the lack of responsibility. For the first time she had no one to have to cook for or care for or chase after. No hours to meet and obligations to fulfil. No real, necessary demands on her. Hadn’t she been dreaming of this for so long? Finally free to observe and do nothing.
Yet alone, a little lonely, it wasn’t quite as much fun as it should have been.
She heard the slam of the door nearby and turned her head. She recognised the grey car. Had to think to keep her feet walking in a straight line, then gave up, not walking at all, just watching as with deliberate steps he crossed to the footpath in front of her.
‘Emily.’
That magic foreign tinge was more audible than the first time he’d spoken to her. Emily bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself moving towards him, to stop herself saying how pleased she was to see him, because she wasn’t sure why he was here—was he really here?
He took another step forward and reached for her hand.
Luca. Real and vital and in a suit so sharp she had to close her eyes for a moment as his fingers curled firmly around hers.
‘What are you doing here?’ Were those soft words hers?
‘I wanted to see how you were getting on.’ His answer came unevenly and he took in a deep breath. ‘You’re still living in a youth hostel.’
‘Yes.’
‘And yet Kate’s in a flat. How did that happen?’
That was Luca, cutting straight to the chase. She could hear the condemnation in his question. He must know it all from his music business mate.
‘She’s young.’ Emily shook her head. ‘She’s enjoying the freedom of adult life. Don’t judge her.’
But he was. She could see the disapproval narrowing his eyes.
‘What about your freedom? What were you doing when you were eighteen?’
‘It was different for me. I’m pleased Kate doesn’t have to deal with what I had to.’ Kate had found some friends, fallen in with them so quickly, and was working hard and having fun. And why shouldn’t she?
‘Perhaps. But she shows not even the littlest amount of loyalty.’
‘I told her to go.’ Emily had never wanted to hold Kate back. Her whole aim had been to see her fly. She just hadn’t realised it would happen so soon.
‘She still shouldn’t have. Her family should mean more to her.’
That tiny hurt part of Emily agreed with him but she couldn’t voice it, couldn’t admit to Kate’s faults—her sense of loyalty wouldn’t let her. The realisation that her kid sister was all grown up and no longer needed her had cut Emily to the quick. Kate had landed on her feet in this town, scored a job, settled into a flat just like that. It was Emily who hadn’t seen it coming. Emily who was still figuring out where she wanted to go and what she wanted to do…and right now she didn’t need him highlighting the point. What was he doing here anyway?
‘I’ve been in Milan.’ Luca abruptly changed the subject as he saw the shadows in her eyes darken. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, just wanted to know what the hell was going on. ‘I returned to London late last night.’ He didn’t add that he’d brought forward his return by almost a week because he couldn’t wait any longer to see her again. And now that he had, he could hardly wait to hold her again. Every fibre in him wanted to pull her close. He wanted to see fire in her eyes—not the tinge of pain he could see there now.
But she’d frozen up. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned Kate yet but he’d been stunned to hear about her moving in with some other wannabe musos and leaving Emily high and dry. He’d sent his driver to the airport so she’d get to her hostel safely, right? But really it had been so he’d find out where she was staying. All along, deep inside, he’d known he had to see her again.
‘Returned to London? Right,’ she said with bite. ‘I thought you lived in Italy.’
He hadn’t even told her that. A prickle of remorse roughened his answer. ‘I mostly live in London but spend a lot of time in Milan—I go to Verona from there.’
She nodded, but he wasn’t sure she’d heard him all that well. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that before?’
‘There wasn’t really time.’ It was a pathetic excuse and he knew she knew it as well as he.
‘Why didn’t you try to contact me? You didn’t even ask for an email address or a phone number or anything.’ Mottled pink colour was slowly sweeping across her skin.
‘I wanted it to be over.’ His blood was pumping faster too and his senses were more acute—he couldn’t tear his gaze from her.
‘So why are you here now?’ She was trembling; he could feel the tremors through her fingers.
‘Because I missed you.’ Every muscle in him tensed at the admission—at the desire. He knew her body moulded perfectly to his and he had to fight to stop himself pulling her close.
‘And?’ Was it anger or passion stirring her eyes to that emerald-green?
He couldn’t resist her, couldn’t stop the words tearing from him, low and harsh. ‘Because I wanted to see you again.’
‘You’re seeing me now.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘What, you want to have your wicked way with me again?’ She tossed her head to glare at him, all spirit and spark.
‘Wicked?’ He challenged her right back.
She closed her eyes at that. ‘Wild.’
It had been one wild, wonderful afternoon. He denied any wickedness—they had both wanted it. They both still did—he just had to get her to admit that too. Another tumble with her was all he wanted. As much as he hated to admit it, once hadn’t been enough. ‘Say yes, Emily, and we could do that again.’
* * *
Emily battled the satisfaction thrilling through her. He still wanted her. He’d come after her for that very purpose.
Unrelenting need.
Hadn’t she been aching with it for days now? But she tried to let rational thought have a moment of supremacy over that most basic instinct governing her. This was different. This might lead to a mess. As it was she’d been feeling below par. It had to be different this time—there had to be more.
She breathed deep, spoke carefully. ‘That afternoon was so complete. So perfect. Should we run the risk of ruining the memory of it?’
‘Yes.’ Decisive. Emphatic. No hesitation in his reply.
‘Why?’
He stepped even closer. ‘Because it wasn’t complete. It wasn’t perfect.’ His head lowered towards hers. ‘We were left wanting.’
Her lips tingled, his were so very near and the rush of memories was mixing with the present. It felt so natural and right for her to tilt that little bit further forward.
Her mouth touched his, clung to the warmth. Would have parted further and let him in if he’d made the move. But he lifted away, just a fraction, and she barely controlled the moan of disappointment, failed to suppress the sigh. Frustration.