The Italian's Christmas Housekeeper
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‘Call it a touch of self-pity,’ she said, meeting the black fire in his eyes and realising he was still waiting for an answer. ‘Not something I imagine you have much experience of.’
Salvio gave a mirthless smile. How touching her faith in him! Did she think that because he was wealthy and successful, he had never known pain or despair, when he had been on intimate terms with both those things? His mouth hardened. When his life had imploded and he’d lost everything, he remembered the darkness which had descended on him, sending him hurtling into a deep and never-ending hole. And even though he’d dragged himself out of the quagmire and forced himself to start over—you never forgot an experience like that. It marked you. Changed you. Turned you into someone different. A stranger to yourself as well as to those around you. It was why he had left Naples—because he couldn’t bear to be reminded of his own failure. ‘Why do you stay here?’ he questioned quietly.
‘It’s a very well-paid job.’
‘Even though you get spoken to like that?’
She shook her head, her long hair swaying like a glossy curtain. ‘It’s not usually as bad as it was tonight.’
‘Your loyalty is touching, signorina.’
‘I’m paid to be loyal,’ she said doggedly.
‘I’m sure you are. But even taking all that into account, this place is very isolato...isolated.’ He gave a flicker of a smile, as if begging her to forgive his sudden lapse into his native tongue. ‘I can’t imagine many people your age living nearby.’
‘Maybe that’s one of the reasons I like it.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You don’t like to socialise?’
Molly hesitated. Should she tell him that she always felt out of place around people her own age? That she didn’t really do the relaxed stuff, or the fun stuff, or the wild stuff. She’d spent too many years caring for her mother and then trying to keep her brother from going off the rails—and that kind of sensible role could become so much a part of you that it was difficult to relinquish it. And wouldn’t that kind of admission bring reality crashing into the room? Wouldn’t it puncture the slightly unreal atmosphere which had descended on her ever since she’d walked in here and settled down by the fireside, allowing herself to forget for a short while that she was Molly the housekeeper—so that for once she’d felt like a person in her own right?
‘I can take people or leave them,’ she said. ‘Anyway, socialising is expensive and I’m saving up. I’m intending to put my brother through college and it isn’t cheap. He’s in Australia at the moment,’ she explained, in answer to the fractional rise of his dark brows. ‘Doing a kind of...gap year.’
He frowned. ‘So you’re here—working hard—while he has fun in the sun? That’s a very admirable sacrifice for a sister to make.’
‘Anyone would do it.’
‘Not anyone, no. He’s lucky to have you.’
Molly picked up her glass again and took another sip of brandy. Would Salvio De Gennaro be shocked if he knew the truth? That Robbie hadn’t actually got a place at college yet, because he was still ‘thinking about it’, in spite of all her entreaties to get himself a proper education and not end up like her. She licked her lips, which tasted of brandy. She didn’t want to think about Robbie. Surely she could have a night off for once? A night when she could feel young and carefree and revel in the fact that she was alone with a gorgeous man like Salvio—even if he had only invited her here because he felt sorry for her.
Putting her glass down, she stared at him and her heart gave a sudden lurch of yearning. He hadn’t moved from his spot by the window and his powerful body was starkly outlined by the moonlight.
‘What about you?’ she questioned suddenly. ‘What brought you here?’
He shrugged. ‘I was supposed to be discussing a deal with Philip Avery.’ He twisted his lips into a wry smile. ‘But that doesn’t look like it’s going to happen.’
‘He’ll be much more receptive in the morning,’ said Molly diplomatically.
‘It’ll be too late by then,’ he said. ‘I’m leaving as soon as it’s light.’
Molly was aware of a crushing sense of disappointment. She’d wanted... She stared very hard at her brandy glass as if the dark amber liquid would provide the answer. What had she wanted? To see him at breakfast—their eyes meeting in a moment of shared complicity as they remembered this illicit, night-time drink?
‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ she said, sounding genuinely disappointed.
He smiled, as if her earnestness had amused him. ‘You know, you’re far too sweet to be hiding yourself away somewhere like this, Molly.’
Sweet. Molly knew it was a compliment yet for some reason it offended her. It made her sound like the cake he’d caught her eating. Because sweet wasn’t sexy, was it? Just as she wasn’t sexy. ‘Am I?’ she questioned tonelessly.
He nodded, walking over to the desk and writing something on the back of a business card before crossing the room and handing it to her. ‘Here. Take this. It will get you straight through to my assistant. If ever you decide you want a change, then give her a ring. She knows plenty of people, and domestic staff are always in short supply.’ He met her eyes. ‘You could always find something better than this, you know.’
‘Despite dinner being such a disaster?’ She tried to sound jokey even if she didn’t feel it, because she realised she was being dismissed. Getting up from the comfort of her fireside seat, Molly took the card and slid it into the hip pocket of her dress.
‘Despite that,’ he agreed, his words suddenly trailing away as his gaze followed the movement of her hand.
Molly became aware of a subtle alteration in the atmosphere as Salvio lifted his eyes to her face. She’d wondered if the attraction which had sizzled between them earlier had been wishful thinking, but maybe it hadn’t. Maybe it had been real. As real as the sudden thrust of her nipples against the soft fabric of her dress and the distracting heat between her thighs. She held her breath, waiting, instinct telling her that he was going to touch her. Despite him being who he was and her being just Molly. And he did. Lifting his hand, he ran the tips of his fingers experimentally over her hair.
‘E capelli tuoi so comme a seta,’ he said, and when she looked at him in confusion, he translated. ‘Your hair is like silk.’
It was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to her and when she heard it in Italian it made her want to melt. Was that why he did it, knowing it would push her a little further beneath his powerful spell? Molly told herself to move away. She should thank him for the drink, for his kindness and for giving her his card and then hurry back to her little room to mull over her memories and hug them to her like a hot-water bottle. But she didn’t move. She just carried on gazing up into the rugged perfection of his looks, praying he would kiss her and make the fairy tale complete—even if that was all she was ever going to have to remember him by. ‘Is—is it?’ she questioned.