Roman Holiday Page 23

  Caroline sat up straighter in her armchair, took a sip of the cooling tea and watched him closely.

  “That doesn’t have to be decided now, Nick. He’s only thirteen and maybe Mia will want to run the hotels. Maybe you will still be running them.”

  Nick’s head shook back and forth instinctively.

  “No. Not me. I’m only here in a temporary capacity. I’m an architect, for God’s sake, not a hotelier!”

  “Seems to me like you’re doing a rather exemplary job of managing hotels. I’ve been listening to Antonio and Naomi and they say business is booming since you took over when Toni died. They say . . . ” She glanced at him over the rim of the cup. “That the other worldwide location managers will stage a coup if you leave.”

  “Nonsense. They give me enough shit when I discuss hotel expansion with them or strategies for their futures.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t take any shit from them and they respect that. Do you not see?”

  She leaned forwards and damn it, her robe opened, the low neck of her sleep shirt loose on her creamy skin, distracting him.

  “You are the glue that’s holding the empire together.”

  “Huh. I mean no. I’m not. I’m an architect. I design things.”

  He dragged his gaze from her exposed skin and saw a faint flush touch her cheeks as she realised what had held his attention.

  “Yes,” she agreed gently, “you design things. You’re creative and visionary and Antonio says that’s exactly what the business had needed. He said that Toni’s heart hadn’t been in it, not for years, and the toll was beginning to show. You saved their business, Nick. You.”

  Nick ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “But I’m not here for the duration. I need to train up someone. And fast. No, not Toby,” he added with a snort, seeing her raised eyebrow, “even I know that’s years away. But someone.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because I have to go back to New York. To my career. To architecture. This is temporary,” he insisted again.

  “Methinks thou doth protest too much.”

  “Hey, leave Shakespeare out of this. I’m serious.” He ceased his pacing and sat back on the couch, elbows on his knees.

  “Me too. I’m serious. Honestly, Nick, I barely know you.”

  She blushed as she said those words and he wondered if she was having flashes of just how well she knew certain parts of him.

  “But I think you thrive in this position. You’re dedicated, hard-working and, please take note of this bit, creative in your decision-making. Even I can see that. Naomi showed me pictures of the Rome Paradiso foyer before you took over. The changes you’ve made are inspired, cutting-edge, even, and that’s down to your artistic background. It works, this marriage of architecture and hotels, and seriously, can you tell me, hand on heart, that you’re unhappy here?”

  No. No, he couldn’t say that. And therein lay the biggest problem of all.

  “Look, I’ve decided to go to New York for New Year to spend it with my family and I’ll think about it some more there. I’ll pay a visit to the firm where I work . . . ” His mouth tightened. “Used to work, and discuss my future employment with them then.”

  “How long has it been since you last designed anything?” Caroline asked, her voice curious rather than snide.

  “You mean like a building that wasn’t already there?” He huffed out a laugh. “Too long. But I work on plans I have at my apartment and follow the firm’s work online and via our intranet set-up. They’re decent and keep me in the loop. You don’t forget how to design,” he continued, locking his gaze on hers, “but the skills of doing so can get rusty, I guess.”

  He stood abruptly, gathered the empty glasses from her hands and his side table, and placed them by the drinks cabinet.

  “It’s late. You must be exhausted and I could do with a few hours myself. We need to go to bed.” The second he said it, the second the words came out of his mouth, and all that they could mean flooded his brain and, pretty instantly, his groin. Nick bit back a curse. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “Hey, it’s okay. I know what you meant,” Caroline interrupted. “I’m tired. I need sleep. So do you. I know it doesn’t mean you want to sleep with me. Jesus!” She looked down at her ensemble, her cheeks pink again. “I mean, look at me!” she gasped, obviously realising she was actually encouraging him, despite herself. “No, crap, that’s not . . . ”

  Nick’s mouth landed on hers like a starved man. His hands cupped her face, holding her fiercely, tenderly, carefully. He kissed and kissed, soft, gentle, warm, just tasting her and feeling her begin to kiss him back. Because she was. Returning his subtle pressure as bold as you please. On a groan, his tongue dragged along the seam of those lips and she opened her mouth to his with a groan of her own.

  God, he’d missed this. Her taste, her velvety-smooth mouth, her gorgeous, inquisitive tongue and her pleasure in his touch . . .

  He took the kiss deeper, one hand sliding down her back and cupping her bottom, dragging her flush to his hard, aching body. He knew, in the back of his mind, that she’d feel just how much he craved her right now, it was way too obvious to miss. His erection was straining, eager, hungry for her and her alone. Christ! He wanted to bury himself deep inside her and stay there, giving and giving till she fell apart in his arms and he followed her into the bliss.

  Her hands clutched at his shoulders as she leaned in, using her own body force to grind herself against him, pleasing herself. Her breathing was as shaky as his when he tore his mouth from hers and slid his tongue along her jaw and down her throat, nibbling and sucking as he moved towards her open dressing gown. Dressing gown. She was wearing a dressing gown. What the fu . . .

  Anger and embarrassment tore through Nick as reality crashed in and he dragged his mouth from her skin. What kind of a bastard tried to seduce a woman who was literally just out of her sickbed?

  A selfish-bastard kind, was what.

  Staring into Caroline’s unfocused blue eyes, the fatigue and shakiness still visible, he cursed himself every kind of fool.

  “Not now, Caroline.” He tried for a smile but wasn’t sure it was successful, as she frowned back at him, blearily. “You genuinely need sleep and I . . . I’m not behaving like a gentleman, for which I apologise. You just . . . you look . . . Jesus! never mind.”

  He shook his head in exasperation at his own fumbling. Next, he’d be blaming her for being so desirable and trotting out the old “I couldn’t help myself” chestnut. He laid a gentle hand on the side of her face, his thumb stroking softly.

  “Please go. Go to bed. Get some sleep and we’ll talk tomorrow. I’ll stay in my usual room in the other wing.”

  Without waiting for an answer, he turned and strode from the room before he did something utterly stupid.

  Utterly unforgivable. And utterly incredible, of that he had no doubt.

  Caro pulled the covers up to her chin and stared blankly in the darkened room. What the hell had almost happened? She was still reeling from the flood of emotions that had filled her body when his mouth had landed on hers. She’d practically been begging for his touch, needing the feel of his mouth on hers, his hands on her body, his skin on her skin. She shuddered. Oh, shit for Sundays. Anyway, she thought, I have it bad.

  Even now she could feel the force of his tongue devouring her mouth, his hand as he grabbed her ass and, oh yes, the feel of his long, hot cock pressed against her belly, throbbing against her, straining for her. Had he not drawn a halt, had Nick not pulled back, they’d be on the floor in the den right now, shagging like rabbits. What did it say about her that she really, really wished they were? How long had it been? And how, on God’s earth, could she want this blasted man so badly? Weren’t there enough hot, handsome bloody Italians to go around that she didn’t need to fancy the ass of the one man she couldn’t, shouldn’t actually have? Her son’s cousin, for fuck’s sake! A fecking relative!

  Oh, dear God above, she was doo
med.

  Rearing up, she twisted and grabbed her pillow, thumped it into some kind of shape and flopped back down. Think! she ordered herself. Use your noggin. Nick Sullivan was all wrong, so very wrong for her, in every conceivable way. He was sophisticated, wealthy, a Romeo – jeez, he’d seduced her practically the first time he met her – and let’s not forget he practically called her and her son swindlers, liars and cheats. Oh! and he was kinda related to her! Argh! Caro flipped to her other side, murdering her pillow again, and took a deep breath. Okay, yoga-breathing time – slow, deep and even, count to four and let it out slowly, count to four, repeat. Except what came to her brain was all Nick-related – sleep, screw, repeat. Argh!

  A few moments later, Caro took stock and accepted that perhaps she’d been a little hasty. Wealthy? Tick. Sophisticated? Tick. A Romeo? Yeah, not so much. He hadn’t seduced her, they’d had grown-up, consensual, really great sex. And if he’d initially thought she was trying to blindside his aunt and uncle, she had to agree, it probably looked suspect from his angle. And she knew he didn’t believe that now. Caro had heard from Naomi that the di Lucas had been targeted a few times, even a fake pregnancy scenario, by people looking to cash in on their grief. So no, Nick wasn’t totally out of line to have doubted her innocence.

  But.

  Yes, a big but.

  He was still related to her boy and that was surely not an okay situation. Was there a law? Shit.She hoped there wasn’t a law! Even if, in the grand scheme of things, she and Toby headed back to Dublin to continue their lives within the next few months, she had to admit, even just in a tiny inner voice, that she’d absolutely, without doubt, want to have hot, wild sex with him once more. The worst of it was, she thought, when you got to know him a bit, when he wasn’t being all lord of the manor, “no one messes with my family” guy, he was . . . kind. Nice, even. Charming. Fun.

  And the way he’d handled Toby, not just this evening but while she was sick?That was . . . thoughtful. Whatever other crap he may pull in the future, she wouldn’t forget how he’d made her son feel better just by his being there, helping, calming, caring. That was massive. Huge.

  Caro could feel her eyelids droop as she settled down further under the blanket. Nick had said they’d talk in the morning. Maybe they would. She’d have to limit the Toni chat, though, because that was definitely off limits. He had no clue how desperately hurtful that was. Shit, she didn’t have a clue what it was doing to her, either. But it was a no-go area for now.

  Tomorrow, Caro yawned. They’d talk tomorrow.

  She slept.

  Chapter 17

  “Gone? What do you mean gone?” Caro swallowed her coffee in a gulp and almost choked as Maria nodded her head abstractedly. She’d been there in the kitchen when Caro had wandered in and had handed her a cup of the fresh brew. “Gone where?”

  “Milan, I think,” Maria responded. “He left very early, an urgent phone call from the Milan Paradiso that only he could deal with. Here . . . ” She stuck her hand in the pocket of her apron. “He left this for you.”

  Maria held out an envelope towards Caro and smiled gently. A truce of a kind had landed between them over the few weeks that Caro and Toby had been staying at the palazzo. Mainly because of Toby, of course, but a truce nonetheless. Maria could see as much as anyone the young likeness of Toni talking and laughing about the house. She’d taken to making Toby’s favourite dishes and was slowly letting him have some of her secret recipes, a fact of trust that wasn’t lost on her son. Toby revered Maria, teased her and joked with her and, wonder of wonders, made the normally stiff-lipped woman laugh out loud. When that happened, everyone won.

  Caro put her cup down on the scrubbed wooden table and easing onto a chair, tore open the letter. Why hadn’t he just texted? This note seemed . . .so personal. She unfolded the sheet of white paper. Strong, bold, deep-blue ink scrawled across the page. It was simple, yet, enigmatic.

  Apologies. Duty, of the hotel variety, calls.

  We will continue where we left off when I get back, probably in a few days.

  Take care and mind the kid.

  N

  PS – ask Maria about the mushrooms.

  Huh. Damn. She’d been, in a weird and scary way, looking forward to their chat today, wondering what it might bring, where it might lead and now . . . nothing.

  Oh well. A few more days won’t make any difference and at least he bothered to leave the note. See? she told herself. Good guy, decent guy, not a bastard as previously presumed.Well, after the part where she’d presumed he was merely one smokin’-hot Italian. God, she wished she had those days back. Before dead Toni, before broken-hearted son, before a whole new set of relatives, before mistrust and deceit. Caro let out a long sigh she’d been unaware she was holding.

  Maria coughed and offered the coffee pot. Grateful, Caro pushed her cup forwards.

  Ah, yes, Maria and the mushrooms.

  “Maria, thanks so much for leaving all that food for Toby to prepare the other night. He was thrilled and he cooked a super meal. I’m sure you’ve heard by now that I had a bit of a reaction”—under-bloody-statement—“to the mushrooms you left and I was wondering about the type so I can avoid them in future. Do you know?”

  Eyebrows drawn together, Maria studied Caro, her head cocked.

  “Mushrooms? I did not leave you any of the mushrooms. They are not for eating with Tobias Antonio’s dish, no?”

  “No. I mean yeah, that’s what he said,” Caro agreed, “but I love them usually, or at least I used to, so I ate the ones you’d left on the counter, already cooked.”

  “But no, no,” Maria insisted, “I was leaving no mushrooms. I have not been buying them as they are not the ones I am liking at the market. No, no.”

  Maria was getting flustered and Caro realised it could sound like she was accusing Maria of making her sick. Christ, that’s all she needed, Maria back on the warpath.

  “No worries, Maria. I’ll double-check with Toby, maybe he did buy them, after all.”

  But she knew, categorically, that he hadn’t. So, who had? Google to the rescue. First, she needed to identify which kind they were, so she could avoid them in future, and then check locally where they might be purchased. A little detective work to get the juices flowing. But regardless of the outcome of her search, it was a bit of a mystery as to why they’d been there. Strangely, Caro believed Maria, though she had no real reason to – just instinct.

  “Thanks so much for the coffee, Maria. I’m heading up to my office. I’ll pop back down when Antonio and Valentina arrive back later this morning. Did Toby get off to school okay?”

  Looking slightly mollified, Maria nodded and explained that he’d taken a lift with the gardener, Tommaso, to the school, as Mia and Marianna still hadn’t returned from their excursion.

  Good. Some quiet time to check a few bits, then maybe go back to the attic in search of some more old and forgotten works of art.

  That hidden-away but clean-and-accessible space was proving to be quite the treasure-trove for Caro’s cataloguing. New finds were noted and old classics added to the ever-growing list. She doubted either of the senior di Lucas knew half of the bounty the attic held. And Caro was never happier than when she was researching each new oil or watercolour, and even the odd drawing or a more modern-style acrylic. Not only was she soaking up the new knowledge, but she was also happily applying her own to the various write-ups in the index she was creating.

  Mind you, with all that and her several hours spent teaching class and lecturing, she was really, really looking forward to getting home for Christmas – only three more days to departure day. Toby was as excited as she, but he’d already gone and done some gift shopping for his new relations while Caro had precisely nothing purchased for this side of the family.

  That would have to get remedied tomorrow, when class was finished for the term, returning mid-January. Caro wouldn’t be taking the evening lectures, just the classes a few days a week, and for that s
he was unnaturally relieved. It surprised her that she felt that way, as teaching and lecturing was her “go-to” norm – it’s where she excelled. But here, up in the attic, finding and researching some beautiful neglected artwork was proving to be the saviour of her sanity.

  Trying not to be over-analytical, Caro accepted that maybe, just maybe, she felt a bit closer to Toni here in the quiet of the old home where he’d been raised. That she wanted to feel close to him was an analytic trip too far – she was happy for now to let the feelings fall where they may.

  She stopped off in her office and fired up her computer, quickly searching through the various mushroom images that looked even vaguely something like what she ate. It wasn’t that helpful, though, as many of the Amanita family looked so alike and yet some were quite poisonous, some not and others deadly. Based on how quickly she got sick, the culprit appeared to be Amanita muscaria.

  But hers certainly hadn’t had the fairy-tale look of the toadstool – and yikes, yes, there it was . . . There were several slightly less dramatic versions that had the same pretty instant result of the vomiting, sweats, chills and weakness. Hmm. Maybe the gardener, Tommaso, would know where they came from. She made a mental note to ask him later.

  Closing down her computer, she reached for her laptop and headed to the narrow back stairs that led up to the attic. Her first visit had alarmed her – so many canvases, so many boxes and covered statues and objets d’art. Crikey, she’d thought, this family has been collecting for centuries, it seemed. Strangely, when she enquired of Antonio and Valentina later about the sheer quantity, they’d simply said yes, it had been centuries. That alone had sent tingles along Caro’s spine. She would find, catalogue and maybe even bring some serious works of art back downstairs.