Christina Hollis - The Tuscan Tycoon's Pregnant Housekeeper

He was nothing like as old as she’d expected, but to think such a young man was already notorious in the newspapers somehow made her situation much worse. Michelle’s spirits skidded along rock-bottom. Despite his hunched shoulders and considered pace, he was moving quickly. Instead of taking the track of scuffed, dead grass leading directly from the helipad to the house, he took a much longer route. This went by way of paved paths through banks of thyme and sage, and stretched out her agony still further. Watching bees working among the herb flowers always persuaded Michelle to relax and linger. They had absolutely no effect on this man. He was totally single-minded. Looking neither to left nor right, he homed straight in on the front door of the villa.

If Michelle hadn’t been so frantic she would have appreciated his fine features. The natural curl in his thick, dark hair, his quick brown eyes, frowning brow and heavy tread would normally have made such an impression on her she would have been struck dumb. Instead she was speechless with embarrassment. Hands behind her back, she went on easing, tugging and wheedling at her skirt to try and free it. It was no use.

The closer the newcomer got, the more frantic she felt. Her fingers throbbed from trying to break free. So did her pulse. It was so hot. She might as well have been a butterfly beating its wings against a closed window. She was well and truly stuck. If that wasn’t bad enough, she was beginning to see why this guest hadn’t fitted in on Mr Bartlett’s yacht. It was designed for holidays and having a good time. Alessandro Castiglione looked as though he didn’t know the meaning of the words. Despite the heat, he was wearing a top-quality suit and a hand-finished shirt. His only concessions to the Mediterranean were the ivory colour of his linen trousers and jacket, the open buttons at his neck, and the mulberry-coloured tie peeking from his pocket.

Michelle swallowed hard. The time for practising her welcome was over. Now for it…

‘ Buongiorno , Signor Castiglione. My name is Michelle Spicer, and I’ll be looking after you during your stay here at Jolie Fleur.’

His pale, aristocratic face was compressed. ‘I don’t need looking after. That’s why I jumped ship. There were too many people running round after me. All they do is get in my way,’ he growled in faultless English, speaking with the accent of a Caesar. It drove everything from Michelle’s mind except her fear of explaining exactly how much of a fool she was.

And then, ten feet away from her, his expression changed from distracted to thoughtful. He stopped. Michelle tried to take a step backwards away from him, but her heels rattled against the firmly closed door. There was no escape. She stood and quailed, while he stood and watched her. He pressed his lips together in a tight line, matching the deep furrows on his brow. Michelle couldn’t think of a single thing to say. This was worse than she had ever imagined it would be. She was pinned to the door by his unblinking stare. Michelle tried to tell herself this was just another job and she really shouldn’t care what impression he was getting of her. The truth was, she cared very much. Staff should be invisible and silent. Here she was, pegged out with no hope of release. You couldn’t get much more visible than that.

Why does he have to be so good-looking? she thought. It wouldn’t be half so bad if he was old, or ugly, or ranted and raved at me—anything would be easier to bear than this slow, silent interrogation…

‘Well! What have we got here?’ he drawled eventually. ‘You’re trapped.’

So tell me something I don’t know! she thought, but the relish in his eyes was too obvious. Instead, she nodded and tried to smile.

‘I—I’m the housekeeper here at Jolie Fleur and I shall be doing everything I can to make your stay as pleasant as possible…’ Though how I’m going to manage it from here … she added silently.

It didn’t seem much of an obstacle to Alessandro Castiglione. He pinned her to the door with a knowing look.

‘ Everything? ’ he questioned with a mischevious twinkle. ‘You mean my wish is your command? That’s dangerous talk, signorina , when you look to be stuck fast!’

Michelle burbled something wordless, her mind melted by flames of embarrassment. She needn’t have bothered. He was far too interested in her problem.

‘I was trapped too—on that damned boat,’ he added, almost sympathetically.

After a moment’s hesitation, Michelle screwed up all her courage and tried an explanation.

‘The door slammed shut in the helicopter’s downdraught. The key is in my pocket, but I can’t reach it,’ she said, in a voice so small she hardly recognised it.

To her surprise he gave a quick nod of understanding. ‘You must be more careful. This is a very heavy door, Michelle. You’re lucky it’s only your dress. You might have lost your fingers.’

Her heart slowed to about five hundred beats a minute. Looking into those nocciola -brown eyes was having a very strange effect on her. None of the bad things she had been told about him mattered any more. This was a man who had been through a lot. She could see that from his face. He must be in his late thirties, and creases etched between his brows added to the character of his otherwise fine features, but to Michelle he was at his loveliest when he smiled.

‘My keys—’ she tried to say, but no sound came out. Clearing her throat as delicately as she could, she tried again. ‘My keys are in my pocket, but I can’t reach them.’

‘Then it’s easily fixed,’ he said as he moved towards her.

The villa’s overhanging eaves meant she was imprisoned in the shade, but her temperature began to rise. The closer Alessandro got, the better-looking he became. Any lines on his face now were drawn by concentration. His aura of confidence should have put her at her ease, but it had exactly the opposite effect. There was nowhere for Michelle to look except straight at him. She was swept into the steady depths of his eyes and could study them all she liked. Alessandro Castiglione was far too busy to notice. He was concentrating on her waist.

‘Surely if you were to turn around—?’

‘How? I’m stuck!’

‘I’ll show you.’

He closed in on her until they were almost touching. She gazed up at him, her hazel eyes wide with anxiety. He placed his hands on her shoulders, and she flinched.

‘Michelle! Anyone would think I was a monster.’ He laughed.

‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered.

‘Don’t worry. I’ve had my quota of virgins for the day.’ With that, he turned her—not to the left, as she’d imagined, but to the right. Now she was facing the door. She couldn’t see him any more, but hardly needed to. The mere presence of him was sending out enough vibrations to tell her he meant business.

‘That’s given you more room to play with, hasn’t it?’ he asked in his deep brown voice.

Michelle tried, struggled and failed.

‘Yes, but it’s not enough. I still can’t get my hand around into my pocket.’

The fragrance of his new clothes and expensive cologne retreated a little, but then returned with full force.

‘How about if I try?’

Michelle nodded. His hand slid over her, and she was spellbound. His touch was slow and measured. Michelle felt it like a caress. She tried to steady her breathing. It was impossible. The air filling her lungs was superheated with his clean, understated fragrance.

‘No—please—don’t do that…’ Michelle’s protest sounded feeble and fake, even to her.

Alessandro’s hand stopped moving, but he didn’t take it away. She felt the warmth of it burning through the thin fabric of her uniform like a brand.

‘What is it, Michelle?’

His rich accent made even those few simple words sound beautiful.

Michelle pressed her cheek hard against the impassive face of the front door and tried to keep cool. It wasn’t easy when she could feel every one of his fingers.

‘Nothing.’ She shook her head.

Only, it’s the first real time I’ve been touched by a man , she thought to herself.

The tips of his fingers slid lazily over her, searching. When he found what he was looking for, she gasped. His hand slid into her pocket and closed over her key fold.

‘Now…I’m afraid I shall have to move in a lot closer to reach the keyhole…’

Michelle couldn’t speak. He was leaning against her as he searched for the lock. The feel of his breath on her hair was intoxicating enough. When his right hand slid around her waist the breath caught in her throat. There was a click, and the door swung open. His supporting hand fell away from her and he stood back.

‘You’re free,’ he said, nodding towards the entrance hall, smiling. It lit up his face, and she couldn’t help pausing in wonder. Then a breeze rippled around them, bringing her situation right back to life again. She flung out her hand to stop the door slamming a second time. Alessandro’s hand was already there. Electricity crackled right through her body. She felt his firm, warm fingers again—then snatched hers away.

‘Thank you, Signor Castiglione. I’ll show you to your suite. Then I’ll take you on a tour of Jolie Fleur—’ she gabbled, desperate to prove how capable she was.

‘No—I’ll be fine.’ Alessandro cut her off. ‘There’s no reason why you should worry about me. Go and do whatever you have to. I’m more than capable of finding my way around a house alone.’

‘Of course, Signor Castiglione.’

Michelle dipped her head politely and reversed away from him.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m going to change—this dress is all creased now. I live in the studio house. It’s in the grounds, just over there.’

He frowned. ‘Why don’t you live in the main house?’

‘I’m only temporary staff, signor . Given my position, I don’t really fit in anywhere up at the house.’

‘But Terence Bartlett told me his house was deserted—there must be plenty of spare rooms. All his staff are with him on the yacht. That’s the only reason I got him to drop me off here, rather than heading for home. I employ even more people than he does,’ he said, with a voice full of feeling.

Michelle wondered if this was before or after the redundancies, and shivered.

‘To be honest, I prefer living away from the main house, signor . I like my own company, so the studio is ideal for me.’

‘Do you mean the artist’s studio?’ he said slowly.

She nodded. ‘There’s a lot of equipment and things stored in there, signor , but none of it has been used or even opened.’

‘Terence had it built so he could dabble, but he’s never had the time to use it. Or the talent,’ he added regretfully. ‘Is it a good building?’

‘It’s wonderful, signor .’ Michelle smiled.

Living in a place where works of art might one day be made was another reason why she loved Jolie Fleur. The place was so beautiful it cried out to be drawn or painted. She wished she had one percent of the equipment that was lying abandoned in the apartment she was using. Then she reminded herself none of it was any use to her, as she lacked the nerve to try.

‘May I take a look inside this studio of yours?’

How could she refuse? Alessandro was the boss, after all. She nodded. The idea of a man intruding into her personal space would normally set her teeth on edge. And yet something about this man made agreeing to his request the most natural thing in the world. She didn’t want to cross him, but that wasn’t the only reason. In the few minutes since he’d landed Michelle had realised something. He might be used to the company of stars and billionaires, but Alessandro Castiglione was the most natural, unaffected person she had ever met. He didn’t waste words, either. That was something else in his favour. She much preferred an employer who kept quiet and let her get on with things, although the magnetic Signor Castiglione was bound to be quite a challenge. But Michelle knew her place. It was his holiday: her job was to keep him happy while keeping out of his way.