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‘You bought me a card?’ Poppy was touched to the brink of tears.
‘Signed it with an unadventurous question mark…the guy with few words. All I could think about was getting you back to London. I didn’t understand I loved you until that day…’
Her throat thickened. Stepping back, she handed him the letter. ‘Well, I always knew how I felt about you, but I’ll forgive you for that.’
With perceptible reluctance he accepted the letter, and then as he scanned the first few lines with a frown such a stunned look began to form on his lean, strong face that she had to suppress a giggle. Suddenly he was glued to every page with total, focused concentration.
‘It’s a…it’s a love letter…a wonderful, fantastic love letter,’ Santino finally vocalised with a roughened edge to his deep voice.
‘It wasn’t meant to be, but when I learned I was expecting your child I wanted you to know that my card hadn’t been a cheap joke—’
‘I should skin you alive for having lied to me, amore.’ But as at that point Santino was looking at her with wondering, loving intensity, she was in no danger of taking offence. ‘I still have that card you sent me locked in my office safe. I pretended it wasn’t there so that I didn’t have to dump it!’
He followed that confession up with a beautiful sapphire engagement ring that took her breath away. Then he looked in on their infant daughter and smiled at her peaceful little face before he strode into his own suite next door to don the very rakish matching eighteenth-century outfit his romantic mother had laid on for his use that evening. The burgundy velvet surcoat, lace cravat and tight-fitting breeches and boots gave him an exotic and dangerous appeal that thrilled Poppy no end. For a while, all he wanted to talk about was what it had been like for her to carry their daughter during those months apart from him. Then they ended up in each other’s arms again and Santino pulled back and announced that they were dining out.
‘Oh…’ Poppy mumbled in surprise.
‘We’re not going to share a bedroom until we’re married, amore mio,’ Santino swore. ‘It’s the only way I can ever hope to live down that sofa.’
So he took her out into the city where he had been born and they dined in an intimate restaurant by candlelight, both of them so busy talking, both of them so incredibly happy that they had a glow about them that drew understanding and envious eyes.
On Poppy’s wedding day, the early morning mist was lifted by sunlight.
She had actually forgotten that it was Valentine’s Day, but then a giant basket of beautiful flowers and a glorious card covered with roses and containing a tender verse arrived. Inside, Santino had written those three little words that meant so much to her, ‘I love you’, and even signed it. So, it started out a fantastic day that just went on getting better and better.
She had only just finished her breakfast and was feeding Florenza when someone knocked on the door and her whole family—her mother and father and Peter and Karrie and her little nephew, Sam—trooped in. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Santino had flown them out at his expense and they were staying in the same hotel. He had arranged that in secrecy for her benefit and she loved him even more for that sensitivity. All the awkwardness she might have felt in other circumstances with her family evaporated straight away and, watching her mother’s eyes glisten over Florenza and enveloped in a hug by her father and her brother, Poppy was content.
Her mother and her sister-in-law helped her dress, enthusing over her exquisite ivory gown with its hand-painted hem of delicate pastel roses. A magnificent tiara and drop earrings arrived with a card signed by Santino. Tucked into a velvet-lined gondola for her passage to her wedding, Poppy felt like a princess. But when she saw Santino turn from the altar in the wonderful old church, that was when her heart truly overflowed with happiness.
The reception was staged in a superb ballroom and there were masses of guests. The bridegroom and the bride were so absorbed in each other that their guests smiled and shook their heads in wonderment. They watched them dance every dance in a world of their own and then depart for their honeymoon.
Late that night in Santino’s hideaway home in the wooded hills of Tuscany, Poppy lay in their incredible medieval bed draped with crewelwork drapes and surveyed her new husband with an excusable degree of satisfaction.
‘Just to think you were falling in love with me all those weeks I worked for you…and I hadn’t the foggiest idea.’ Poppy sighed blissfully and reckoned that low self-esteem was likely to be a very rare sensation in her future.
‘Neither had I,’ Santino quipped, dark golden eyes resting on her with adoring intensity as he gathered her close again. ‘But I missed you so much when you weren’t there. I love you, amore.’
‘I love you, too. But just to think of me almost breaking your heart, it’s heady stuff—’
‘You are revelling in your power,’ Santino groaned in teasing reproach.
Wearing an ear-to-ear grin, Poppy nodded in agreement, for finding out that he had never, ever been in love before, no, not once, made her feel that providence had kept him safe for her. They chatted about whether or not they would return to Venice for a night or two, checked on Florenza and congratulated each other on having created such a truly wonderful baby. All too soon they melted back into each other’s arms and kissed and hugged, both of them feeling as though they were the very first couple ever to discover that amount of love and revelling in their happiness.
Kim Lawrence
RAFAEL’S PROPOSAL
CHAPTER ONE
THE door of the lift was just closing when Maggie Coe slipped in.
‘I’ve been trying to catch you all day, Rafe!’ she cried breathlessly. ‘I want to run something by you.’
Rafael Ransome didn’t consider a lift a suitable place to conduct business conversations, especially when he was on his way home after working twelve hours straight to persuade the intransigent CEO of an ailing electronics company that awarding himself and the senior management team a fifty-per-cent pay rise while simultaneously laying off production staff wasn’t the best strategy to ensure the long-term future of the firm!
Ninety-nine out of a hundred people would have been able to deduce his feelings from the discouraging expression on his striking dark features, but Maggie Coe was not one of the ninety-nine.
Rafe ran a hand over the dark stubble on his normally clean-shaven jaw and grimaced. Her tunnel vision made Maggie an asset professionally, but it was a real pain in the rear when all you wanted was a hot shower and a cold drink.
‘It looks like you have me for the next sixty seconds.’ Coincidentally the same time, according to his disapproving mother, of his longest relationship to date.
Despite the shaky start, about thirty seconds into her pitch Maggie had his full attention.
‘So effectively all she’d be doing is sorting mail.’ Typically Rafe cut to the chase. ‘Is that right—?’
Maggie Coe nodded, too pleased with herself to note the steely tone of disapproval that had entered his deep voice. ‘And licking the odd stamp,’ she added with a smile of satisfaction.
She looked up with every expectation of seeing her boss looking dumbstruck with admiration that she’d come up with the perfect solution to a troublesome problem—the problem in question being Natalie Warner, a young woman who couldn’t seem to get her priorities right.
They didn’t need an employee who was going to turn up late if her child had a snuffle, even if she did always scrupulously make up that lost time and more. The fact that moreover she didn’t complain when she was regularly allocated an unfair proportion of the tedious, boring tasks didn’t cut any ice with Maggie. As far as she was concerned, if they tolerated such a laissez-faire attitude they were at risk of setting a dangerous precedent, and, as she had told Mr Ransome, before long everyone would be strolling in when it suited them.
In short, anarchy.
Even though she couldn’t see his expression Maggie had no doubts that a man who val
ued efficiency as much as Rafael Ransome, and who furthermore was capable of being as ruthless as he deemed necessary to achieve it, shared her view.
The silent lift came to a halt at the required floor, but Rafe pressed a button to prevent the door opening and turned back to the woman beside him.
‘Do you not feel that opening envelopes is a waste of someone with her qualifications?’ he questioned his zealous subordinate mildly. Those who knew him best would not have been fooled by the casual tone, but Maggie was blissfully blind to any signs of danger in the cold eyes or in the nerve pulsating in his lean cheek.
‘Well, I’m hoping she’ll think so,’ came the smart reply.
Rafael’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Maggie was prone to seeing things in terms of black and white, but she was a normally fair-minded person. Her hostility for this young woman seemed almost personal, which wasn’t like her.
Natalie Warner, he reflected grimly, seemed to have a knack for aggravating people. She had certainly got under his skin…not in a personal way, of course—he made it a rule never to mix business with pleasure. It was just he hated to see talent wasted and Natalie Warner had buckets of the stuff, even though she seemed determined not to use it.
‘So you’re hoping that she’ll be humiliated and resign…?’ A child could have seen exactly what Maggie’s tactics were.
‘That’s her choice, but let’s just say I wouldn’t try and stop her.’
She sounded so complacent that it took Rafe several seconds to control the sharp flare of fury that washed over him. It was ironic that the person on whose behalf he felt so angry wouldn’t have felt even slightly grateful if she’d known she had aroused his dormant protective instincts.
An image of a heart-shaped face floated in the air before his eyes, a rare distracted expression entered the densely blue—some said cold—eyes of the man who was famed for his single-minded focus. Natalie Warner barely reached his shoulder and looked as fragile as delicate china, but the likeness was highly deceptive. Any man whose chivalrous instincts were aroused by her appearance would be well advised to repress them unless he fancied an earful of abuse for his efforts—he’d seen her in action and had felt sympathy for the man foolish enough to imagine she needed any special favours.
