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She knew this, had accepted this, had factored it in coolly when she had delivered her demands, but there was one thing she hadn’t counted on. As he walked into the bedroom, carrying a laden tray and smiling into her eyes, there was an emotion almost like fear in the eyes that smiled back at him, because she had never anticipated the full effect of him—the dazzling beam of Luca when the full power of his smile, his mind, his body was aimed in her direction.
He’d be hell to miss.
He was dressed in jeans and nothing else. Barefoot and bare chested, he walked across the bedroom towards her, and it was a Luca she had never seen.
Usually suited, clean shaven—even the times she had seen him dressed rather more casually, still there had been a formal air to him. But it was a different Luca in front of her now.
Unshaven, his hair damp from the shower, it flopped forward as he bent over her. Then he took the coffee pot from the tray and put it on the bedside table before placing a tray on her lap. He looked younger somehow, less austere perhaps, and for Emma terribly, dangerously, devastatingly beautiful.
‘It is chaos out there.’ His thumb gestured to the bedroom door. ‘So we will hide in here for a couple of hours.’
‘Shouldn’t I be out there, helping?’ Emma asked, reaching for the pot of coffee, but Luca got there first.
‘I’ll pour,’ Luca said, then answered her question. ‘No, as I just said to my mother, we would only get in the way.’
Only she wasn’t really listening—instead, she stared at the cup he filled. It had been a seemingly innocuous gesture, yet for Emma it was huge.
He’d brought her breakfast in bed.
Oh, she’d had staff knock on the door of her hotel room at six a.m. when she was travelling with Luca and bring her in her order, but never, not once in her life, had someone who wasn’t being paid prepared breakfast for her, brought it to her and expected her to just sit as they poured. Always she got up, always it was her…
And this morning it was him.
It was scary how nice it felt to be looked after, even in this small way.
‘These are pizelles. Like waffles…’ He smeared one with honey and handed it to her—and then lay on his side, propped up on one arm, his coffee in the other hand, watching her intently, scanning her features for remorse.
‘How are you?’ he finally asked outright.
‘Good,’ Emma said through a mouthful of pizelle.
‘Any regrets?’ he asked.
‘None,’ she shook her head. ‘You?’
‘None—so long as you’re okay?’ he pressed.
‘The first time’s supposed to be awful,’ she murmured a little wickedly.
‘Says who?’ he asked, outraged.
‘I read it in a magazine.’
Luca rolled his eyes.
‘If that was awful…’ Emma giggled ‘…I can’t wait for bad!’
‘Throw away the magazines, baby…’ He took her coffee cup and her pizelle away and straddled her on the bed. ‘I’ll teach you everything I know.’
It was such a different Luca, as if she’d been looking at him through the wrong end of a telescope. His energy was lighter, funnier, sexier even, if that were possible. They shared breakfast and then each other, and then they left the chaotic household and had a picnic on the beach.
This time she didn’t slip away when it was time to ring her father, she just sat on the blanket and laughed and listened to him reminiscing, and it was so much easier with Luca lying there beside her.
‘I’ll sort out the back fees for the home,’ Luca said as she clicked off the phone. She turned to him, appalled.
‘How did you know?’
‘I read the letter the nursing home gave you,’ he admitted shamelessly.
