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‘Maledizione, why didn’t you call me?’
‘Because that number you gave me is reserved for your lovers, and I’m not your lover anymore.’ Her voice was croaky and black, stormy eyes connected with hers.
‘You should have called—I had no idea—’
‘You have an entire press department—’
‘A press department who know I don’t usually waste my time reading the sort of trash written by those sharks outside your door!’
Lindsay swallowed. He hadn’t known? ‘Right. So you’re telling me—’
‘I’m telling you that I found out what was happening less than four hours ago.’
‘And if you’d known?’
‘Well, for a start you wouldn’t have been trapped in your flat for two weeks. But we can rectify that.’ Removing his phone, he made one brief call, speaking in low, rapid Italian. Then he pulled open the door of her wardrobe, pulled out a pair of trousers and a shirt and flung it on the bed. ‘Get dressed.’
‘Why?’
Prowling round her bedroom, he found her shoes. ‘Call me fussy, but I don’t want naked pictures of my future wife plastered all over the newspapers.’
‘Your—’ Lindsay gaped at him. ‘What did you just say?’
Vibrating with tension, Alessio paced across her bedroom and grabbed her handbag. ‘You’re going to marry me. Is your passport in here?’
‘Alessio—’
‘We’ll leave everything else here.’ He glanced around her flat impatiently. ‘We can clear it out another time. Are you going to get dressed?’
‘Alessio, you just said—’ She broke off as her phone rang again and yet another client called to cancel.
Swearing first in Italian and then in English, Alessio yanked the phone cable out of the wall. ‘I’ve had enough of hearing that. They are all idiots—’He gave up on English and let out a stream of Italian, none of which she understood.
‘Alessio!’ Lindsay slid out of the bed. ‘Stop ranting and raving and talk to me for a minute! You’re not making any sense.’
‘I’m making perfect sense. Is your passport in your handbag?’
‘Yes, but—Alessio, you just said you were going to marry me!’
‘I am going to marry you. But first I want to get you back to Rome.’ His tone raw, he sank his long fingers into his glossy dark hair in a gesture of frustration. ‘I can’t protect you here.’
Her legs failing to hold her, Lindsay plopped back onto the bed. ‘You can’t be serious—’
‘It’s just too exposed. I own a villa outside Rome. I’m taking you there.’
‘No, I mean—about marrying me.’ She gave a disbelieving laugh and tried to sort out her muddled head. ‘What is this? A sudden rush of chivalry? You think because our affair is all over the newspapers, you have to marry me?’
‘It has nothing to do with the newspapers.’ He crossed the room and hauled her to her feet again. ‘You’re going to marry me because I want you with me. Always.’
‘Alessio—’
‘Have you any idea what the last two weeks have been like for me?’
‘I thought you said you hadn’t seen the newspapers—’
‘I’m not talking about the newspapers.’ He cupped her face in his hands, his eyes fierce as he looked down at her. ‘I’m talking about just not being with you. I—missed you.’
The words were so unexpected that for a moment she didn’t reply. ‘You missed me in your bed.’
