Be Mine: Valentine Novellas to Warm The Heart

by Nicole Flockton

  Shock rendered her speechless. She’d had no idea Noah was even remotely interested in her. Her mind whirled with everything he said. The missed chances they’d had. When she finally got her wits about her, she opened her mouth, but still nothing came out. She closed it and tried again. “Oh, I, umm, had no idea.”

  “Well, now you do. Remember, I did tell you the only reason I got into this godforsaken tin can was because you were in it.”

  “Yeah you did.”

  He brushed his nose softly against hers before pulling back. “So Lisa Wheeler, before the doors open and our private little oasis is shattered, I’ve got a question for you.”

  “And what’s that, Noah Collins.” She said with a smile.

  “When our shift is over, will you have breakfast with me?”

  “Breakfast?”

  He smiled and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “And maybe…more?”

  The lift whirred to life and Lisa knew she only had seconds to answer. “Yes. I would love to have breakfast and more, with you.”

  Noah smiled at her and moved away so that he stood next to her. A perfectly respectable distance between them so no one would have any idea that she and Noah had just made a date. As the doors slid open and the maintenance and security crew awaited them, Lisa knew that, against all odds and her misconceptions of Noah, Cupid hadn’t ignored her today. Cupid had fired its bow at the two of them, and it had landed truly.

  Who needed flower deliveries or romantic movies? She’d gotten the best present of all.

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  About Nicole Flockton

  On her very first school report her teacher said ‘Nicole likes to tell her own stories’. Many years later she eventually sat down and wrote her first book.

  Nicole writes sexy contemporary romances, seducing you one kiss at a time as you turn the pages. She enjoys taking two characters and creating unique situations for them.

  When she’s not writing, she’s busy spreading glitter over social media and having a ton of fun doing it.

  Learn more about Nicole Flockton at http://www.nicoleflockton.com.

  authornicole@nicoleflockton.com

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  Also By Nicole

  Lovers Unmasked Series

  Masquerade

  Rescuing Dawn

  Seducing Phoebe

  The Elite

  Fighting to Win

  Fighting to Dream

  Fighting for Love

  Fighting for Redemption

  Guardian Seals

  Protecting Lily

  Protecting Maria

  Guarding Erin

  Guarding Suzie

  Guarding Brielle

  Guarding Antonia

  Guarding Faith

  Guarding Amberley

  Special Forces Operation Alpha World

  Rescuing Samantha

  Man’s Best Friend

  Blind Date Bet

  Next Door Knight

  The Matchmaker’s Match

  The Freemasons

  The Victor

  The Hunter

  Bound Series

  Bound by Her Ring

  Bound by His Desire

  Bound by Their Love

  Bound by The Billionaire’s Desire - Boxed Set

  Emerald Springs Legacy Series

  Daniel’s Decision

  Emerald Springs Legacy Collection

  Barefoot Bay

  Swipe for Mr. Right

  Wrong Time for Mr. Right

  Novellas

  Fighting Their Attraction

  Tangled Vines

  Tango Love

  A Vacation Affair

  Christmas in Ghost Gum Valley

  Valentine Promises

  Susanne Bellamy

  Setting:

  Amalfi Coast, Italy - uses Australian English spelling.

  Heat rating - two chillies

  About Valentine Promises

  It’s only a ride on a motorbike but …

  Serena Bannon finds herself stranded on the rugged road that clings to the Amalfi Coast, but she emphatically refuses the offer of help from a sexy Italian motorbike rider. No matter if she misses the most important meeting of her life, she will not ride pillion on his motorbike.

  Her potential saviour, Luca d’Alberghi is at first bemused by her refusal to accept his help, but his desire to get to know this enigmatic woman grows as he discovers her reasons, and her courage touches something deep within his workaholic soul.

  On the eve of Valentine’s Day can Serena find a way around a promise she made years ago?

  1

  Aboard the crowded Sorrento-bound bus, Serena Bannon mentally groaned as the vehicle lumbered to a stop in front of a café halfway along the Amalfi Coast. The driver alighted and sauntered into the café as if he had all the time in the world.

  She smoothed out the crumpled bus timetable and stared at it for the umpteenth time, but the Italian abbreviations were so much gobbledy-gook.

  Around her, the other passengers’ chatter, voluble and indecipherable, added to her woes. She shook her head in frustration.

  Why didn’t I learn more Italian as soon as Dad suggested approaching this motor company? By now I’d be proficient enough to at least be able to read a timetable.

  She turned to the passenger beside her. “Scusi, signora?”

  The woman, middle-aged and dressed in black, looked up from her phone.

  “How long does the bus stop here?”

  The woman shrugged and rattled off a quick-fire reply.

  Serena only caught the word ‘cinque’.

  “Five minutes? Will you watch my satchel please? Per favore?”

  The woman looked at the bag, looked at Serena’s face and made a shooing motion. “Si, si. Vai avanti.”

  Serena raced into the restroom. Two minutes later, she tugged the grey pencil skirt down her thighs, grabbed her handbag and jacket off the hook, opened the cubicle door and hurried to the sink.

  She washed her hands and splashed water over her face. How on earth can I do justice to Dad’s presentation after too little sleep and a red-eye flight?

  Head bowed, she leaned against the metal sink and drew a deep breath. A drop of water ran down her neck into the high-buttoned shirt collar. She undid the top two buttons and wiped more water over her neck and into the vee of her blouse.

  Hydrate. I need to rehydrate after the flight.

  Horns tooted nearby with the happy lack of malice she already associated with the Amalfi Coast. Did she have time to grab a cool drink before the bus pulled out? She glanced in the mirror, and poked a tongue at the unfamiliar, grey-suited reflection, and then hurried from the ladies’ restroom.

  Weak February sun gleamed on the rear of the bus—her bus—as it pulled out into traffic heading onto the viaduct.

  “No, no, no, no, no!”

  Hampered by the slim-fitting skirt and unfamiliar heels, she raced towards it, waving her arms like a maniac and yelling, “Stop. Wait for me.”

  A puff of smoke blew from the exhaust as the bus accelerated away, before it turned the rocky cliff corner and vanished. Along with her briefcase, laptop and the PowerPoint presentation for her meeting in Sorrento.

  Luca d’Alberghi slowed his speed as his motorbike travelled through the tunnel and rounded a blind cu
rve into Atrani. Low sunlight shone into his eyes, blinding him for a split second.

  A woman ran onto the road, arms waving wildly as she raced headlong after a moving bus.

  Luca swerved, braked, swore.

  His handlebar clipped the woman’s elbow. She careened sideways. He fought to correct the bike’s manic wobble and somehow managed to jerk the huge machine to a stop.

  His heart thumping in his throat like a runaway train, Luca kicked down the stand and ripped off his helmet. He sprinted down the road to where the woman lay on her side on the cobbled pavement like a crumpled doll, a tumble of auburn hair hiding her face.

  He dropped to his knees beside her and reached for her wrist, fumbling for her pulse. It beat slow and steady beneath his fingertips.

  “Grazie a Dio!” He swiped at the sweat stinging his eyes. “Stupid, freaking woman! Do you have a death wish?”

  His knees gave out and he sank back on his haunches. Shit, I thought I’d killed her.

  Two waiters from the nearby trattoria ran across. The younger one knelt at her head and reached for her shoulders.

  “No! Don’t move her!” Luca’s peremptory order halted the youth’s impetuous action. “She may have spinal injuries.”

  “You, stand on the road and slow traffic in this lane.” He turned to the second older man. “You, go find a doctor.”

  Despite being shaken to the core by the near disaster, Luca tried to project calm, to direct these two men and so prevent a second accident. His basic first aid dictated he not move the woman until she regained consciousness, or had been assessed by a medico.

  Madre mia, I could have killed her.

  The only reason she wasn’t dead was because he’d not had time to regain full speed after slowing for a luxury coach to negotiate the road tunnel as it travelled in the opposite direction.

  At full speed his bike was one mean machine.

  Moving slowly, he pushed aside her hair and winced at the bruise already discolouring her pale skin. His fingers roved over her scalp looking for injuries, then he felt down her arms, torso and legs, checking for broken bones.

  The woman groaned and struggled to sit up. She pushed into a sitting position with her head bowed and groaned again.

  “Signorina? Non muovetevi!” He exerted a gentle pressure on her shoulder.

  Obviously unsteady, she lifted a hand and pushed on his arm.

  Under his breath, he muttered a few choice words about stubborn women who refused to listen, and even stupider ones who ran onto the road in front of a motorbike. With both hands on her shoulders, he prevented her attempt to rise. “Do not move. You’ve hit your head and may have a concussion.”

  With a shaky hand, she pushed back the fall of hair.

  Her hand was pale-skinned and long-fingered, and it disappeared into the sleeve of the ugliest grey pin-striped jacket Luca had ever seen.

  Her features were finely-chiselled, and she was surely far too young to wear such outdated clothes.

  They offended his sense of style.

  The alabaster shade of her skin concerned him, a stark contrast to his own healthy olive colouring.

  Is she naturally so pale or is she in shock?

  He took hold of her chin and turned her face towards him. Is she concussed?

  She looked back at him, her grey eyes wide and thickly fringed with long, dark lashes, and worryingly blank. “Signorina, come stai?”

  “W...What?”

  Her grey gaze locked with his and slowly began to focus, betraying a little fear.

  “Ah, you are English?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was weak, but clear.

  “No wonder you did not sit still when I told you to.”

  “Sit?”

  The way she looked around, Luca knew she was suddenly aware that she was sitting on the edge of the roadway surrounded by people, and the centre of attention. Faint colour stained her pale cheeks.

  “I’ve got to get up. My bus—”

  “Has gone. Long gone. I suggest you rest for—”

  “I have to get to…” She pushed at his hand and stood.

  She swayed and groped blindly for support. Luca caught her around the waist and her fingers hooked into his leather jacket as she sagged against him.

  She may not have any broken bones, but Luca was concerned about that knock to her head. Carefully, he bent and scooped her into his arms, and adjusted his hold so her head rested against his shoulder.

  He carried her towards the trattoria, glancing over his shoulder to the waiter first on the scene. “Bring her bag, please.”

  The young waiter scooped up her handbag and followed them.

  The onlookers scattered chattering among themselves about the signorina running onto the road, his quick reflexes, the women sighing about his strength and muscularity.

  Backed up traffic honked merrily as it once again began moving.

  Luca ignored it all, but he couldn’t ignore the woman in his arms.

  Her hair tickled his nose, as did her scent. It was reminiscent of berries and apples, fresh, ripe and juicy. His grandmother had grown such apples in her orchard, and the woman’s scent evoked vivid memories of his childhood.

  The older waiter appeared from the alleyway beside a building and ushered him into the café.

  The door closed slowly behind Luca, shutting out the chilly late winter wind. He lowered the woman onto the chair the older waiter pulled out, supporting her with an arm around her shoulders. She shivered.

  With cold or shock?

  “Poor little thing. Here.” A motherly woman, most likely the owner, set a glass of water on the table. “She’s thin as a sparrow. I’ll bring a bowl of soup.”

  “Molto grazie, but I think she should see a doctor first.”

  The owner frowned, a frown that didn’t accept a refusal, one that heralded a battle of wills.

  Luca recognised that frown.

  Every woman in his family over the age of fifteen wore a similar one if anyone refused the offer of food. Womenfolk, after all, knew food was a cure-all.

  Dreading the fusillade of horror and disbelief he knew he’d have difficulty stopping, he jumped in. “If she is concussed, she should not be given food.”

  “Ah, si, si. Tell her to sip the water. Mattia said Doctor Agnotti will take her in straightaway.”

  “No water, either, signora.” Luca shook his head. “Where is the doctor’s surgery?”

  “Behind my restaurant, facing the piazza. Give me a minute to tell my husband, and I will go with you.”

  “Grazie.” Luca glanced at his watch. Dannazione.

  Now he was late for his appointment, and Luca prided himself on never being late.

  But he needed to take care of this woman. He was responsible for her injuries, and he needed to ensure she was well enough to continue her journey.

  After he’d taken her to the doctor, he would call his office and ask his secretary to reschedule.

  I can’t keep thinking of her as ‘this woman’.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Serena. Who are you?”

  Her voice had lost its initial quavery shock, and its rich contralto, reminiscent of Amy Winehouse, sent a ripple of sensation down his spine.

  Serena’s beautiful grey eyes widened as she watched him, waiting for his answer.

  Silently cursing his abstraction, he said, “Luca. I’ll take you to the doctor.”

  “I don’t need a doctor. I need to catch the next bus and—”

  “You do. You were knocked out.”

  Her grey eyes turned stormy, reflecting the negativity he heard in her voice. He didn’t know if she was anxious or angry, but her expressive eyes and sultry voice made it clear she was impatient to be on her way.

  “Look, I don’t want to sound bossy, but you’ve had a nasty fall. The doctor will see you straightaway. It won’t take long.”

  The café owner returned, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. “Andiamo.”

  Lu
ca slipped his arms around Serena and lifted her off the seat. As he adjusted his hold beneath her knees the material of her skirt slid back, leaving nothing between his fingers and her warm, silky skin.

  Her thigh muscles tensed at his touch, her body went rigid in his arms.

  “What are you doing? Stop pawing me. I can walk.” She wriggled in his arms and elbowed him in the ribs.

  “Oof!”

  He lost his balance and his grip on her and fell backwards. He landed heavily on the stone floor, with Serena sprawled on top of him.

  He let rip with a string of colourful curses.

  Too late, he recalled her presence and the oath he’d let slip. Her expression showed irritation and incomprehension. She doesn’t understand Italian.

  Just as well.

  He eased up onto an elbow. The paved stone floor dug into his behind.

  “How dare you maul me?” She scrambled to her feet.

  She glared down at him like an avenging angel, her chest heaving, her eyes spitting sparks. A white-knuckled hand gripped a chair-back; the other tugged at her knee-length grey skirt.

  Teeth gritted, he glared right back. Could his day get any worse? “Signorina, I was trying to take you to the doctor.”

  “I don’t need help.”

  “My apologies.” He pushed to his feet and dusted off his backside. “A natural mistake given you fainted in my arms less than five minutes ago. I assumed you still needed assistance.”

  Her full lower lip trembled, and her lustrous eyes shimmered with unshed tears. She turned her head away, sniffed, and he caught the sound of a swiftly indrawn breath.