Be Mine: Valentine Novellas to Warm The Heart

by Nicole Flockton

  Is she in pain?

  Suddenly his interrupted free hour, the accident, and the missed meeting were less important than helping Serena.

  Clear as her gaze seemed to be, brave-faced as she was being, she’d had a bad fall.

  She was shaken. This was partly his fault and it was now his responsibility to see to her welfare. A rescheduled meeting was a very small price.

  She touched his arm, lightly, hesitantly, and stared at him. “You groaned. Are you hurt? I’m really sorry I reacted like that. I thought—well, it doesn’t matter.”

  She held her right arm across her waist, and he saw a tear near the elbow. He knew that, as the shock wore off, she would finds cuts and bruises making themselves felt.

  She thrust out her left hand. “Friends?”

  A quick glance revealed, No rings.

  The swift observation was filed away. Not so easy to mask was his satisfaction. He grasped her hand, and as they shook hands, he noted her grasp was firm and cool.

  He was only human. Correction, he was a male and, despite her abysmal choice of clothing, he found her attractive.

  She seemed—nice.

  Luca was never attracted to nice.

  On Serena, nice appeared to be mixed with strength of character. And this he found appealing.

  The women he knew wouldn’t be seen dead in an outfit like hers, but then none of them would be so calm under such conditions, or determined to continue on their way without a care for their appearance.

  He could still feel the imprint of the soft swell of her breast against him as he’d carried her into the trattoria . . .

  Realising he still held her hand, he released it and took hold of her elbow to guide her to the doctor’s surgery.

  She winced and stopped.

  With her other hand, she pushed at his chest while pulling free of his hold. “Please—don’t touch my arm.”

  He stared down at her, shocked by her response—what on earth?

  “I’m sorry. I forgot you injured your arm.”

  “No need to apologise.” She tilted her head and their gazes collided, locked.

  And he saw her pain fade.

  It was replaced by a distinct sexual awareness. He saw it in the way her eyes widened and the unmistakeable flicker of sensual awakening in their grey depths.

  Not fear but interest.

  He stepped away to open the café door, and to give her space.

  First, he needed to find the doctor to treat her injuries.

  Once she’d been given the all-clear, there would be time enough to explore the possibilities of this misadventure.

  Mutual and unexpected attraction held so much promise.

  2

  The middle-aged doctor, stethoscope hanging around his neck, pinned her with an all-seeing look, and addressed Luca in Italian.

  Serena’s stomach lurched. She didn’t need any translation to know the doctor invited Luca into the room.

  He had no place in a consultation about her state of health. “He doesn’t need to come in, doctor.”

  “But someone needs to translate for you.” Luca’s reasonable explanation did nothing to ease Serena’s nerves. The doctor held the door open for the biker and then returned to his chair at the desk.

  Luca sat in the chair beside her. Leather trousers hugged his muscled thighs, and as he leaned forward, his knee nudged hers and a curl of dark hair fell over his forehead.

  She swallowed a rush of—

  What? Am I lusting after this stranger? Totally inappropriate.

  In rapid-fire Italian he explained her accident, and his part in it. As she learned when he smiled at her, switched to English and translated what he’d told the doctor.

  As a courtesy to me?

  The doctor stood, speaking to Luca and pointing at the examination table.

  “He wants to examine you, behind that screen. He asked for you to remove your jacket and unbutton your shirt.”

  “When you’ve gone outside.” Serena rubbed her hands up and down her arms. No way am I undressing while he’s in the room.

  “He’s asked me to translate. Regrettably, he speaks no English.” Luca’s hands spread, telling her he had no choice. “You will be behind the screen.”

  “It’s really none of your business.” Serena glared at him. Was there any way she could convince him to go away?

  He met her gaze and leaned back in the chair. Clearly he didn’t plan to move.

  “But it is my responsibility. You made it so when you hurled yourself in front of my bike.”

  “How dare you? If you hadn’t been hurtling along that road—”

  “I was doing under forty.”

  “Forty miles per hour. You should never—”

  “Kilometres, not miles. No faster than you would drive through a school zone.”

  She turned back to the doctor and repeated. “He doesn’t need to be here, doctor.”

  The doctor shrugged and patted the examination table.

  There was no help for it. Serena eased the jacket off her banged-up elbow and draped it across the back of her chair.

  The doctor pulled the screen across and the next few minutes passed in a mixture of Italian and English, question and answer. When he’d finished his examination, he signed what appeared to be a prescription and handed it to her.

  “Rilassati por un po, signorina.”

  “I get it. No more close encounters with the road, or motorbikes.” Serena set the jacket across her lap. Getting the jacket to slide over the bandage on her elbow would take more than a few seconds and she was keen to get out of the surgery. “Am I free to go now?”

  “Doctor Agnetti is satisfied that you do not have a concussion, but he wants you to be, how do you English say, safe, not sorry? You need to rest tonight, and have someone to keep an eye on you.”

  “That’s impossible—”

  Luca stood and shook the doctor’s hand, addressing him in both Italian and English. “I’ll make sure of it, thank you, doctor. We’ve taken up enough of your time.” He turned to her. “Shall we go?”

  She repeated her thanks and followed Luca out. Hands clenched at her sides, she bit back angry words. “You had no right to say that.”

  The nerve of him. The sheer, utter, arrogant nerve of the man. When they got out of here . . .

  “No right to say what?”

  “That you’d keep an eye on me.”

  One dark eyebrow rose. “I said I’d make sure there was someone to keep an eye on you, not that I would do so.”

  Her cheeks burned. Of course he hadn’t said he would.

  What’s the matter with me? Why am I snapping at Luca? He’s gone out of his way to help me. She stepped up to the reception desk.

  The receptionist looked up from her keyboard.

  “I’d like to pay my account.”

  “Che cosa?”

  Serena repeated her request.

  When Luca leaned on the counter beside her and asked the question in Italian, bottle-blonde’s eyes widened. She twirled a curl of hair around her finger and laughed up at him and ignored Serena. Pheromones sprang off the woman as she leaned forward.

  “When you’ve finished chatting up Ms. Bleached Blonde, please ask her for my account.” Serena turned her head—too quickly. A wave of nausea rose. She closed her eyes and gripped the counter.

  And that bitchy comment tells me I’m not myself.

  Luca touched her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  She blinked and took a deep breath. “Fine. Just—how much was the consultation?”

  “There is no cost this time. Just sign the form.”

  “What does it say? Am I signing my life away, or giving him my first-born child?”

  “As a community service and in the interests of keeping a clean record of no accidents on their stretch of road, the doctor has waived all fees if you sign to say this was just a check up.”

  “Which it was. He checked and I’m fine. Okay.”

  She pic
ked up the black pen, and prepared to sign on the dotted line. Beside her, Luca leaned on the counter and a wave of uber-expensive cologne wafted past. Her usually precise signature wobbled a little. “Please, don’t stand so close. I can’t breathe.”

  “I’m just checking.” His dark brown eyes twinkled wickedly. “There’s no demand for a pound of flesh. Not that you can afford to lose any more.”

  “Very funny.” Serena rolled her eyes. “I’m sure it’s all fine and dandy.”

  She signed her name and slapped the pen on the counter so hard it rolled over the edge and dropped onto the receptionist’s keyboard.

  The girl gave her a dagger glare, before turning a mega-watt smile on Luca.

  “Grazie, signorina. Ciao.” He returned the blonde’s smile before taking Serena’s arm.

  She shrugged off his touch. “Don’t you want to stay and get to know little Miss Sunshine?”

  “Che? What is this?” A small frown drew his dark brows together.

  Did he think she was jealous of Blondie?

  The notion was ridiculous. Knowing Luca for all of half an hour was no basis for such a knee-jerk reaction. But still, heat ran up her neck and into her cheeks. “Nothing. But I think she’s disappointed you left. She made her interest in you so obvious.”

  “Flirting is as natural as breathing. Tell me it’s different where you come from.”

  “You say it but you don’t mean it. Fine for you, maybe, but that’s not me.”

  “How so? Do you not do the same? If you don’t practise, the skill does not develop and then, when you want to charm a member of the opposite sex, how will you succeed?”

  “I don’t wish to charm any man.”

  Until now, but nothing would induce her make this admission.

  “But when you want to let a man know you like him, that you want to take him into your bed, what will you do?”

  “That’s none of your business. Look, thank you for taking me to the doctor but I have a really important meeting in Sorrento. Today. This afternoon. And—”

  He swore.

  Even without understanding the language, she was certain of it. He held her gaze for a moment. “Please excuse me. I need to make a quick phone call. I’ll order coffee while we work out how to get you there.”

  Surprised to see they were at the trattoria, she dropped her jacket onto the chair, slumped into an outside seat in a patch of late winter sun and rested her head in her hand. The travertine tabletop was cold and rough textured beneath her arms.

  Things couldn’t have gone worse. Red-eye flights either end of the day, connecting via the regular commuter bus; all those hours of cramped travel conditions and worry and it would come to nothing if she didn’t reach Sorrento by three o’clock. Add a doozie of a bruise on her right hip, a throbbing elbow and a headache to her sorry state and she’d failed Dad. Big time.

  Even if I can still make the meeting, how can I make a good show of presenting Dad’s new engine part with my head pounding like a heavy metal band on speed?

  She rubbed her forehead on her arms and the smell of oil filled her nose. Lifting her head a little, she eyed several specks of blood and a tear in her sleeve.

  How could anyone take her seriously when she looked like she’d slept the past week on the streets? How would the head of the car company even consider listening to her in the state she was in?

  It had taken so long to get the CEO of the Luxia car company to agree to see them. After multiple emails and numerous phone calls to his secretary, the CEO had finally agreed to meet her step-dad—this afternoon. The secretary had been insistent. “It must be that time, signorina. He’s very busy setting up the new factory.”

  And then Dad had fallen ill with the flu, and she’d agreed to take his place.

  You know all the specs, all the steps. You can do it, Serena. Please? For me, for us?

  For her stepfather, she had put aside her shy nature and tried to be the businesswoman. For him, the only family she had left, she’d come to the Amalfi Coast for a meeting. But her sacrifice and all Dad’s coaching would be for nothing if she didn’t manage to get to Sorrento in time. To that all-important meeting with Luxia.

  Revolutionary in its approach, Luxia offered a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see years of Dad’s research come to fruition.

  If she managed to meet the CEO today.

  If he gives second chances.

  Swallowing a sense of impending doom, she looked up at the sound of boots approaching across the stones.

  Luca carried a small, round tray with two espressos, and two water glasses.

  “Here, bella. Drink this then we’ll make arrangements to get you to your destination.”

  “Thanks. I don’t know if I’ll still have an appointment to keep after—this.” She indicated her torn sleeve before flipping her wrist to check the time. “Great. I broke my watch.”

  She lifted her handbag onto the table and opened the zipper. Her usually organised contents were in a hopeless jumble. Chocolate smeared her notebook and she set the split packet in the ashtray before sifting further. She grasped a slim packet of tampons and almost pulled it out by mistake.

  Sheesh! No way am I upending my bag in front of Luca.

  “Hope my phone isn’t broken. It always ends up at the bottom of my bag.”

  “Then begin by looking at the bottom.” His lips tipped up at the corners and he leaned back on the seat.

  “Only a man could think that comment helpful.” Finally, her fingers touched worn leather. “Got it.” She flipped open the cover.

  Two-fifteen.

  Tears pricked her eyes. She blinked rapidly and drew a shaky breath. “Well that’s it, then. I doubt I can make it to Sorrento, locate my briefcase from the bus and find my way to some unknown address in less than an hour.”

  “Why don’t you phone, and let your appointment know you’ve had an accident? I’m sure it can be rescheduled.”

  Like the letdown at the end of a rollercoaster ride, energy drained out of her. The odds had always been high against her succeeding. It was as though the universe had to make her fall on the Amalfi Coast to bring it home that she wasn’t going to reach her destination or her goal. The two were intertwined. “Unlikely. It’s taken me weeks to arrange this one.”

  “So you’re just going to give up without trying?” One black eyebrow arched but she couldn’t tell if it was disapproval or disappointment in her.

  Does it matter?

  She shrugged. How could he know the blood, sweat and tears she’d put into securing just the appointment, or the personal cost in confronting her fear of speaking in public?

  “It’s not a question of giving up, just of knowing when to accept the reality of a situation. Cause and effect. One, I don’t have transport so I can’t get to the meeting. Two, even if I get to the meeting in time, I lost my briefcase and my laptop when the bus took off without me. Three, without my gear, I can’t do my presentation so—”

  “I can help with transport if you’re up to riding pillion.”

  “Pillion? Behind you?”

  Mum flying through the air - her handbag landing yards away - her mother’s body hitting the pavement.

  Serena’s gut clenched.

  Images, long suppressed, swamped her mind.

  Closing her eyes, she fought the urge to grab the table and never let go.

  “On your bike?”

  Two wheels instead of four securely hugging the road? This morning she’d had her first ever flight. Now he was suggesting she ride on a motorbike—with a stranger.

  Oh my God, a motorbike.

  She wasn’t blind; she’d noticed Luca’s leathers.

  But distracted by her accident, she’d not consciously connected them with a motorbike. He wore them so well she’d forgotten their importance; motorcyclists rode bikes; leathers protected them from spills. Like the one that had sent her flying.

  Like the one that killed Mum.

  “That’s usually where the
pillion passenger sits.” His mouth tipped up in a half-smile. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  A million of them.

  “I’ve never ridden a bike.”

  “You only need to sit and hold on.”

  “To what?”

  “Me.”

  He grinned and then tapped her phone. “Before you reject the idea, why don’t you call and see if they’ll reschedule your appointment. Give me a description of your bags. I’ll phone the bus company. Perhaps between us we can solve your dilemma.”

  She’d accept any help to give her stepfather this chance. And this sexy, high-handed biker had been helpful, especially as she caused the accident by her lunatic action of trying to run after the bus in a futile attempt to catch it.

  Maybe the CEO would understand?

  And maybe pigs might fly.

  “Shall we give it a try?” Luca’s smile reached his eyes.

  It gave her hope when she’d decided there was none, and encouraged her to dig a little deeper.

  She could do it. She would do it. With Luca’s help. Nodding, she returned his smile. “It’s a kind offer, thank you. They’re named.”

  He waited several seconds. “What—Minnie Mouse?”

  “Serena Bannon.”

  “Bannon?” His smile broadened. “Okay, describe them for me and then last one to finish their call pays for the coffee.”

  With a lighter spirit, she described her missing-in-action bags. Luca made no notes but his manner revealed a natural air of command as he drew clear details from her.

  Most men fixed their attention on her chest, but sex-in-leather Luca paid attention to what she said. The change was refreshing especially in view of her best friend’s comments about Italian men and sex. But then, Elissa was single-minded in her pursuit of action.

  “Bene. The bus should be arriving at the railway depot soon. I’ll call them and arrange for someone to collect your bags. I shall leave you to it. Buona fortuna.” He stood and wandered off, allowing her privacy as she tried to negotiate another appointment.

  She scrolled through her contacts, located the car manufacturer’s number and prepared for battle.

  On hold while the receptionist tried to locate her contact, she watched Luca strolling as he talked on his mobile. Lithe and clad in black leather, he reminded her of the panther at the London Zoo, black pelt gleaming, prowling and powerful, and master of his world.