But he took a deep breath and rested his forehead against hers, his hand still tangled in her hair. Phoebe’s breathing was labored and heavy, just like his. But she didn’t push for anything else. She seemed happy to take a moment too. Her chest was rising and falling in his eye line as they stayed for a few minutes with their heads together.
Everything felt too new. Too raw. Did he even know what he was doing here?
“Happy New Year,” he said softly. “At least I’m guessing that’s why we can still hear fireworks.”
“There are fireworks outside? I thought they were inside.” Her sparkling dark eyes met his gaze and she smiled. “Wow,” she said huskily.
He let out a laugh. “Wow,” he repeated.
Her hand was hesitant, reaching up, then stopping, then reaching up again. She finally rested it against his chest, the fingertips pausing on one of the buttons of his shirt.
His mind was willing her to unfasten it. But she just let it sit there. The warmth of her fingertips permeating through his designer shirt. He could sense she wanted to say something, and it made him want to stumble and fill the silence.
For the first time in his life, Matteo Bianchi was out of his depth. It was a completely alien feeling for him. In matters of the opposite sex he was always in charge, always the one to initiate things, or, more likely, finish them. He’d never been unsure of himself, never uncomfortable.
But from the minute he’d met this woman with a warm smile and thoughtful heart, he just hadn’t known how to deal with her. She had a way of looking at him as he answered a question that let him know his blasé, offhand remarks didn’t wash with her. She didn’t push. She didn’t need to. He was quite sure that, if she wanted to, Phoebe Gates would take no prisoners. But the overwhelming aura from Phoebe was one of warmth, of kindness and sincerity. And it was making his heart beat quicker every minute.
She pulled back and blew out a long breath, watching him with her steady eyes. She glanced down at her watch. “Yup—two minutes past. I guess we missed the big countdown.”
It would be so easy. So easy to make a mistake here. So easy to do everything wrong, just because it might feel a little right. “I don’t think we did,” he said softly.
For a few seconds they just sat and breathed. Her fingers intertwined with his. His sallow skin with her light coffee skin. They seemed to match perfectly.
“Give me a minute,” he said as he jumped to his feet. She looked a little surprised but didn’t speak. There was almost a roaring in his ears as he raced first up the stairs to grab some pillows and another set of blankets, then he grabbed his car keys to head out to the car.
He shook his head as he glanced at the icy driveway, taking careful steps to find what he was looking for from the glove box of the car. A few minutes later he was back in the library.
Phoebe looked a little self-conscious now, tugging at her sleeves and biting her bottom lip. Her eyes widened at the pillows. But Matteo knew exactly what he was doing. He kept things easy. He kept things relaxed as he threw the pillows on the floor. “It’s late. I figured we’re both tired by now. Here, I thought the cushions might be a little uncomfortable. You’re right, the rest of the house is just too cold. So, we’ll camp down here tonight and sort things out tomorrow. I even have a surprise.” He couldn’t help but smile as a frown creased Phoebe’s brow.
“What surprise?”
He pulled the candy bars from behind his back and tossed them toward her. “Don’t let it be said that I don’t have any vices. I keep a secret stash in my glove box. Don’t you remember as a child all the best movies had kids having midnight feasts? Think of this as our own version.”
The tension in Phoebe’s shoulders dissipated a little. She stared at the four candy bars scattered on the bedclothes in front of her and looked up and gave him a little smile. “Do I get first pick?”
“Always,” he said as he plumped down beside her. “I’m a gentleman, didn’t you know that?”
There was a pause. A second where their gazes meshed. An understanding. There was no pressure here. There were no uncomfortable thoughts. He wasn’t going to pursue something. He had too much respect for her for that.
He wanted things to be on her terms. Strictly speaking, Phoebe was an employee. It didn’t matter if it was only for a few weeks.
Then, there was the fact they were currently stranded here. Above all he wanted Phoebe to feel safe around him. He might hate the fact he was going to have to spend the night in this house—but Phoebe being here made everything a whole lot easier.
The truth was, he probably wouldn’t have found the album without her. And if she hadn’t been here he would certainly have made the foolhardy decision to try and travel back on the icy roads rather than stay here alone.
That simple statement seemed to have done the trick. Phoebe grabbed one of the pillows and put it next to her. It seemed that bunking down in front of the fire wasn’t so scary after all. She gave a slow nod and held her hand over one bar, then another. “Decisions, decisions,” she teased. “I’d hate to make the wrong choice.”
“I’m not sure you ever make the wrong choice.” The words were out before he had time to think about them. “Look what you’ve done with the house so far,” he added quickly. Trying to keep things simple.
Phoebe’s eyebrows were raised, but she lowered them again and closed her hand over the chocolate and caramel bar.
“Thank goodness,” he sighed as he whipped the raspberry and dark chocolate from under her nose.
Phoebe held up her bar. “If only we had coffee to go with these.”
He held up his hands. “I’m good, but I’m not that good.”
Phoebe took a bite of her chocolate bar, then settled her blankets out. She gave him a cute smile. “Who says you’re good?”
Chapter Five
SHE FELT FUGGY. Was that even a real word?
“Ms. Gates? Ms. Gates, are you here?”
Her mouth was dry and uncomfortable and her back ached. But something was warm. Something felt cozy. It was a sensation she hadn’t felt in a long time.
That ease of someone close behind, their body next to hers, a relaxed arm resting over her stomach, and warm breath near her neck.
“Ms. Gates, are you here?” There was a creak. A noise.
Phoebe sat bolt upright. Oh, no. Oh...what?
The joiner was standing at the door of the library. “Oops, excuse me. I saw your car outside and just thought I’d check you were safe.” His eyes fixed behind her, his cheeks flamed and he shook his head and backed out the door. “Sorry.”
“No, Al.” Phoebe jumped to her feet and ran to the door. “I’m sorry. We got stranded here last night with the roads. I couldn’t get the car to move.” She frowned. “Wait a minute. How did you get here? How did you get in?”
Al shrugged. “The gritters have been out since 3:00 a.m. Most of the roads are passable now. The caretaker met me outside. Turned out he’d some rock salt and put it on the driveway this morning.” Al glanced at his watch. “I take it the others will be here any minute.”
“They will?” Phoebe turned on her heel and dashed back into the library. Matteo was already on his feet, tugging at his completely wrinkled shirt and trousers. Thank goodness they were both fully dressed.
Her mind did a bit of a backspin. Things could have totally gone in another direction last night. Part of her was glad it hadn’t, and part of her was secretly disappointed. How would she have felt this morning if things had progressed?
She’d kissed him. She’d kissed Matteo Bianchi. Her boss.
And he’d kissed her back.
It was the first time she’d kissed someone since Jason had died. And the wash of guilt was overwhelming.
What was worse—she hadn’t felt it last night. It hadn’t even crossed her mind last night. What kind of person did that
make her? To forget her dead fiancé after three years at the glint of an Italian man’s eyes? Her body started to tremble.
She’d never felt ready. Never felt ready to move on. To take the first step. Her few dates had been disasters. But this had been unexpected—unplanned. What was she thinking?
Matteo looked confused as she walked back in. “You have people working on New Year’s Day?”
She tried to gather her thoughts. Matteo seemed a bit uncomfortable. Maybe he was having regrets too. But this was business. This was work. She replied quickly. “Actually, you do. And you’re paying them a big bonus for doing it. This is a rush job—remember?”
He didn’t look particularly happy. He tied his shoes and stared disdainfully at the crumpled bedclothes on the floor. Phoebe winced. Yesterday, they had been smooth and pristine on the beds upstairs. In the cold light of day, it looked as if the adults in the room had been romping all night.
She bent down and scooped them up into her arms. Last thing she wanted was the rest of the people working in the house to see this. It made her feel like some kind of naughty school kid—even though nothing had really happened.
“Let me take care of these,” she said quickly to Matteo as she disappeared back out of the door.
It only took a second to realize her mistake. A waft of his aftershave floated up from the blankets and her footsteps faltered. That kiss. How could she forget that kiss? The one that made her float toward the ceiling and never come back down. Just that memory made her heart rate quicken all over again. She kept walking to the kitchen, trying not to rethink things, ignoring the way that all the little hairs on her arms had just stood on end.
Jason. She should be thinking about Jason. Her breathing stuttered along with her footsteps. For the last year, the memories that used to be so vivid had started to fade a little. But right now, that just made her feel a million times worse. Was she going to forget about him completely? Her brain was so muddled. First her mother being sick and needing treatment, then the hospital bills, followed by the dream job, and the mysterious Italian. It was no wonder she couldn’t think straight.
By the time she reached the kitchen she realized she was crazy. The washer wasn’t plumbed in yet. She couldn’t do the laundry and wash his smell out the bedclothes. She sighed. She didn’t want to leave them in the kitchen where they could get even dirtier as the kitchen refit continued, so she turned back to head to the stairs.
Matteo was striding toward her, the album under his arm. He almost tripped when he saw her—it was clear he’d been planning on heading straight out of the door.
She swallowed again and felt a little surge of anger. The rattling kind that meant she really needed her morning dose of caffeine. That was it. The first thing she was doing today was going out to buy a coffeepot somewhere. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
She gave him her best smile. “Let me know if there’s anything specific you want me to do in the house.”
Bland. Idiotic. It was the best she could do. She felt like the high school girl who the Prom King had kissed by mistake. Not exactly the best feeling in the world.
He licked his lips as that floppy brown hair of his fell over his eyes. If she had a razor right now, she would shave it clean off.
He glanced around. What was he looking at? He was surrounded by cream-colored walls. “You seem to have everything under control here. Maybe next week we should talk about plans for Rome?”
Her tongue glued itself to the top of her mouth. Rome. No. No. No.
That was a plane ride away. Probably more than one.
It was clear that he took her silence as agreement. He walked past. “Drop me an email when the house is ready and I’ll contact the realtor.”
She pressed her lips together as the surge of anger flooded her veins. Would it be wrong to push her employer straight out of the front door? She let her feet stay rooted to the spot, with her arms tightly clutching the bedclothes until she heard the door close behind him.
Nothing. No, Thanks for last night. No, That was nice. No, Will I call you? And definitely no, I’m sorry.
It was like being dismissed. Being ignored.
She stamped up the curving stairs, every step a little more forceful. Was this what Matteo did with women? Kiss them mercilessly, then just walk away?
Tears burned in her eyes. She was overreacting. She knew she was. But she couldn’t fight the wave of hurt that burned through her.
He wasn’t to know that it was her first kiss since her fiancé had died. He wasn’t to know that even though she’d tried to get back out in the dating game, her heart just hadn’t been in it.
He wasn’t to know that last night, for the first time in three years, she’d actually felt something again. A spark. A glimmer of hope.
It was as if the cloud that had settled on her shoulders had finally started to lift. It was as if a stream of sunlight was starting to poke through.
Before, she’d always felt guilty. Guilty she was on a date. Guilty she was out again. It had never felt quite right. She had never felt quite ready.
So why did now have to be the time for her to feel ready? Why did the first guy who sent tingles down her spine and kissed her as she’d never been kissed before have to be her boss?
Matteo had lit a flame that had been tempered for so long.
Last night had felt so right. Why was he acting as if it were so wrong?
Maybe she was crazy—a whole world of crazy. How could she possibly even consider putting her heart out there again? It had been broken in the worst kind of way. There was no way she could consider letting herself be hurt like that again.
She dumped the bedclothes in the corner of one of the rooms. She didn’t care how messy they were. They could stay like that until the washer was finally plumbed in.
She pressed her lips together and put her hands on her hips. Right now she was so mad it was easy to push the other stuff out of her head. The Rome stuff. She would find an excuse. A reason not to be able to go.
He would still pay her for her work here. That would surely be enough to put a dent in the bill for her mother’s medical care. The very last thing she wanted to do was spend any more time in an enclosed space with Matteo Bianchi—the guy who could kiss her, then treat her as if she’d never existed.
She looked around and lifted her chin. He wanted this house dressed?
Then, boy, he could have it.
* * *
“Mr. Bianchi?” Constance, his new, efficient, but very nervous PA was hovering by the door. She had a habit of shifting from foot to foot. At first he’d thought the stilettos that she favored were either too high, or too uncomfortable. But he’d quickly realized it was just a nervous habit.
He barely looked up. “Yes?”
There was silence. So he did look up—just in time to see her bite her bottom lip.
“What is it?”
She took a few tentative steps into the room, a piece of paper in her hand. She held it out rather shakily. “I just thought you should know that, in the last few days, there’s been...extensive billing to the business account.”
He frowned, not quite sure what she meant. “What?” He took the piece of paper and studied it.
His eyes just about popped out of their sockets as he stood up so quickly his chair fell to the floor behind him with a crash. Constance was out the room in a flash; apparently she could move quicker than a speeding bullet—even in stilettos.
Matteo started walking toward the door but was blocked by a figure in the doorway. Brianna’s eyebrows were raised and her arms folded across her chest. It seemed as if her belly got bigger every single day. “Well, somebody’s in a good mood.”
“Leave it, Brianna. I have to go.” He sighed, as he had to stop walking. “Any chance of letting me past?”
Brianna shook her head. She wa
s dressed more casually than normal, her dark hair tied up in a ponytail. “Not until I know what’s going on.”
He held up the printout for her to see. “What’s going on is that my interior designer has just gone stir crazy!”
Brianna screwed up her eyes and looked at the figure at the bottom of the page. “Wow,” she said as a smile spread from ear to ear.
“That’s all you can say—wow?”
She shook her head. “Actually, I can say a whole lot more.” She gave Matteo her special gaze. The one that clearly meant he was in trouble. “I don’t care what she spends. We’ve agreed we want to sell the house—and the house is decades out of date. As far as I’m concerned, as long as it sells, the interior design bill doesn’t matter.” She shook her head and stepped closer to her brother. “Oh, no. What I’m interested in, is what you’ve done.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Brianna tapped him on the chest. “You think I’m stupid? First week you went shopping with her at the warehouse. She bought a whole host of things—but nothing outrageous.” Brianna scanned the piece of paper again. “But this list? These purchases?” She started to laugh. “This is the sign of a woman scorned.” She shook her head again. “I so want to meet this woman. Look how wound up you are—I haven’t seen you like this in...” She frowned and met his gaze. “In forever.”
Her voice softened. “What happened, Matteo?”
Matteo paused. He’d spent the last four days cringing inside and out. He’d handled things badly. He’d actually spent a beautiful night with a gorgeous, sensitive woman, then acted like the town fool the next morning. Matteo had never been the tongue-tied adolescent before, so finding himself turned into one that morning had been a completely alien experience.
It was obvious he’d hurt her feelings—even though that had never been his intention. And it was clear that now she was just letting him know.
He stepped backward. Every day Brianna looked more like their mother. And every day it reminded him of exactly what had happened. It seemed as if his stomach had been in a permanent knot since Brianna had announced her pregnancy. He couldn’t tell her just how worried he was. She’d already had a few little hiccups. Borderline blood pressure and a little bleeding in the early stages. For a single man, he’d quickly learned more about pregnancy than he’d ever wanted to.
The Italian Billionaire's New Year Bride Page 9
