The Italian's Christmas Proposition (HQR Presents)

by Cathy Williams

  ‘So you’re not into flowers, chocolates and romance?’

  ‘I never said that. I’m just not interested in flowers, chocolates and romance with you.’

  ‘I like that we’re on the same page.’

  ‘I can keep things separate,’ she assured him, ignoring the shadow of doubt that whispered over her skin. ‘Business is the fact that we have to present a certain front for a short while, and pleasure is...’

  ‘What happens when the lights go off?’ He traced the side of her cheek with his finger and she shivered, eyelids fluttering, body responding instantly to that gently, teasing caress. ‘Or on...’ he murmured seductively. ‘Either way works for me.’

  ‘What works for me,’ Rosie told him, ‘Is some sleep. I have to teach tomorrow and then in the afternoon there’s a little Christmas thing for the kids at the resort.’

  ‘A Christmas thing?’ He frowned.

  She remembered what he’d said about Christmas not being his thing, but it was her thing, and if he was to convince her sister that they were an item, and by extension her family who would be trooping over only days from now, he would at least have to pretend to enjoy the festive season.

  ‘It’s no big deal.’ She shrugged. ‘You don’t have to come but it’ll only be for an hour or so. My sister will be there and some of her friends.’

  ‘I’m getting the picture. If I’m a no-show, doubts might start being cast on our love-struck, whirlwind relationship.’ He shrugged. ‘I think it’s fair to say that the rewards when we get back to this bed will more than compensate for sitting through some festive carols...’

  * * *

  Matteo was unprepared for what awaited him later that evening. Rosie had disappeared to work promptly at ten, and he had closed the door and settled down to make full use of the seldom used office, but having set up camp he instantly realised that his focus wasn’t totally what it should have been.

  Responding to emails had taken longer than usual because he caught himself sitting back, chair pushed away from the desk, contemplating what the night held in store for him. He’d spent a lifetime winning at everything he undertook but this victory felt so much sweeter.

  The woman had cast a spell. He’d told her things he’d never divulged to anyone else. He’d opened up in ways that were hardly earth-shattering in the great scheme of things, and pretty routine by most people’s standards, but which were earth shattering for him. He was a man who never confided. There had never been any pillow talk. People had no right of entry to his private life, he had long concluded, and if along the way some might have been offended by the rigidity of his Keep Out signs, then he really didn’t care.

  But there was something about this woman...

  He told himself that there had been a perfectly good reason to confide in her. They were supposedly in a serious relationship and he had found himself on the back foot, having to explain his intentions to her sister, to his clients and to her family when they rolled up. It made sense to fill her in on some of his background, if only for the sake of verisimilitude, and it wasn’t as though he was ashamed of his past. It had made him the pillar of strength and single-minded purpose that he was, hadn’t it?

  That said, Matteo was uneasily aware that something had shifted inside him, although he couldn’t quite put a finger on what exactly, or how seismic the shift was.

  So it was a relief when, at a little after four, the time arranged to meet Rosie at the resort for festive fun, he abandoned his work and headed down to the five-star hotel.

  He smiled when he remembered her earnest attempt to teach him how to ski. He figured there was no harm in having another lesson.

  He took a taxi to the resort and was deposited at a scene of outlandish Christmas extravagance.

  At least, as far as he was concerned.

  For a few seconds, he stood and stared. The hotel was lit up with hundreds of thousands of lights. He thought that up in the heavens, a million light years away, some alien life forms would be wondering what the hell was going on down here on planet Earth because the light display would surely be visible from outer space. The glittering, twinkling lights were weirdly hypnotic against the soft fall of snow and the whiteness of the landscape.

  There were flurries of people everywhere, entering, leaving, skis on shoulders, holding hands with their kids. Evidently, this was something of a popular tradition. He steeled himself to sit through whatever lay ahead, now that he was here, and dialled Rosie’s mobile, which remained unanswered.

  Someone jostled him from behind, laughing and wishing him season’s greetings in Italian, and that galvanised him into joining the throng of people heading into the hotel.

  His irritation levels were rising fast when he heard her from behind, and he swung round.

  He had already concluded that coming here had been an error of judgement. He was uncomfortable with the chaos and the over-the-top Christmas decorations everywhere. He had somehow expected the festivities to be of a more sombre nature: a choir singing carols in a dining area cleared of tables, perhaps. Instead...

  He was scowling as he swung round, already formulating how he could politely make his excuses and clear off back to the chalet and wait for Rosie there.

  And there she was. Santa’s Christmas helper—red-and-white-striped tights, knee-high black boots with red faux fur at the top, small mistletoe-green dress with matching red fur swishing round the hem and at the cuffs of the sleeves, and a jaunty red-and-green hat set at an angle under which her flyaway, curly blonde hair peeped out with unruly abandon.

  His breath caught in his throat and he stared.

  ‘You’re...’ he managed to say hoarsely, raking his fingers through his hair.

  ‘An elf. I know.’ Rosie laughed but she was blushing madly because he was making no attempt to conceal the hot appreciation in his eyes. She’d seen him standing there, so perfectly still and watchful while the crowds swarmed around him. His tension was evident in his rigid posture and, from behind, she had pictured him frowning, irritable, about to glance at his watch. All of those things.

  The guy didn’t do Christmas, and why would he when he had spent his childhood in a children’s home? Yes, maybe there had been the usual celebrations there, but without family it would still have been a lonely time. She hadn’t thought but, hot and bothered as she was by the way he was looking at her, she still managed to reach out to circle his arm with her hand and draw him away from the centre of the vast lobby where pandemonium reigned.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ was the first thing she said when they were in a corner which was relatively quiet and she could hear herself think. There was still too much hubbub around. She pulled him into one of the smaller rooms where Tim, one of the managers, held his briefings with the ski instructors every morning. She shut the door and turned to face him, back to the door.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated quietly, and Matteo frowned, then strolled towards the large rectangular desk and perched against it, long legs extended and linked at the ankles.

  He was such a specimen of pure physical perfection, she thought helplessly. Black jeans, black ribbed jumper, black coat—inappropriately non-waterproof and so stupidly elegant. He removed the coat and dumped it on the desk behind him.

  ‘What are you sorry about?’

  ‘I shouldn’t have asked you to come here.’

  ‘I don’t recall you asking and, just for the record, I’m not in the habit of doing what other people tell me to do unless I want to. I’m here because I chose to come.’

  ‘But you don’t do Christmas.’ She didn’t back away from saying what was on her mind, doggedly bypassing the uninviting expression on his face. ‘And this is the most Christmassy a place could get. You must hate it. I don’t suppose,’ she continued, tenderness sprouting shoots as she thought of him young and alone in a home without the jolly family chaos she had had growing up, �
�That Christmas was great in...er...when you were growing up.’

  ‘Is that the sound of you feeling sorry for me?’

  ‘Yes. Is that a crime?’ Rosie tilted her chin at a stubborn angle and folded her arms.

  ‘You always say what’s on your mind, don’t you? I’m here, and I’ll bet Bob and Margaret are somewhere in the throng of people. No need to pull out the sympathy card.’ He thawed and appreciatively ran his eyes over her. ‘I like the outfit, by the way.’

  Rosie reddened. ‘I don’t think elf outfits were designed for my particular shape, but I promised. Barry, the guy in charge of the entertainment over Christmas, has always been good to me.’

  ‘Good? In what way good?’

  He looked at her with sudden, brooding intensity. He had no idea from where it had come, but out of the blue a spark of white-hot jealousy had suddenly ripped into him. He thought of her warmth and her voluptuous sexiness curling against his body and all thoughts of her sharing herself with someone else, anyone else, sent his brain into instant meltdown.

  It was disconcerting, bewildering. He had never considered himself to be a jealous person. A man who was jealous was a man who lacked the sort of iron-clad self-assurance which he possessed in bucket-loads.

  Never had he gone out with any woman and paid the slightest bit of attention to lovers she might have had in the past or, for that matter, to any men who might have come on to her in his presence. He had always had the supreme confidence of a man who knew in his gut that he had everything it took to keep a woman glued to his side for just as long as he wanted her there.

  Why would he ever have been jealous of any other man? Emotions, like every other aspect of his life, were there to be controlled. A childhood in which control had always lain in the hands of other people, with rules and regulations there to be obeyed, had resulted in an adulthood where he made his own rules and regulations and was controlled by no one.

  And a childhood devoid of the love of a parent, where efficiency had come a poor second to love and affection, had nurtured in him a healthy wariness when it came to his heart and handing it over to anyone. Frankly, that was something he would never do.

  So, with those two factors firmly in place, why the attack of irrational jealousy?

  ‘You’re not jealous, are you?’

  Matteo lowered his fabulous eyes for a split second and, when he next met her headlong stare, his expression was as controlled as always.

  ‘I don’t do jealousy.’

  ‘There’s an awful lot of things you don’t do.’

  ‘I do sexy, little red-and-green elf outfits.’

  ‘If you don’t do jealousy, then why does it matter how Barry is good to me?’

  Rosie folded her arms and gazed at him, mouth set. She had never been one to let anything go. Yes, she was non-confrontational when it came to her family, because the path of least resistance had always been the most convenient one to take, but in all other respects she could be as stubborn as a mule when it came to getting answers to questions she asked. And Matteo Moretti seemed to have an amazing knack when it came to arousing her curiosity. Five minutes in his company and she could feel a thousand questions piling up in her head.

  She imagined him jealous of her—possessive, guarding her with caveman-like, finger-crooking ownership—and, much as her logical brain instantly revolted against the sexist image, a very feminine part of her twisted with simmering excitement.

  ‘You’re doing it again,’ Matteo said with exasperation. He shook his head. ‘Has it occurred to you that, if we’re supposed to be the loved-up couple, the last thing I need is an intrusive old flame entering into the picture and trying to pick up where he may have left off a couple of months ago?’

  Simmering excitement was replaced by full-blown anger and Rosie took a step closer to him.

  ‘First of all,’ she hissed, glaring, ‘How dare you imply that I’m the sort of person who lets a guy pick up where he left off as though I have no mind of my own? Do you honestly think that I’m that sort of woman? For your information, Matteo Moretti, I’m extremely selective when it comes to men! I’ve been on my own, even though I’ve had boyfriends, for years!’

  ‘And then I come along?’ Matteo asked speculatively. ‘My mind is beginning to work overtime.’

  What could she say to that?

  ‘I didn’t foresee...what happened between us.’ Rosie suddenly found herself on the back foot.

  ‘Even though you’re extremely selective.’

  ‘We were thrown together in a highly charged situation...’

  ‘I was very happy to be the perfect gentleman and sleep on the chaise longue, although the ground would have been more comfortable.’

  ‘Yes, well...’

  ‘Let’s drop this conversation. It’s not going anywhere.’

  He reached out, curled his fingers into her unruly, vanilla-blonde hair and tugged her gently towards him.

  With helpless fascination, she watched as his mouth descended, and she closed her eyes and whimpered as his cool lips met hers. She curled her fingers onto the waistband of his trousers and felt herself slowly being propelled backwards, ever so slightly, until she bumped against the table behind her.

  They were in a public place. A room that was only vacant temporarily because everyone happened to be outside, where the Christmas choir would be starting shortly. What on earth was she doing?

  But right now, right here, he owned her body and what he was doing with it was turning her on so much she was melting from the inside out. He was kissing her, his tongue lashing against hers...cupping her bottom, massaging it with his big hands...pressing against her so that she could feel the rock-hardness of his erection bulging against his zipper.

  Neither heard the door opening behind them. Rosie was certainly oblivious to everything until she heard her mother’s shocked voice and then Candice laughing with genuine delight. At which point, she shoved Matteo away. When she looked at her parents—at her entire assembled family, because Emily was there as well—she just wanted the ground to open and swallow her up.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ She gasped. ‘You’re not supposed to be here for another couple of days.’

  ‘Surprise, surprise!’ Candice trilled. ‘We couldn’t wait to come over as soon as we could, and thank goodness that beastly virus was over sooner than expected! We just had time to dump our stuff at the chalet and here we are! Harry spotted the pair of you vanishing into this room so we thought we’d give you a happy surprise!’

  Happy surprise? Rosie thought in horror. Of all the adjectives she could come up with, happy wasn’t one of them. And whatever happened to that old-fashioned courtesy of knocking?

  She cleared her throat but her father was already striding towards Matteo, and Rosie could tell from the expression on his face that he wasn’t going to oh-so-politely pretend that he hadn’t seen them a hair’s breadth away from doing more than just a bit of kissing and groping.

  She was hot with mortification. She’d always been a daddy’s girl and she hated the thought of him being shocked at what he would consider inappropriate behaviour, given the surroundings. They were in a resort in which they’d all been well known as regulars for many years.

  ‘Dad...’

  ‘So you’re the young man Candice has told us about!’

  ‘We were just about to go back outside,’ Rosie said weakly. ‘Great that you’re all over! Hi, Em. Is everyone here? The kids and Lucien and Robert as well?’ Her voice was letting her down badly, but that was only to be expected, given the nightmarish turn of events.

  ‘Rosie, I’d like to have a word with your young man on his own.’

  ‘Dad...’ She cast a panicked sideways glance at Matteo who, after looking momentarily disconcerted, had somehow managed to gather his composure while hers was still all over the place.

  Her
tall, beautiful mother, so much alike to her two eldest daughters, had opened her arms for a hug and Rosie walked towards her even though her heart had plummeted. Her dad could be ferocious when the mood took him, and especially so when it came to his daughters.

  ‘Ken...’ Debbie Carter said in a warning voice, halting him in his tracks. ‘I’m sure Rosie’s young man would like to relax before the cross examination begins.’

  ‘Besides.’ Emily was joining the family circle. ‘Lucien and the kids are waiting outside with Robert.’

  Rosie stifled a groan of utter despair.

  But, Matteo, she noted with grudging admiration and relief, seemed to have everything under control, making suitably polite noises, clearly unfazed that they had been caught in the middle of a groping session worthy of a couple of horny teenagers.

  ‘Just one question, young man,’ her father eventually boomed. Whatever Matteo had been saying, she hadn’t clocked all of it, because her mother had been chattering away a mile a minute about this and that. ‘I’ve looked you up on the Internet, although I’ve heard your name before.’

  ‘Of course.’ Matteo accepted the recognition with a sweeping lack of false modesty.

  ‘You’re rich,’ Ken tabulated on his fingers, ‘You have a history of going out with beautiful, high-flying women and yet here you are with my baby.’

  ‘Dad!’ Rosie couldn’t have got any redder but her father paid absolutely no notice to her horrified interruption.

  ‘I don’t take kindly to anyone dabbling with any of my daughters.’

  ‘Don’t blame you,’ Matteo returned equably, giving Ken Carter as good as he got without any show of disrespect. He certainly wasn’t in the least intimidated by the older man. ‘If I had a daughter, I would certainly not want anyone fooling around with her feelings.’