Celebration: Italian Boss, Ruthless RevengeOne Magical ChristmasHired: The Italian’s Convenient Mistress

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘You know …’ Imogen gave a pale smile. ‘… I always wondered what Heath would be like, you know, if I met someone …’

  ‘He hasn’t met any of your boyfriends?’

  ‘There haven’t been any boyfriends.’

  ‘But you and Brad broke up ages ago.’

  ‘I wasn’t ready,’ Imogen said, and he rolled her towards him then, didn’t want to talk to her back when he could see her instead, and he stared deep into those eyes that had entranced him from the second they’d locked with his. He knew then that he didn’t really know her at all, only how he wanted to. He wanted to know everything about the shy but provocative, gentle yet sexy, completely stunning woman that had greeted him on the stairs, and who had just been his. ‘I don’t share my mango with everyone!’

  She was attempting a joke, only he wasn’t smiling, the seriousness of their situation hitting home. Serious, Angus realised, because this deep, beautiful woman had trusted only him with her patched-up heart, and that was something he could never take lightly.

  ‘Come here,’ he said, as if the two centimetres that separated them in the bed was as vast as the distance that separated their future. Pulling her towards him, he kissed her deeply, though tenderly, blotting out the many questions with slow, deep answers, because for now there wasn’t any rush. They didn’t have to think about anything right now.

  Imogen wasn’t going anywhere today and neither was Angus.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘WHAT did you guys do today?’

  ‘Nothing!’ Looking up from smiling, pyjama-clad people mulling over a vast jigsaw, Imogen’s smile was arguably the widest when Angus came home from work the next day. ‘We just flopped.’

  ‘Flopped?’

  ‘Flopped around and didn’t do much. We didn’t even get dressed—did we, guys?’

  ‘We brushed our teeth!’ Jack said.

  ‘I didn’t!’ Heath grinned, but one look from his mother and he hurtled up the stairs to the bathroom. Also in pyjamas, Imogen wandered into the kitchen where Angus was serving up some wicked-looking noodles.

  ‘Thanks for this!’

  ‘They’re just noodles!’

  ‘I mean this …’ She gave a sigh of contentment as she looked around and beyond the kitchen. ‘You have no idea how much it means to just do nothing with Heath. It’s just been so nice to have a quiet day, instead of thinking up things to do or sitting in a burger bar, which is what I would have been doing today if I wasn’t here.’

  ‘Thank you too …’ Angus smiled. ‘It’s been so nice to go to work and know the kids are happy and not have to worry about what I’m going to find when I come home. Have they asked about Gemma?’

  ‘Clemmie has.’ Imogen nodded. ‘Gemma rang this afternoon and spoke to them for a couple of minutes, but Jack’s asking when she’s coming home. Have you spoken to her?’

  ‘I’ve rung her,’ Angus said, ‘but I just got her voicemail. I’ve sent her a few texts—told her that we need to sort things out as to what to tell the kids. I’ve told her too that she needs to see them …’ He raked a hand through his hair. ‘I’m just in this holding pattern—till I see her, till I speak to her, I don’t know …’

  Which left Imogen in a holding pattern too.

  Knowing that at any minute Gemma could come back, that with one phone call everything would change.

  And it was selfish of her to not wish that for him.

  How could she not wish that his relationship with Gemma was salvageable? How could she not wish that Clemmie and Jack’s mum might suddenly come home—after all, home was where she would be heading soon.

  ‘Have you sorted out the boxroom for Heath?’ His question dragged her out of her introspection. ‘There are spare pillows in the hall cupboard, I think.’

  ‘I had hoped he’d want to sleep in with me, given we haven’t spent a night under the same roof for a while, but times have changed apparently—he’s got new friends now!’

  ‘There’s a trundle bed under Jack’s,’ Angus suggested.

  ‘All options examined …’ Imogen rolled her eyes.

  ‘They want to camp out.’ She gave a little wince. ‘In the lounge.’

  ‘Of course they do!’ Angus grinned and she was so happy he did—so happy that a little bit of chaos didn’t matter to him. ‘Why would you want a soft warm bed when there’s a cold hard floor?’

  ‘They’re planning a midnight feast too.’ Imogen giggled. ‘Though we don’t know about that.’

  And she loved it that he lowered all the crisps and treats to a lower shelf, loved it that he put a few cans of usually forbidden fizz in the fridge and pulled the ice cream to the front of the freezer. Loved it that he couldn’t just get the blankets for the kids to make the fort, but had to help them too. And with growing amusement Imogen came back from a long soak in the bath to find some rather impressive-looking tents, all of which Angus had to go in and check for size and comfort.

  ‘Mine’s the best!’ Clemmie demanded. ‘Isn’t it, Imogen?’

  ‘It’s fabulous!’ Imogen declared, checking it out for herself. ‘I might sleep here myself.’

  And later, when the living room was a no-go zone, and Imogen had eaten the last of the noodles while Angus finished off the crossword in the newspaper, when she was sitting in a dressing-gown at the kitchen table as Angus headed off to the shower, when his mother called and she had to knock for him to come out of the shower, it was just too much.

  Standing in the kitchen dripping wet with a towel around his hips, trying to find a pen to write down his mother’s flight arrival time, Imogen knew that if she spent a second longer in the same room with him and didn’t touch him, she’d surely self combust, and she could take no more.

  ‘I’m going to bed.’

  ‘It’s only nine o’clock!’ Angus said, cursing as the crayon he was using to write, suddenly snapped. ‘What did I say the flight number was?’

  Only she couldn’t answer. Simply couldn’t tell him how much she wanted him, or how it was killing her inside to know that this magical evening doing nothing with the kids, this slice of heaven they had found, couldn’t be shared with others and certainly couldn’t last.

  ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea …’ He was halfway to the kettle and she’d half decided to stay up a bit longer when the phone rang. She watched the set of his shoulders stiffen, watched his free hand rake through his damp hair and even before he said her name, Imogen knew that it was Gemma.

  Knew she wouldn’t be getting her cup of tea.

  Closing the kitchen door, she checked on the kids—smiling at their excited faces and joining in the fun, leaving him to it, because his marriage ending had nothing to do with her.

  But it was hard.

  Especially when the phone in the living room clicked off and she knew the call was over, but he still didn’t come out.

  Especially when later, much later, the kids charged into the kitchen, with Imogen racing to stop them, only to find Angus with his head in his hands at the table.

  ‘Are you crying?’ Clemmie said accusingly.

  ‘Don’t be daft!’ Angus grinned but looked distinctly glassy-eyed. ‘I’ve got a cold.’

  And later, lying in bed, she could hear the commotion downstairs, kids giggling, the fridge door opening, and as the bedroom door pushed open and he sat down on the side of her bed, she hated the tears that greeted his hand when he stroked her cheek.

  ‘Sorry!’ She shuddered the word out.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘You were right….’ Imogen gulped. ‘It is too soon.’

  ‘Not for me.’

  ‘You miss her—and it’s right that you miss her …’

  ‘Imogen, have you any idea how unbearable the last few days would have been without you?’ Still he stroked her cheek. ‘And have you any idea how unbearable my life was before I met you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She’s coming over tomorrow. We’re going to tell the kids—that’s what’s
beating me up.’

  ‘It’s nearly Christmas,’ Imogen croaked.

  ‘Which gives us a little time to get our act together for Christmas Day.’ Angus screwed his eyes closed. ‘Couldn’t she have waited?’ Then he cursed himself. ‘I shouldn’t have pushed things—’

  ‘No.’ Imogen interrupted. ‘Angus, you can’t plan these things and Gemma couldn’t either. She didn’t just decide to fall in love …’

  ‘Don’t expect me to forgive her …’ Angus shook his head.

  ‘Would it have been any easier in September?’ Imogen asked. ‘With Clemmie all excited about school … Or maybe you could have held out till Easter …’

  ‘Imogen, don’t …’

  But she did.

  ‘Or last year when you knew things were over …’

  ‘No,’ Angus admitted. Gazing down at her, the muddied waters cleared a touch as he realised in many ways that time had actually been kind, because somehow she was here beside him. ‘What would I do without you?’

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’

  His mouth was gentle. A kiss so tender, so kind, so merited that for that second, even if the kids had rampaged up the stairs and caught them, it would have surely been justified.

  So justified that when the crisp packets were empty, when the carefully built tents had long since collapsed and three little people lay curled up on the floor, with Angus and Imogen tucking blankets around shoulders, it seemed right that he take her hand as they headed up the stairs to bed. Somehow it would be wrong to sleep alone tonight.

  ‘Put the chair against the door.’ Imogen gulped, shy all of a sudden, hating the body he seemed to adore, not as bold as before and wishing he’d turn the lights off or would turn around long enough so that she could jump under the covers without him seeing her.

  But see her he did.

  One touch and she was comfortable.

  One kiss and he soothed her.

  Chased away the insecurities with every caress.

  And never had his love been as sweet as it was bitter.

  The depth of his kiss almost annulled by its sheer impossibility. Like a barnacle on a rock, she clung to him, couldn’t bear that soon they would be ripped apart. Her single bed was just so much better for the intimacies they shared, to feel the muscle of him beside her, every roll, every kiss, every tumble bringing them closer until he was where he belonged—inside her.

  And it was the saddest, sweetest love she had ever made. Every stroke, every beat of him pushing them to a place they’d never been, to mutuality, affinity, to a space in the world that was solely for them.

  Sweet to have visited.

  So sad to leave.

  Her single bed huge when later, much later, he crept from the room.

  CHAPTER TEN

  OH, YOU can smile and distract, you can make soothing noises, you can ignore and deny and you can really try to hide things, but children always know.

  Especially at Christmas.

  ‘Mum’s coming in an hour.’ Clemmie was sitting on the stairs, watching as Imogen pulled her boots and coat on. She was taking Heath on the London Duck Tour, would ride around Central London then plunge into the Thames in the same amphibious vehicle.

  Heath had been bright-eyed with excitement when Imogen had told him about it.

  Jack and Clemmie hadn’t even asked if they could go.

  ‘That’s good,’ Imogen said, looking at her little angry face and truly not knowing what to say.

  ‘I’m going to play in my room.’

  Imogen didn’t call out goodbye to Angus and didn’t call it out to the children, relieved just to open the front door and escape the oppressive atmosphere.

  ‘Hello, Imogen.’

  The camera did lie. Because standing on the doorstep, close to six feet tall in high-heeled cream boots and a soft cream coat, dark hair billowing around her pale face, Imogen hadn’t braced herself for Gemma’s absolute beauty, or that she might know her name.

  ‘Angus said he’d arranged some temporary help …’

  Oh, she needn’t have worried, Imogen realised, because not for a second would this stunning woman ever consider her a threat. It wouldn’t even enter her head that Angus might want someone as dowdy and as plain as her.

  ‘The children have raved about you on the phone … Thank you so much for taking care of my babies,’ Gemma continued in a flurry, and Imogen realised the woman was actually beside herself with nerves, still standing on the doorstep of her own home, as if it was up to Imogen to ask her inside.

  Truly not knowing what to say, Imogen was saved from answering as Angus came down the hallway.

  ‘Hello, Gemma.’

  ‘Oh, Angus.’

  Of course she didn’t need to be asked in, Imogen thought as she stepped out into the street. Of course, when Gemma burst out crying, Angus would comfort her as together they faced the most appalling task together. Only she had never expected to like her, had never expected to be moved by the raw tears that had spilled from her eyes, the throaty sob that had come from her lips. And if it moved her, then what must it have done for Angus?

  Maybe they might make it work, Imogen thought, huddled up with Heath, freezing as they sped through the streets taking photos and quacking at passersby.

  Heath whooped with delight as they plunged into the river and even though it was fun and brilliant and a day she’d remember for ever, Imogen felt as if her heart was being squeezed from the inside.

  Especially after she dropped off Heath at Brad’s and went back to a house that felt different somehow, no matter how Angus tried to act normal.

  A new normal.

  A new normal where Angus went into work for a few hours and Gemma came over on Christmas Eve to take the children out and Imogen attempted some last-minute Christmas shopping. Heath was easy to buy for and Jack and Clemmie were too. Brad? Well, thankfully, given it was December, sunglasses were drastically reduced in price, which took care of that.

  If only Angus was so easy.

  Along with the last of the frantic last-minute shoppers she wandered around vast department stores, trying to find the perfect present for the perfect man—and knowing she had one chance to get it right.

  That this could be their only Christmas.

  And it would take more than a miracle for it to be a happy one. There was just way too much hurt all around.

  ‘Get everything?’ Angus asked, when laden with bags she nearly fell through the door.

  ‘If I didn’t, it’s too late now! How are the kids?’ Imogen added, as he helped her stuff the bags in the stair cupboards.

  ‘They seem OK …’ His jacket and tie were off, his shirt coming untucked at the hips, but he was still the most impressive man she had ever seen, Imogen thought as he waited till they were alone before discussing it again. ‘They really do seem OK. You know, we clung on for a year, thinking we were doing the right thing, but I’m starting to wonder if we—’

  ‘My tooth fell out!’ Clemmie burst into the kitchen, dripping blood and smiling at the same time.

  ‘That’s what happens if you keep tugging at it.’ Angus grinned, getting a wad of kitchen roll and dealing with the casualty. ‘She’s hoping for bonus points if Santa and the tooth fairy both come on Christmas Eve!’

  Clemmie grinned her gappy smile and it reminded Imogen so much of Heath it hurt. Oh, she adored Clemmie, adored Jack, only they weren’t her babies.

  Her first Christmas Eve without Heath beside her and surely no one in the world knew how she felt.

  Except one.

  ‘Mum’s on the phone!’ Angus called later as he was putting two excited children to bed. Imogen sat in a room bathed with fairy lights, feeling sick on her third mince pie, missing Heath so much it hurt. As she watched a rerun of Shane, all Imogen could wonder was how grown-ups got it so wrong.

  How did they mess up so badly—and who was it that suffered the most?

  And then she thought of Maria.

  Tears sliding d
own her cheeks, she thought of how, even if it was a difficult life sometimes, she’d so much rather live it. She thought of little Guido, and prayed he was OK without his parents to love him. She barely looked up when Angus walked into the lounge, laden with boxes that weren’t empty for underneath the tree.

  ‘Still hurts, huh?’ Angus asked, staring for a minute at the TV and Shane, then back at her.

  ‘Always,’ Imogen answered, as his pager trilled.

  And because he was a consultant, because the pubs were turning out and because Gus had promised to come in at six next morning if he could just have Christmas Eve undisturbed, she nodded and took over.

  Lugging the presents under the tree as he sped into the night.

  She left the Christmas lights on and took bites out of four mince pies then bit on the carrot that had been left for Rudolph. Then she headed up the stairs and quietly filled their stockings, before having to go back down because she’d forgotten that the tooth fairy was coming tonight too. By the end it was a relief, just a blessed relief, to finally close her bedroom door.

  It would take more than a miracle to make this Christmas a happy one, Imogen thought, staring up at her little skylight, hearing the wail of sirens in the distance and the swoosh of cars as they sped through the night. Finally she gave way to the tears she’d held in as she’d hung Clemmie’s stocking and fiddled with Jack’s; as she’d kissed two little faces goodnight, and had done all the right things for Gemma’s children …

  While all the while missing her own.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THERE was one advantage to putting two overexcited children to bed on Christmas Eve.

  It was actually past eight when the ringing of the phone pierced the house. Sitting up, blinking through swollen lids, Imogen just had time to grab her sarong and wrap it around her before two thoroughly overexcited bundles burst into her room.

  ‘Mummy’s coming!’ Jack yelped. ‘She’s coming over!’

  ‘Santa’s been!’ Clemmie chimed in.

  Various squeals pierced her brain as two mini-tornadoes spun out of her room and charged down the stairs, leaving Imogen to ponder that things really did seem better in the morning as she was greeted by one tired unshaven sexy blond in a pair of hipsters.