Summer with the Millionaire

by Unknown

  ‘Come in,’ she coaxed. ‘The water’s lovely.’

  He shook his head at her, amused. ‘You said yourself it’s not deep enough to swim in—it barely covers your feet!’

  ‘I’m paddling,’ she said, with as much dignity as was possible when she was standing in the middle of a stream. ‘And it’s lovely. Scared?’ she taunted softly.

  Slowly, with almost catlike grace, Luca pushed himself away from the tree on which he’d been leaning and leant down, loosening the ties on his boot before slipping it off, casually kicking it off his foot. His eyes fixed on Minty’s face, he slid his sock off his foot, tucking it neatly into the boot. It should have looked ridiculous—he should have looked ridiculous. But there was something so deliberate, so assured in his movements that Minty could only stand and watch, her mouth dry.

  Luca stood before her: impossibly tall, imposing. Infinitely fascinating.

  ‘Luca …’ she said hoarsely.

  He didn’t answer, but looked down at her searchingly. What the question was she did not know, but her face must have signalled an answer because with a muttered groan Luca pulled her close, moulding her long curves against his hard body, one hand tilting her chin up as his mouth came down upon hers.

  There was nothing but him and the heat blazing between them. Nothing but the here and the now. Nothing but them.

  Summer with the Millionaire

  Jessica Gilmore

  www.millsandboon.co.uk

  After learning to read aged just two, JESSICA GILMORE spent every childhood party hiding in bedrooms in case the birthday girl had a book or two she hadn’t read yet. Discovering Mills and Boon® novels on a family holiday, Jessica realised that romance-writing was her true vocation and proceeded to spend her maths lessons practising her art, creating Dynasty-inspired series starring herself and Morten Harket’s cheekbones. Writing for Mills & Boon really is a dream come true!

  A former au pair, bookseller, marketing manager and Scarborough seafront trader—selling rock from under a sign that said ‘Cheapest on the Front'—Jessica now works as a membership manager for a regional environmental charity. Sadly, she spends most of her time chained to her desk, wrestling with databases, but likes to sneak out to one of their beautiful reserves whenever she gets a chance. Married to an extremely patient man, Jessica lives in the beautiful and historic city of York, with one daughter, one very fluffy dog, two dog-loathing cats and a goldfish named Bob.

  On the rare occasions when she is not writing, working, taking her daughter to activities or tweeting, Jessica likes to plan holidays—and uses her favourite locations in her books. She writes deeply emotional romance with a hint of humour, a splash of sunshine and usually a great deal of delicious food—and equally delicious heroes.

  For Abby

  My amazing, enthusiastic, enquiring, bright girl.

  Thank you for all your encouragement, belief and pride—and thank you for just being you. I love you.

  I want to thank everyone who has supported Minty, especially my friends and colleagues who voted daily in SYTYCW 12 and begged me not to give up. Special thanks once again to Jane, Julia and Maggie, for reading every single version with patience, humour and just the occasional crack of the whip, and I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Heidi Rice for a thoroughly comprehensive New Writer’s Scheme report—thank you.

  Finally thanks to Dan for all your support x

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Extract

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘NO, HE ISN’T expecting me, and no, I don’t have an appointment, but...’

  The impeccably made-up woman behind the desk held up a hand dismissively. ‘I am sorry, signorina, but without an appointment I cannot let you go in.’

  Minty Davenport suppressed a sigh. It was only 10:00 a.m. but she had already done more this morning than she usually managed in a full day. After negotiating the Tube armed with two large suitcases, battling the automated check-in of the budget airline and enduring her taxi driver’s taste in music, she really needed something to go her way. Even the subtle scent of juniper, olives and garlic, and the sight of much missed rolling hills and olive groves, had failed to settle her nerves.

  ‘Here is Signor Di Tore now,’ the receptionist said, thankfully, gesturing to someone behind Minty. Minty closed her eyes, butterflies tumbling around her stomach.

  I’m not ready for this.

  But she had no choice.

  Calm, collected and professional, Minty reminded herself, taking a deep breath and straightening her shoulders before pivoting round, confident smile pinned brightly onto her face.

  Only to be transported back in time to her gauche teen self. To when just the sight of him had caused the breath to whoosh out of her body like a blow to the stomach—a hard blow.

  Oh, he had changed; only for the better. She’d been hoping for seedy, balding and obese. No such luck. He was still enviably trim, but muscled in the right places. His dark hair was cut shorter than she remembered, with just enough length to run her fingers through; those strangely light caramel eyes framed by long, dark lashes. Devil’s eyes, she used to taunt him.

  Okay. Time to switch it on. She could do this.

  ‘Buongiorno, Luca. What a beautiful day. It was so gloomy when I left London this morning, but spring seems well and truly to have hit Italy.’

  Luca raised an eyebrow, laughter lurking in hooded eyes. ‘I don’t know what part of that statement surprises me more,’ he said. ‘Polite chit-chat about the weather, or the realisation that you must have got up at the crack of dawn to get here. Unless you didn’t bother going to bed at all; jumped on the plane straight from one of your Mayfair nightclubs? It wouldn’t be the first time,’ he added.

  Minty clenched her fists against the light wool of her skirt, resisting the temptation to smooth down the material. ‘No, it wouldn’t,’ she agreed evenly. ‘But you are behind the times, Luca darling; I haven’t partied in Mayfair for years.’ She smiled sweetly up at him. ‘All the best clubs are in the east of the city now, you know. And I’m not dressed for dancing.’

  Damn, she never knew when to stop talking. Why did she have to mention her clothes rather than let them make the statement for her? The laughter in Luca’s eyes ratcheted up as he surveyed her up and down, the firm lips folding together to suppress something that looked suspiciously like a smile. ‘So I see.’

  She had dressed carefully, appropriately, in a simple grey, short-sleeved dress, a wide red belt adding a splash of colour as it cinched her narrow waist. Her shoes were a sensible height, her jewellery elegant and understated. She had even pulled her long blonde hair back into a loose bun. All she needed was a pair of glasses perched on her nose and a briefcase to make the metamorphosis complete. Leaving London in the lamplit, drizzly early hours, Minty had felt smart, professional, businesslike.

  Now she felt like a child playing dress-up.

  ‘Not that it isn’t lovely to see you,’ Luca continued, that same silkily sarcastic tone in his voice. ‘But what have we done to deserve this rare treat? It must be at least six years since you last graced us with your presence.’

  Almost exactly six years. She hadn’t been back since her aunt’s funeral. Since she and Luca had almost... Minty push
ed the memory firmly back into its box. It wasn’t relevant to today, not relevant to any day. She couldn’t allow the past to derail her; couldn’t afford to mess this up. ‘It is the board meeting today, isn’t it?’ She allowed a fleeting, alarmed expression to cross her face. ‘Oh, no, I didn’t get the date wrong, did I?’ Let him think she was unprepared. She’d show him.

  ‘You’re here for the board meeting?’ Minty couldn’t help feeling smug as incredulity replaced amusement. ‘Why?’

  ‘I am on the board,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Technically,’ he said. ‘But as you have never yet attended a meeting, or even sent your apologies, you’ll have to forgive me for being a little confused. Have you read the papers? Do you know what’s on the agenda? I don’t have time to bring you up to speed.’ His tone was condescending, a little superior. Just like when they were children, when he had used every second of his four years’ seniority to put her down, push her away.

  She wasn’t a little girl now.

  Minty held up her handbag. Her prized Birkin bag had always seemed ridiculously huge, dangling off one arm with only a credit card, lipstick and mobile rattling around inside the cavernous depths. Turned out it was the perfect size for her iPad, ready-loaded not just with the last year’s board-meeting papers but also Minty’s notes and ideas. Her game plan. ‘Read and digested.’

  ‘Okay, then.’ Luca was back to his usual inscrutable, faintly mocking self. ‘I look forward to hearing your thoughts. Shall we go through?’

  Hang on, this wasn’t in her plan. ‘What, now? The meeting doesn’t start for an hour.’

  ‘I thought you might want to settle in, freshen up.’ The amber eyes gleamed. ‘Prepare for the meeting. I’m sure we can find you a spare corner somewhere.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Minty said. ‘But I’m quite all right here.’ She gestured vaguely around the foyer. It was a light, welcoming space, the inside functional yet as lovely as the outside. Some people thought running a business the size of Di Tore Dolce from old farm buildings in the lush Oschian countryside was crazy; that they would be better moving to one of the big cities: Rome, Milan or Florence. But neither Luca nor his uncle had ever considered uprooting from the family estate where it had all begun.

  The office building had once been a barn. Now it housed desks, meeting rooms and dozens of people. The reception area in which they stood was a modern, glass-roofed extension. Living vines wound abundantly round the ceiling and support beams and large wooden pots held huge, vibrant green plants. Clusters of chairs were grouped around coffee tables and to one side three smartly dressed women were seated behind a long desk. Despite the early hour, their fingers were flying away on the keyboards as they chatted into earpieces.

  They were the stylish embodiment of Cerberus, the three-headed dog that guarded the entrance to Hades, and there was no getting past them. Minty had tried, unleashing the full power of her charm on them.

  It hadn’t worked.

  On the short flight over, Minty had allowed herself a few daydreams about her successful return to Di Tore Dolce, mostly inspired by late-night Dynasty reruns. She would be sitting at the head of the table, presentation already set up when the other board members walked in, ready to dazzle them with her business acumen and vision.

  If Cerberus hadn’t barred her way.

  But if Luca took her through she would immediately be sidelined, relegated back to the same position she had been in as a bored and sulky teenager dragged into the office for work experience.

  Minty thought quickly. ‘Honestly, you go ahead; I need to sort out my pass,’ she said, darting a look over at the receptionists.

  They’d have to let her through now. And then she could set up while Luca assumed she was freshening up. She could still surprise him.

  ‘No worries, they can deliver one to you. Come on.’ Luca put his hand on the small of her back and ushered Minty towards the automatic door that separated the public part of the business from the private. At just that brief contact a jolt of electricity snaked up Minty’s spine and she shot forward, away from his touch.

  So much for cool and professional.

  But she was no longer a silly teenager with a crush. This time she was the one in control.

  * * *

  What on earth was Minty Davenport doing back in Oschia? And, more important, what was she doing here at Di Tore Dolce?

  Luca strode over to the window and looked out over the hills and vineyards that surrounded the head office of the business he had inherited and grown. Just a mile away over the brow of the nearest hill was his home, the old Oschian farmhouse where he had lived first with his parents and then, after the accident, with his uncle, Gio, and Gio’s English wife. Luca had adored the softly spoken Englishwoman—and had dreaded the summers when her wilful, wild niece came to wreak havoc for weeks on end.

  Now Minty was back. What destruction did she bring in her wake this time?

  And what on earth did she want with his business? If only Aunt Rose hadn’t split her third share between the two of them; she’d given Minty a reason to return.

  There had to be a reason she was back. Minty was wild, impulsive and thoughtless but her whims had never included board meetings before. Luca pulled out his phone and quickly did a search on her name. Instantly the return page showed thousands of possible hits, some dated that week. He pulled up the most recent and read, a frown pinching his forehead.

  ‘Aha,’ he said softly as he scrolled down the backlit screen. ‘Got you.’

  * * *

  ‘You summoned me?’ Her voice was light, full of laughter, but the blue eyes were defiant. Luca recognised the pose well: the time she’d stayed out all night... No, he corrected himself, the times she’d stayed out all night. After every outrageous prank, after every time she’d been called to account, Lady Araminta Davenport had presented that same mix of insouciance and bravado.

  There had been a time when Luca had thought there was a vulnerability to her. That she presented a mask to the world.

  He had been wrong.

  Luca leant back in his chair, allowing his eyes to travel slowly down the demurely clad, long, lean body, the grey dress oddly seductive as it clung to her subtle curves. The coltish teenager had matured into a beautiful woman.

  Luca looked directly at her, held her guileless gaze. ‘I’m sorry to hear about your engagement.’

  The blue eyes widened momentarily. A faint flush crept over her cheekbones but it was the only outward sign of any inner emotion. Surprise? Discomfort? Embarrassment? Whatever Minty was feeling, she kept it locked inside.

  Once he had wanted to know—to know what she felt. To know if she felt. To peel back her layers and see if there was anything more to her than a trust fund with an attitude.

  ‘To lose one fiancé is unlucky,’ he said, still watching her. ‘Three losses could be considered careless.’

  She shrugged. ‘What can I say? I never did take care of my toys.’

  Had he been one of those toys? Picked up on a whim then discarded? He felt the old familiar anger rise up and swallowed it back down. He had never given her the satisfaction of reacting to her selfish and outrageous behaviour. He wasn’t going to start now.

  ‘Probably for the best. I can’t really see you as a politician’s wife.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not all opening fetes and kissing babies, you know; some spouses even have jobs here in the twenty-first century.’ Minty wandered over to the bookshelves that lined the left side of the room and picked up a photo of her aunt. Rose was standing outside the farmhouse, her arm around a twelve-year-old Luca. He was smiling, leaning into the woman who had become his surrogate mother. He remembered that day clearly. It had been the first day since the accident that he had been happy and hadn’t thought about his parents.

  ‘It seems odd to be here, without her,’ Min
ty said, so softly he barely made out the words. ‘As the taxi drove past the house, I half-expected it to turn in to the driveway and I’d see her standing on the step in that flour-covered apron of hers.’ She put the photo down and continued to browse along the shelves, examining the photos and awards he kept there.

  For a moment Luca softened. Rose had been just as much Minty’s surrogate mother as his; it must be strange for her to be back in Oschia for the first time since the funeral. But it had been her choice to stay away; to run away in the middle of the night; to barely bother keeping in touch with Uncle Gio, the man who had provided her with stability and a home for over ten summers.

  ‘It says here that your father wasn’t very pleased about the engagement being called off.’

  Minty turned, leaning back against the bookshelves, confident, graceful, unpredictable as a cat. ‘You shouldn’t read gossip websites, they’re very bad for you.’

  ‘Ah, but how else would we know what you are up to?’

  Her eyes gleamed. ‘I didn’t know you cared.’

  Luca stared at her, not trying to hide his contempt. ‘I don’t, but Gio worries about you. Is it true?’

  Minty wandered back towards the desk, dropping into the chair opposite, folding one long leg over the other as she did so. ‘True that Daddy was unhappy? You know Daddy. Inconvenient offspring of early marriages should not be seen, not be heard and definitely not be splashed all over the newspapers. He was a tad cross.’

  ‘Is that why you’re here?’

  She gave him a long look from under her lashes. ‘Can’t you just believe that I was seized with a desire to contribute to the company?’

  A burst of impatience shot through him. She’d been back for less than an hour and already she was playing games, turning his plans upside down. No way was he allowing her into that board meeting without knowing exactly why she was here and what she wanted. ‘Come on, Minty,’ he said. ‘You may be a shareholder, but as we plough most of the profits back into expansion we can only be a tiny part of your income.’ His eyes slid to the snakeskin Birkin bag dumped by the door. ‘A tiny part,’ he repeated. ‘You have never shown any interest in Di Tore Dolce before. Why now?’