The Italian's Christmas Housekeeper

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘Of course. How do you take your coffee?’

  He flickered her a smile. ‘Black, short, no sugar. Grazie.’

  Of course not, thought Molly. No sugar for someone like him. He looked as if he’d never been near anything sweet in his life. She wished he’d go. Before he noticed that her brow had grown clammy, or that her nipples had started to push distractingly against the unflattering navy-blue uniform Lady Avery insisted she wore. ‘I’ll do that right away,’ she said briskly. ‘And bring them up to your room.’

  ‘No need for that. I’ll wait here,’ he said.

  She wanted to tell him he was making her feel awkward by standing there, like some kind of brooding, dark statue—just staring at her. As if he had read her thoughts, he strolled over towards the window and she became aware of an almost imperceptible limp in his right leg. Had he injured himself when out running and should she ask him whether he needed a bandage or something? Perhaps not. Someone with his confidence would be bound to ask for one.

  She could feel a stray strand of hair tickling the back of her neck and wished she’d had time to fix it. Or had been sitting reading some novel which might have made her look interesting, instead of scoffing cake and emphasising the fact that she was heavy and ungainly.

  ‘I’ll try to be as quick as I can,’ she said, reaching up into one of the cupboards for a clean glass.

  ‘I’m in no hurry,’ he said lazily.

  Because that much was true. Salvio had decided that he was enjoying himself though he wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe it was the novelty factor of being with the kind of woman he didn’t come across very often—at least, not any more. Not since he’d left behind the backstreets of Naples, along with those women whose curves defined fecundity and into whose generous flesh a man could sink after a long, hard day. Women like this one, who blushed alluringly if they caught you looking at them.

  He had waited for a moment to see if she would recognise him. If she knew who he was—or, rather, who he had been. But no. He was familiar with recognition in all its forms—from greedy delight right through to feigned ignorance—but there had been no trace of any of those on her face. And why should there be? She was much younger than him and from a different country. How would she have known that in his native Italy he had once been famous?

  He watched her busying herself, her curvy silhouette reminding him of the bottles of Verdicchio which used to line the shelves of the city bar he’d swept as a boy, before the talent scouts had discovered him and ended his childhood. She turned to switch on the coffee maker and a sudden dryness turned his throat to dust because...her breasts. He swallowed. Madonna mia—what breasts! He was glad when she turned away to open the fridge door because his erection was pressing uncomfortably against his shorts, though, when she did, he then became mesmerised by her shapely bottom. He was just fantasising about what her shiny brown hair would look like loose when she turned around and surveyed him with eyes as grey as the Santissima Annunziata Maggiore—that beautiful church in Naples, which had once been an orphanage.

  Their gazes clashed and mingled and something unspoken fizzled in the air as Salvio felt a leap of something he couldn’t define. The hardness in his groin was familiar but the sudden clench of his heart was not. Was it lust? His mouth twisted. Of course it was lust—for what else could it be? It just happened to be more powerful than usual because it had taken him by surprise.

  Yet there was no answering hunger in her quiet, grey gaze—something which perplexed him, for when didn’t a woman look at him with desire in her eyes? She was wary, he found himself thinking, with a flicker of amusement. Almost as if she were silently reproaching him for his insolent appraisal—and maybe that sentiment was richly deserved. What was he doing surveying her curvy body, like a boy from a single-sex school who was meeting a beautiful woman for the first time?

  ‘You’re the cook?’ he questioned, trying to redeem himself with a safe, if rather banal question.

  She nodded. ‘Sort of. Officially, I’m the housekeeper but I do a bit of everything. Answer the door to guests and make sure their rooms are serviced, that sort of thing.’ She pushed the coffee towards him. ‘Will there be anything else, Signor De Gennaro?’

  He smiled. ‘Salvio. And you are?’

  She looked taken aback, as if people didn’t ask her name very often. ‘It’s Molly,’ she answered shyly, in a voice so soft it felt like silk lingerie brushing against his skin. ‘Molly Miller.’

  Molly Miller. He found himself wanting to repeat it, but the conversation—such as it was—was terminated by the sudden sweep of car headlights arcing powerfully across the room. As he heard the sound of a large car swishing over gravel, Salvio saw the way she flinched and automatically tugged at her drab dress so that it hung more uniformly over her wide hips.

  ‘That’s the Averys.’

  ‘I thought it must be.’

  ‘You’d better... You’d better go,’ she said, unable to keep the waver of urgency from her voice. ‘I’m supposed to be preparing dinner and Lady Avery won’t like finding a guest in the kitchen.’

  Salvio was tempted to tell her that he didn’t give a damn what Lady Avery would or wouldn’t like but he could see the fear which had darkened her soft grey eyes. With a flicker of irritation he picked up his espresso and water and headed for the door. ‘Grazie mille,’ he said, leaving the warm and steamy kitchen and walking rapidly towards the staircase, reluctant to be around when the Averys burst into the hallway.

  But once back in his own room, he was irritated to discover that the low burn of desire was refusing to leave him. So that instead of the hot shower he’d promised himself, Salvio found himself standing beneath jets of punishingly cold water as he tried to push the curves of the sweet little housekeeper from the forefront of his mind and to quell the exquisite hardness which throbbed at his groin.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘MOLLY, THESE POTATOES are frightful. We can’t possibly ask Signor De Gennaro to eat them. Have they even seen an oven? They’re like rocks!’

  Molly could feel herself flushing to the roots of her hair as she met Lady Avery’s accusing stare. Were they? She blinked. Surely she’d blasted them for the required time, carefully basting them with goose fat to make them all golden and crispy? But no. Now she stopped to look at them properly—they were definitely on the anaemic side.

  She could feel her cheeks growing even pinker as she reached towards the table to pick up the dish. ‘I’m so sorry, Lady Avery. I’ll pop them back in the—’

  ‘Don’t bother!’ snapped her employer. ‘It will be midnight before they’re fit to eat and I don’t intend going to bed on a full stomach. And I’m sure Salvio won’t want to either.’

  Was it Molly’s imagination, or did Lady Avery shoot the Italian a complicit smile from the other side of the table? The way she said his name sounded unmistakably predatory and the look she was giving him was enough to make Molly’s stomach turn. Surely the aristocrat wasn’t hinting that she intended ending up in bed with him, not with her husband sitting only a few feet away?

  Yet it had struck her as odd when Sarah Avery had come down for dinner wearing the tightest and lowest-cut dress imaginable, so that the priceless blaze of the Avery diamonds dazzled like stars against her aging skin. She’d been flirting outrageously with the Italian businessman ever since Molly had served pre-dinner drinks and showed no sign of stopping. And meanwhile, her husband—two decades older and already a quarter of the way through his second bottle of burgundy—seemed oblivious to the undercurrents which had been swirling around the dinner table ever since they’d sat down.

  The meal had been a disaster from the moment she’d put the starters on the table and Molly couldn’t understand why. She was a good cook. She knew that. Hadn’t she spent years cooking for her mother and little brother, trying to produce tasty food on a shoestring budget? And hadn’t part of her job i
nterview for Lady Avery consisted of producing a full afternoon tea—including a rich and rather heavy fruit cake—within the space of just two hours...a feat she had managed with ease? A simple meal for just three people should have been a breeze, but Molly hadn’t factored in Salvio De Gennaro, or the effect his brooding presence would have on her employer. Or, if she was being honest, on her.

  After he’d swept out of the kitchen earlier that afternoon, it had taken ages for her heart to stop thumping and to be able to concentrate on what she was supposed to be doing. She’d felt all giddy and stupidly...excited. She remembered the way he had looked into her eyes with that dark and piercing gaze and wondered if she’d imagined the pulsing crackle of electricity between them before telling herself that, yes, of course she had. Unless she really thought a man who could have his pick of any woman on the planet would have the slightest interest in a naïve country girl who was carrying far too much weight around her hips.

  In her dreams!

  But there was no doubt that Salvio’s unexpected trip to the kitchen had rocked Molly’s equilibrium and after he’d gone, all the light had seemed to disappear from the room. She’d sat down at the table feeling flat, which was unusual for her because she’d always tried to be an optimist, no matter what life threw at her. She was what was known as a glass-half-full type of person rather than one who regarded the glass as half empty. So why had she spent the rest of the afternoon mooching around the kitchen in a way which was completely out of character?

  ‘Molly? Are you listening to a word I’m saying?’

  Molly stiffened as she saw the fury in Lady Avery’s eyes—but not before she’d noticed Salvio De Gennaro’s face darken with an expression she couldn’t work out. Was he wondering why on earth the wife of a famous peer bothered employing such a hapless housekeeper?

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Molly quickly. ‘I was a bit distracted.’

  ‘You seem to have been distracted all afternoon!’ snapped Lady Avery. ‘The meat is overcooked and the hors d’oeuvres were fridge-cold!’

  ‘Come on, Sarah. It’s no big deal,’ said Salvio softly. ‘Give the girl a break.’

  Molly’s head jerked up and as she met the understanding gleam of Salvio De Gennaro’s ebony eyes, she felt something warm and comforting wash over her. It was like sitting beside a fire when snow was falling outside. Like being wrapped in a soft, cashmere blanket. She saw Lady Avery appear momentarily disconcerted and she wondered if Salvio De Gennaro’s silky intervention had made her decide that giving her housekeeper a public dressing-down wouldn’t reflect very well on her. Was that why she flashed her a rather terrifying smile?

  ‘Of course. You’re quite right, Salvio. It’s no big deal. After all, it’s not as if we’re short of food, is it? Molly always makes sure we’re very well fed, but—as you can tell—she’s very fond of her food!’ She gave a bright, high laugh and nodded her head towards the snoring form of her husband, who had now worked his way through the entire bottle of wine and whose head was slumped on his chest as he snored softly. ‘Molly, I’m going to wake Lord Avery and guide him to bed and then Signor De Gennaro and I will go and sit by the fire in the library. Perhaps you’d like to bring us something on a tray to take the place of dinner. Nothing too fussy. Finger food will do.’ She flashed another toothy smile. ‘And bring us another bottle of the Château Lafite, will you?’

  ‘Yes, Lady Avery.’

  Salvio’s knuckles tightened as he watched Molly scuttle from the room, though he made no further comment as his hostess moved round the table to rouse her sleeping husband and then rather impatiently ushered him from the room. But he couldn’t shake off the feeling of injustice he had experienced when he’d seen how the aristocrat treated the blushing housekeeper. Or the powerful feeling of identification which had gripped him as he’d witnessed it. Was it because he’d known exactly how she would be feeling? His mouth hardened. Because he’d been where she had been. He knew what it was like to be at the bottom of the food chain. To have people treat you as if you were a machine, rather than a person.

  He splayed his fingers over the rigid tautness of his thighs. He would wait until his hostess returned. Force himself to have a quick drink since she’d asked for one of the world’s most expensive wines to be opened, then retire to his room. He glanced at his watch. It was too late to go back to London tonight but he would leave at first light, before the house was awake. All in all it had been a wasted journey, with Lord Avery too inebriated to talk business before dinner. He hadn’t even been able to work because the damned Internet kept going down and because his thoughts kept straying to the forbidden... And the forbidden had proved shockingly difficult to erase from his mind. He sighed. How crazy was it that the wholesome housekeeper had inexplicably set his senses on fire, so that he could think of little but her?

  He’d walked into the orangery before dinner to see her standing with a tray of champagne in her hands. She had changed into a simple black dress which hugged her body and emphasised every voluptuous curve. With her shiny brown hair caught back at the nape of her neck, his attention had been caught by those grey eyes, half concealed by lashes like dark feathers, which were modestly lowered as she offered him a drink. Even that was a turn-on. Or maybe especially that. He wasn’t used to modesty. To women reluctant to meet his gaze, whose cheeks turned the colour of summer roses. He’d found himself wanting to stand there studying her and it had taken a monumental effort to tear his eyes away. To try to make conversation with a host who seemed to be having a love affair with the bottle, and his disenchanted wife who was almost spilling out of a dress much too young for a woman her age.

  ‘Salvio!’ Sarah Avery was back, a look of determination on her face as she picked her way across the Persian rug on her spiky black heels. ‘Sorry about that. I’m afraid that sometimes Philip simply can’t hold his drink. Some men can’t, you know—with predictable effects, I’m afraid.’ She flashed him a megawatt smile. ‘Let’s go to the library for a drink, shall we?’

  There had been many reasons why Salvio had left Naples to make his life in England and he had absorbed the attitudes of his adopted country with the tenacity he applied to every new challenge which came his way. These days he considered himself urbane and sophisticated—but in reality the traditional values of his Neapolitan upbringing were never far from the surface. And in his world, a woman never criticised her husband to another person. Particularly a stranger.

  ‘Just one drink,’ he said, disapproval making his words harsher than he intended. ‘I have a busy schedule tomorrow and I’ll be leaving first thing.’

  ‘But you’ve only just arrived!’

  ‘And I have back-to-back meetings in London, from midday onwards,’ he countered smoothly.

  ‘Oh! Can’t you cancel them?’ she wheedled. ‘I mean, I’ve heard that you’re a complete workaholic, but surely even powerhouses like you are allowed to slow down a little. And this is a beautiful part of the world. You haven’t really seen any of it.’

  With an effort, Salvio forced a smile because he found her attitude intensely intrusive, as well as irritating. ‘I like to honour my commitments,’ he observed coolly as he followed her into the firelit library, where Molly was putting cheese and wine on a table, the stiff set of her shoulders showing her tension. He wasn’t surprised. Imagine being stuck out here, working for someone as rude and demanding as Sarah Avery. He sank into one of the armchairs, and watched as his hostess went to stand by the mantelpiece in a pose he suspected was intended to make him appreciate her carefully preserved body. She ran one slow finger over the gleaming curve of an ancient-looking vase, and smiled.

  ‘Are you looking forward to Christmas, Salvio?’ she questioned.

  He was immediately wary—recoiling from the thought that some unwanted invitation might soon be heading his way. ‘I am away for most of it—in Naples,’ he said, accepting a glass of wine from Molly—ridiculously
pleased to capture her blushing gaze before she quickly turned away. ‘I’m always glad to see my family but, to be honest, I’m equally glad when the holiday is over. The world shuts down and business suffers as a result.’

  ‘Oh, you men!’ Sarah Avery slunk back across the room to perch on a nearby chair, her bony knees clamped tightly together. ‘You’re all the same!’

  Salvio managed not to wince, trying to steer the conversation onto a more neutral footing as he sipped his wine, though all he could think about was Molly hovering nervously in the background, the black dress clinging to her curvaceous figure and a stray strand of glossy brown hair dangling alluringly against her pink cheek. He cleared his throat. ‘How are you and your husband planning to spend Christmas?’ he questioned politely.

  This was obviously the opportunity Sarah Avery had been waiting for and she let him have the answer in full, telling him how much Philip’s adult children hated her and blamed her for ending their parents’ marriage. ‘I mean, I certainly didn’t set out to get him, but I was his secretary and these things happen.’ She gave a helpless shrug. ‘Philip told me he couldn’t help falling in love with me. That no power on earth could have stopped it. How was I supposed to know his wife was pregnant at the time?’ She sipped a mouthful of wine, leaving a thin red stain above the line of her lip gloss. ‘I mean, I really don’t care if his wretched kids won’t see me—it’s Philip I’m concerned about—and I really think they need to be mindful of their inheritance. He’ll cut them off if they’re not careful!’

  Salvio forced himself to endure several minutes more of her malicious chatter, his old-fashioned sensibilities outraged by her total lack of shame. But eventually he could stand no more and rose to his feet and, despite all her cajoling, she finally seemed to get the message that he was going to bed. Alone. Like a child, she pouted, but he paid her sulky expression no heed. He felt like someone who’d just been released from the cage of a prowling she-cat by the time he escaped to the quietness of the guest corridor and closed the door of his room behind him.