by Lynne Graham
He curved an arm round her slight body.
‘Love you…’ Holly mumbled automatically.
Vito smiled. ‘Love you. You’re my happy-ever-after, amata mia.’
EPILOGUE
VITO STRODE THROUGH the door and was immediately engulfed in the flying energy of his son, who flung himself at his knees in a classic tackle. Angelo started chattering in a hail of words, only a handful of which were in distinguishable Italian and occasional ones were in English. Mamma figured a lot. Nonna, as he called his grandmother Concetta, figured too. If Angelo was to be believed, he, his mother and his grandmother had spent the afternoon feeding a dinosaur. A very small dinosaur was waved in Vito’s general direction and comprehension set in as he crouched down to dutifully admire the toy.
A giant Christmas tree adorned the hall. It was festooned with ornaments and lights. There were no gifts heaped below the branches because Angelo loved to rip off wrapping paper. Silvestro had been heard to tell a tenant that the Zaffaris were having ‘an English Christmas’, and Vito’s chef, Francisco, had been feeding them turkey for weeks as he fine-tuned his recipes to provide them with an English banquet on Christmas Day. In respect of the Italian traditions, Angelo would receive la calza—a stocking full of sweets. The red-suited Babbo Natale would obviously visit on Christmas Eve, but the kind-hearted Italian witch La Befana, who searched for the Christ child in all the houses, would visit at Epiphany with more gifts.
Vito breathed in deep as he saw a small figure clad in white-fur-trimmed scarlet appear at the top of the stairs. ‘You’re not wearing your hat,’ he complained.
Holly stopped midway and jammed it on over her mane of hair and made a face at him. ‘Satisfied now?’
Vito angled a lazy, sexy smile at her. ‘Don’t I have to wait until bedtime for that?’
‘Maybe I’ll suggest an early night.’ Holly remained anchored two steps up so that she was almost level with him.
Vito took the invitation, leaning down to claim that lush pink mouth that he still fantasised about and curving his hands to the swell of her hips to lift her up into his arms. Her hands locked round his neck with satisfying possessiveness and held him fast. He could feel the slight bump of the baby she was carrying against his stomach and he smiled as he lifted his head again.
‘I love you,’ he groaned.
‘Love you madly.’ Holly felt ridiculously intoxicated and happy. One kiss from Vito could do that, two were irresistible, and three would only end with her dragging him up the stairs. Evidently falling pregnant sooner than they had expected had done nothing to cool her husband’s desire for her and that truly did make her feel as alluring as some legendary temptress. That was very welcome to a woman who was five months pregnant and subject to all the usual aches and complaints of her condition.
Her redecoration schemes at the castello had led to an approach from an exclusive interiors magazine, which had taken a whole host of photos. The glossy photo spread and the accompanying article had ensured that within days of the magazine going on sale, Holly was inundated with exciting offers of design work.
This, however, was their first family Christmas and she was revelling in every detail because Vito had really thrown himself into the spirit of the holidays and she didn’t think it was solely because he had become a father. She reckoned he had put his sour childhood memories of Christmas behind him. His mother, recently divorced, was joining their festivities and hugely excited about the second grandchild on the way.
‘Please tell me turkey isn’t on the menu again tonight,’ Vito murmured.
‘No, we’re having steak. I told Franc I fancied steak,’ she admitted.
‘When are our guests arriving?’ Vito prompted.
‘Well, they were supposed to be here for dinner but Apollo’s social secretary rang to say they would be late. Why does he need a social secretary?’
‘He’s always got hundreds of invitations and he’s never at home.’ Vito paused. ‘I appreciate you being willing to give him another chance.’
Holly gave him a soothing smile that concealed her tension. It was past time to forgive and forget—she knew that. After all, Apollo was Vito’s closest friend, but Holly had only seen him twice since their wedding. And when she had made the mistake of voicing her opinion on what he considered to be his private business it had been awkward as hell. But she was madly curious to see who he was bringing with him as a guest. Another leggy underwear model? Or his wife?
That, Holly supposed, would be another story…
*
Keep reading for an excerpt from A DI SIONE FOR THE GREEK’S PLEASURE by Kate Hewitt.
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A DI SIONE FOR THE GREEK’S PLEASURE
by Kate Hewitt
“Talia…” Angelos’s voice broke on her name, and then, before she could even process what was happening, he pulled her towards him, his hands hard on her shoulders as his mouth crashed down on hers and plundered its soft depths.
It had been ten years since she’d been kissed, and then only a schoolboy’s brush. She’d never been kissed like this, never felt every sense blaze to life, every nerve ending tingle with awareness, nearly painful in its intensity, as Angelos’s mouth moved on hers and he pulled her tightly to him.
His hard contours collided against her softness, each point of contact creating an unbearably exquisite ache of longing as she tangled her hands in his hair and fit her mouth against his.
She was a clumsy, inexpert kisser, not sure what to do with her lips or tongue, only knowing that she wanted more of this. Of him.
She felt his hand slide down to cup her breast, his palm hot and hard through the thin material of her dress, and a gasp of surprise and delight escaped her.
That small sound of pleasure was enough to jolt Angelos out of his passion-fogged daze, for he dropped his hand and in one awful, abrupt movement tore his mouth from hers and stepped back.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice coming out in a ragged gasp.
“No…” Talia pressed one shaky hand to her buzzing lips as she tried to blink the world back into focus. “Don’t be sorry,” she whispered. “It was wonderful.”
“I shouldn’t have—”
“Why not?” she challenged. She felt frantic with the desperate need to feel and taste him again, and more importantly, not to have him withdraw from her, not just physically, but emotionally. Angelos didn’t answer and she forced herself to ask the question again. “Why not, Angelos?”
“Because you are my employee, and I was taking advantage of you,” he gritted out. “It was not appropriate…”
“I don’t care about appropriate,” she cried. She knew she sounded desperate and even pathetic but she didn’t care. She wanted him. She needed him. “I care about you,” she confessed, her voice dropping to a choked whisper, and surprise and something worse flashed across Angelos’s face. He shook his head, the movement almost violent and terribly final.
“No, Talia,” he told her flatly. “You don’t.”
Copyright © 2016 by Kate Hewitt
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ISBN-13: 9780373134809
The Italian’s Christmas Child
Copyright © 2016 by Lynne Graham
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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