A Dangerous Infatuation

by Chantelle Shaw

  ‘But …’ Emma found she was speaking to thin air as he strode past her into the sitting room.

  Irritating man, she fumed. All her instincts were screaming at her to tell him she had changed her mind. But it was too late now; she could not upset Cordelia and Holly. It was only for three months, she reminded herself. Three months of living in Rocco’s villa and seeing him every day, taunted a little voice inside her head. She could only pray she survived with her emotions unscathed.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘LOOK, Mummy. The sea!’ Holly burst through the connecting door between her bedroom and Emma’s at the Villa Lucia, and pointed excitedly towards the window. ‘It’s blue,’ she observed, pressing her nose to the glass.

  ‘It certainly is—almost as blue as the sky. Isn’t it beautiful?’ As Emma joined her daughter at the window she could not help but compare the sparkling cobalt waters in the Bay of Tigullio with the steel-grey surf that had pounded the shore on the coast of Northumberland the last time she had taken Holly for a trip to the beach.

  Rocco’s villa was built on a hillside, affording a panoramic view of picturesque Portofino, the wide sweep of the bay and the surrounding mountains, which were densely covered with pine trees and other foliage so that the landscape was a lush, verdant green. Directly in front of the house was a series of terraced gardens, and on the lower level was a huge pool which sparkled invitingly in the bright sunshine. Lower still could be seen Portofino’s port, where dozens of boats were moored in neat rows. Pretty, pastel-coloured buildings ringed the harbour, the shopfronts shaded by striped awnings which fluttered in the breeze.

  ‘Shall we go swimming now?’

  Emma smiled at Holly’s hopeful expression. ‘Not for a few days—at least not in the sea,’ she said gently. ‘Remember, Rocco said the sea will be too cold to swim in yet? But when your cough is better you can go in the pool, because the water is heated.’

  ‘There’s Bobbo!’ Holly was distracted from the subject of swimming when she spied a chocolate-coloured Labrador hurtling across the lawn. ‘Rocco said I can give Bobbo his breakfast,’ she said joyfully.

  ‘After you’ve eaten all your breakfast,’ Emma told her firmly.

  She sighed. Holly had fallen in love with Rocco’s dog within five minutes of their arrival at the Villa Lucia the previous evening. Added to that, the little girl seemed to hero-worship Rocco, and Emma was already worried about how upset her daughter was going to be when it was time for them to return to England. But there was no point in thinking about that now, she told herself as she stared out of the window, her gaze focused not on the dog but on the tall, athletic man who was throwing a ball for the animal.

  She guessed from Rocco’s attire of shorts, vest top and trainers that he had been running. His sports clothes revealed his superb physique: broad shoulders, rippling biceps and muscular thighs. His satiny skin was tanned a deep olive colour, and his hair gleamed jet-black, like a raven’s wing in the sunlight.

  He was a work of art, she acknowledged ruefully. But, unlike any marble statue sculpted by Michelangelo, Rocco was a flesh-and-blood man. Not for the first time Emma found herself remembering how it had felt when he had pulled her into his arms and ravaged her mouth with his own. He had demanded a response she had been helpless to deny, and the memory of his kiss caused her nipples to harden, so that they rubbed uncomfortably against her lacy bra.

  To her horror he suddenly glanced up at the house and lifted his hand in greeting. Holly waved excitedly back at him, but Emma hurriedly stepped away from the window, feeling horribly embarrassed that she had been caught ogling him. Rocco could not possibly have known that she had been imagining him stripping out of his running gear and stepping naked beneath a shower, sliding a bar of soap over the hard muscles of his abdomen and then lower …

  ‘Come on, we must go and see if Cordelia needs any help, and then we’ll all go down for breakfast,’ she told Holly briskly. With any luck Rocco would take some time to shower and dress, and there was a good chance she would be able to avoid meeting him before he left for work.

  So far, her plan to have as little contact with him as possible had been surprisingly successful. She even had a niggling suspicion that he was equally keen to keep their relationship to a strictly employer/employee basis. During the flight to Genoa aboard his private jet he had been exquisitely polite towards her, but distinctly aloof. There had been no hint of his sexy charm, no flirtatious glances, and his warm smile had been reserved for his grandmother and Holly.

  It was exactly what she wanted, Emma assured herself. She had come to the Villa Lucia in a purely professional role, to act as Cordelia’s nurse, and she was glad Rocco recognised that fact. The flat feeling inside her was probably a reaction to the previous twenty-four hours, when she had been busy packing everything she’d thought Holly would need for their stay in Italy, plus a small suitcase containing her own few belongings.

  Holding Holly by the hand, she led the way along the corridor to Cordelia’s room where she discovered that the elderly lady needed help fastening the buttons on her dress.

  ‘Your burn looks so much better this morning that I should be able to remove the dressing tomorrow,’ Emma told her. ‘Without the bandages you’ll have more mobility in your fingers, but I’m afraid the fingers on your other hand are still very swollen, and it’s going to take a while for the bruising to fade.’

  ‘That’s what comes of being a foolish old woman,’ Cordelia said despondently. ‘I’ve made such a nuisance of myself to everyone—especially Rocco.’

  ‘No one could ever accuse you of being foolish,’ Emma reassured her gently. ‘And Rocco is delighted you’ve come to stay with him.’

  His love for his grandmother had been evident in the tender way he had taken care of her during the flight to Italy the previous day. This softer side to his commanding personality was unexpected, and Emma was still embarrassed that she had accused him of being uncaring the first time she had met him.

  They took the lift down to the ground floor. The villa was built on four levels, and it was doubtful Cordelia would have managed so many stairs. Rocco had confided to Emma that he had had the lift installed a couple of years ago, when he had realised that his grandmother could not continue to live alone at Nunstead Hall. Far from shirking his responsibility, he had clearly planned to take care of Cordelia in the last years of her life.

  They were greeted by the cook, Beatrice, who chatted volubly in a mixture of Italian and broken English as she ushered them into the breakfast room, which overlooked the gardens and the sapphire sea sparkling in the distance.

  ‘I bake rolls fresh this morning, and there is fruit and yogurt. If you need anything else for the bambina you ask Beatrice, si?’ she said earnestly.

  ‘Grazie. I’m sure we have everything we need,’ Emma replied, taken aback by the wonderful selection of fresh fruit set out on the table. She was even more surprised when Holly and Cordelia both ate hearty breakfasts. It was probably the result of the antibiotics, but Holly was not coughing nearly as much, and for the first time in weeks there was a faint tinge of pink on her cheeks.

  ‘Buongiorno, ladies.’ Rocco strolled into the room and bent his head to kiss his grandmother’s cheek. ‘Nonna, Holly … Emma.’ Was it her imagination, or had his voice cooled fractionally as he had spoken her name? ‘I am glad you are here in my home.’

  To her self-disgust the sight of him made her heart-rate quicken, and she busied herself with wiping yogurt from Holly’s face while she struggled to regain her composure. It did not help that Rocco looked devastatingly gorgeous in beige chinos and a black polo shirt, his damp hair an indication that he had recently showered. She had assumed that as the CEO of a world-famous company he would wear a suit to work, and Cordelia must have shared her thoughts.

  The elderly lady studied her grandson. ‘Don’t tell me you are one of those trendy executives who chooses not to wear a tie to the office, Rocco?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ he
murmured, his lazy smile doing strange things to Emma’s insides. ‘But I’m not going to work today. I want to make sure my guests settle in to the Villa Lucia.’ His golden eyes trapped Emma’s gaze. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  Her cool smile disguised her intense awareness of him. ‘Very, thank you.’ He could not know that she had spent another restless night during which she had been unable to dismiss him from her mind.

  ‘If you’ve finished eating, I’d like a word with you.’

  Without waiting for her to reply he turned and strode out of the door, leaving her with little option but to follow him out to the hall and across to his study.

  ‘Why are you wearing your nurse’s uniform?’ he demanded, the moment she entered the room.

  Emma’s brows lifted fractionally at the abruptness of his tone. ‘Because I am your grandmother’s nurse.’

  ‘Your role here is to act as Cordelia’s companion. I hardly think that necessitates wearing a uniform. I would prefer you to wear normal clothes.’

  She compressed her lips. ‘But I would prefer to wear the uniform which denotes that I am your employee.’ It was vital to her peace of mind that she distance herself from him. Her uniform signified that she was staying at his home in a professional capacity, and in some strange way she felt safe and in control when she was dressed in her work clothes. ‘I think it is important to establish boundaries. I have accepted a contract to work for you, and I believe I should dress appropriately.’

  Rocco trailed his eyes over Emma’s plain blue dress, adorned only with an elasticated belt which showed off her slim waist and emphasised the delightful curves of her bust and hips, before lowering his gaze to her shapely legs, covered in sheer black hose and her sensible black shoes. No one could accuse her of dressing like a femme fatale, yet he was consumed with an extremely inappropriate urge to wrench open the front of her dress and feast his eyes on her bountiful breasts.

  He shifted in his seat in an effort to ease the lustful throb in his groin. ‘It doesn’t seem to have occurred to you that Cordelia might not want people to know she has a nurse. My grandmother is fiercely proud. She has accepted the idea of having a companion, but she would hate people to think she is unable to care for herself.’

  Emma bit her lip as Rocco’s words struck a chord. It was true she had been so busy thinking about herself that she had not considered her patient’s feelings. ‘I appreciate what you’re saying,’ she mumbled. ‘But Cordelia doesn’t actually know anyone in Portofino, so who are all these people whose opinion she might worry about?’

  ‘That’s the other reason I asked to speak to you. I’m thinking of hosting a cocktail party and inviting friends and neighbours, perhaps a few colleagues from Eleganza, to welcome Nonna to Italy. Do you think it would be too much for her?’ He exhaled heavily. ‘She looks so frail, and I don’t want to overtire her.’

  ‘I think Cordelia would love a party in her honour,’ Emma assured him. ‘She often talks about the parties she and her husband used to give at Nunstead Hall years ago. She would enjoy the chance to dress up, and I can help her to get ready.’

  ‘You will, of course, accompany her to the party.’

  The prospect of socialising with Rocco’s glamorous friends made Emma’s heart sink. It had struck her yesterday, when she had stepped onto his luxurious private jet, that their lives were light years apart, and she did not belong in his rarefied world of the super-rich. ‘Surely that won’t be necessary? I’ll be on hand, of course, but—as you said yourself—Cordelia doesn’t need a nurse in constant attendance.’

  ‘Dio, Emma, why is everything a battle with you?’ Rocco’s patience snapped. ‘You are a guest in my home and naturally you are included in my invitation to the party. Why are you so determined to reject any overtures of friendship from me?’ His eyes narrowed on her startled face. ‘You seem to be afraid to trust. But why? Who caused you to be so wary?’

  ‘No one.’ Her tone was defensive, and she flushed when he gave her a sardonic look. Emma took a deep breath. ‘I’m sure we can establish a cordial friendship for the duration of my stay at the Villa Lucia.’

  What was she thinking behind her cool grey gaze? Rocco wondered frustratedly. He was tempted to spread her across his desk, shove her starched nurse’s dress up to her waist and prove emphatically that she no more wanted a cordial friendship than he did.

  ‘Were you happy with Jack?’ he asked abruptly, his sharp gaze noting how she tensed at the mention of her husband.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  It was a partial truth, Emma acknowledged silently. Blissfully unaware that Jack had been unfaithful from the first weeks of their marriage, she had believed they were happy. There had been a few issues that had caused her concern—mainly his irresponsibility with money. She had quickly learned to put her wages away to pay the rent and bills, because Jack could blow his month’s salary in a single shopping trip. He could not help his impulsive nature, she had told herself. Blinded by her love for him, she had made excuses for his selfishness—even in the bedroom, when he had often taken his own pleasure without any consideration for hers. He was tired after working a long shift, she had told herself, not knowing that he had been with his mistress, rather than on duty at the fire station.

  Looking back, she despised herself for having been such a naive fool. It was not only other people that she now found hard to trust, but her faith in her own judgement had been shattered. She stared at Rocco’s impossibly handsome face and felt her stomach dip. He had awoken her libido and made her long for the warmth and closeness of making love. But that closeness had been an illusion with Jack, and it could not exist with Rocco, who was the ultimate playboy.

  ‘Getting back to the party,’ she said quickly, desperate to steer the conversation away from her marriage. ‘I don’t have anything suitable to wear. I don’t get invited to many cocktail parties in Little Copton,’ she added dryly.

  Rocco shrugged. ‘That’s not a problem. Portofino is renowned for its designer boutiques. We’ll go shopping this afternoon, and I’ll look after Holly while you try on dresses. Don’t argue, Emma,’ he warned, seeing the glint of battle in her eyes. ‘Holly will enjoy a trip to the harbour. I’ve already asked Cordelia if she would like to come, but she says she’s weary today and so she’ll stay here with Beatrice.’

  ‘You seem to have arranged everything—as usual.’ Struggling to control her temper, Emma turned on her heels to march out of his study, but in her haste she banged her hip against the desk and knocked a framed photograph to the floor. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered as she stooped to retrieve it, thankful to see that the glass had not broken.

  She studied the picture of two dark-haired boys. The older was clearly Rocco—even as a teenager he had been stunningly good-looking, she noted. The younger boy bore a strong resemblance to Rocco, and Emma suddenly remembered that he had mentioned he had a sibling.

  ‘Will your brother be at the party?’

  ‘No.’

  Startled by his curt response, she looked at him and glimpsed a sudden bleakness in his eyes.

  ‘Giovanni died a week after that picture was taken.’

  Shocked, she stared back at the photo. ‘I’m sorry. He was just a child.’

  ‘Seven years old,’ Rocco revealed emotionlessly.

  Emma wanted to ask more, but Rocco’s closed expression warned her he did not want to discuss his brother’s death. He jerked to his feet and strode across the room to open the door. ‘I need to work for a couple of hours, so I’ll have to ask you to go back to my grandmother.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Summarily dismissed, she had no option but to stifle her curiosity and walk out of the study.

  Rocco closed the study door and leaned against it, his eyes focused on the photograph Emma had handed to him. Even after twenty years he still felt an ache in his heart when he thought of Gio, and the guilt that he was partly responsible for his brother’s death would always be with him. But fate worked in mysterious ways, he broo
ded. He had lost Gio, but now he had a brother again.

  Marco was the image of Gio. And Marco needed him—just as Gio had. Although at the moment his little half-brother—his father’s illegitimate son—was full of anger and confusion, and defiantly resistant to Rocco’s attempts to build a relationship with him. But slowly, with patience, he would do his best to win the little boy round. Marco needed a father figure, and Rocco had vowed to give his brother the guidance and love that he would have given Gio.

  For the time being, though, he had decided to keep Marco’s identity hidden. There would be huge interest once it became known that Enrico D’Angelo had had a secret son, and Rocco was determined to protect his brother from the media sharks who would circle once the story broke.

  ‘This is pointless,’ Emma muttered that afternoon, as she trailed after Rocco along Portofino’s main street and halted next to him outside another boutique. She glanced at the window display and her eyebrows shot up when she saw the price tag attached to the exquisite gown draped on the mannequin. ‘I can’t afford designer clothes.’

  The Via Roma was lined with exclusive boutiques and jewellers, interspersed with local shops selling beautiful handmade goods, and art galleries stacked with paintings depicting the stunning scenery of the bay of Tigullio.

  Portofino was known as the Italian Riviera—a mecca for the rich and beautiful—and Emma, wearing old jeans and a sweatshirt, which were the only clothes she possessed other than her nurse’s uniform, felt decidedly out of place.

  ‘I’m not going to find a dress here,’ she told Rocco, who looked every inch a multi-millionaire business tycoon in his expertly tailored clothes and designer shades. ‘You and I come from different worlds, and I am very much a discount store girl. I’m going to take Holly to see the boats in the harbour. Come on, munchkin,’ she said, resisting the urge to prise her daughter’s fingers out of Rocco’s grasp. She had felt a sharp pang when Holly had happily held Rocco’s hand and skipped along beside him. She was worried her little girl would get too attached, and it would break her heart when the time came to leave.