to do the right thing and it was hurting like a bitch. Poppy deserved more than he had to give. But inexplicably Poppy had got under his skin and since he had laid eyes on her no other woman had attracted him. Although he’d satisfied himself sexually with her, he still desired her, which was a first for him. The thrill of the chase had gone, but the hunger lingered, ever present, ever powerful. There was something about her that affected him differently from other women. She didn’t irritate him, she didn’t make demands, she didn’t care about his money. In the strangest of ways she reminded him of his grandmother, who had been as at home with staff as she was with visitors. Poppy’s easy charm was spread wide and he no longer marvelled that Rodolfo idolised her and the household staff couldn’t do enough for her. Even that ugly little dog was her devoted slave.
‘Sorry... I needed to freshen up,’ Serena announced as she walked back into the drawing room. ‘I got blown to bits. I forgot to tie my hair back before I drove over.’
Gaetano studied the smooth golden veil of Serena’s hair. He had never seen her with a hair out of place. Poppy’s hair got madly tangled, but she didn’t care. It had been wild that night in bed, he recalled, fighting off arousal as he pictured that vibrant mane tumbled across the pillows, her lovely face flushed and full of satisfaction, satisfaction he had given her.
Poppy entered and froze at the sight of Serena. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise you had company.’
‘Oh, I’m not company. I’m one of Gaetano’s oldest friends,’ Serena reminded her. ‘How are you, Poppy? I would have called in sooner, but it is your honeymoon, after all.’
‘Are you staying round here?’
‘Didn’t Gaetano tell you that my parents have had a house near here for years and years? We first met at one of his parents’ parties when we were teenagers,’ Serena told her with a golden-girl smile of fond familiarity aimed at Gaetano.
Serena was the wicked witch in the disguise of a beautiful princess, Poppy decided bleakly. Serena knew exactly where to plunge the knife and twist it in another’s woman’s flesh. She loved to boast of how well, how intimately and how long she had known Gaetano. ‘Fancy that,’ she said non-committally.
‘I’m actually here to beg for a favour,’ Serena confided cutely. ‘I met Rodolfo in the village last week and he told me that Gaetano was flying to Paris for a conference tomorrow. May I come too? As you know I’m looking for a new job and I could use the introductions you’d give me.’
‘Of course. I’ll pick you up on the way to the airport,’ Gaetano suggested calmly.
Hell no, Poppy thought, watching Serena look at Gaetano with a teasing girly smile and a shake of her golden head that sent the silken strands tossing round her perfect face. Her teeth ground together.
‘Are you coming too?’ Serena asked Poppy.
But Poppy could see that somehow Serena had already established that Gaetano would be travelling to Paris alone. ‘No, I’m afraid I have an appointment to keep,’ Poppy admitted.
‘I wish you’d agreed to reschedule that. I wanted to accompany you,’ Gaetano reminded her with detectable exasperation.
Poppy wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s only a check-up.’
And she didn’t want him attending the doctor’s surgery with her because she didn’t want him present for the discussion of the pregnancy possibility.
‘I could cancel and come to Paris with you,’ she heard herself offer abruptly, because she really didn’t want Serena getting the chance to be alone with Gaetano.
‘You need to keep that appointment,’ Gaetano countered levelly. ‘In any case, I’ll be back by evening.’
‘I’ll look after him,’ Serena assured her smugly and Poppy wondered unhappily if the other woman somehow sensed that Gaetano’s marriage was not quite normal. Or was it simply that the beautiful blonde could not imagine a male as well educated and sophisticated as Gaetano marrying an ordinary woman without there being some hidden agenda?
She had paled at Serena’s self-satisfaction. Gaetano had not been with a woman in a month. Naturally Poppy didn’t want him on board his private jet with a man-eater like Serena. Serena was already putting out willing and welcome signals as bright as traffic lights. But what could Poppy possibly say to Gaetano to inhibit him in such a marriage as theirs? He didn’t belong to her. She didn’t own him.
There were other ways of holding onto a man’s attention though, she reasoned abstractedly. There was using sex as a weapon, exactly the sort of manipulative behaviour she had looked down on before she fell in love with Gaetano. Now, all of a sudden confronted by Serena studying Gaetano as though he were one of the seven wonders of the world, Poppy’s stance on the moral high ground felt foolish and dangerous. Pride wouldn’t keep her warm at night if Gaetano succumbed to Serena’s advances and embarked on an affair with her. An affair that Poppy suspected would soon be followed by divorce and remarriage because she didn’t believe that Serena would accept being hidden in the background or that Gaetano would resist the chance to acquire a woman who would make a much more suitable wife.
* * *
Gaetano released his breath in a slow hiss when Poppy joined him for dinner in a black halter-necked dress that outlined her lithe, slender figure. His intense dark gaze rested briefly on the taut little buds of her breasts that were clearly defined by the thin fabric and he compressed his lips round his wine glass. Look, don’t touch, he told himself grimly.
‘I’ve been wondering,’ he remarked. ‘What made you choose nursing?’
Surprised by the topic, Poppy lifted and dropped her bare shoulders. ‘I like caring for people. Being needed makes me feel useful.’
‘Your family certainly needed you,’ Gaetano said drily.
The main course was served. After eating in silence for a few minutes Poppy said, ‘I’m thinking of doing something other than nursing when the time comes.’
‘Such as?’ Gaetano prompted impatiently.
‘Gardening,’ she admitted in a defensive tone.
‘Gardening?’ Gaetano repeated with incredulity.
‘I always discounted my interest in growing things because I come from several generations of gardeners. But I suppose it’s in my blood,’ Poppy opined wryly. ‘Of course if I’d ever mentioned it I would have found myself working for your family and I didn’t want that.’
‘I’ve never understood why not. We’re good employers.’
‘Yes, but working on the estate means real old-fashioned service.’
‘And what is bartending but service?’ Gaetano watched her turn to lift her water glass and his attention dropped to the firm, full, pouting curve of her breast revealed by her dress. He shifted tensely in his seat.
‘There’s not that same sense of inequality between employer and employee that there is on the estate. I can’t explain it but I’ve never accepted that you are superior to me simply because you were born into wealth and privilege.’
‘Have I ever made you feel that way?’
Poppy pushed away her plate and
