Miller.’
‘Me?’ said Molly doubtfully.
‘Yes, you.’ Gina’s voice softened. ‘Are you free now? I mean, as of right now?’
‘I am,’ answered Molly cautiously. ‘Why?’
‘Because Salvio is having his annual pre-Christmas party in the Cotswolds tomorrow, just before he flies to Naples—and the housekeeper we’d hired has called to say her mother has fallen downstairs and broken her wrist, and she’s had to cancel. If you can step in and take over at the last minute I can make it very worth your while.’
Molly pushed out the words from between suddenly frozen lips. ‘That’s very bad news—about the broken wrist, I mean, but I don’t think I—’
But the tycoon’s assistant was breezing on as if she hadn’t spoken.
‘Salvio must rate you very highly to have given you my number,’ Gina continued. ‘Why, it’s almost like fate. I won’t even have to bother telling him about the change. He doesn’t like to be bogged down with domestic trivia and he’s always so busy.’
Molly bit her lip so hard it hurt. This was fast becoming a nightmare, but what else could she do? How could she possibly turn down this opportunity just because she’d had sex with the man who would now unwittingly be employing her? She would just blend into the background and pray that the Neapolitan tycoon would be too busying partying to pay her any attention. And if the worst came to the worst and he discovered her identity—then she would shrug her shoulders and tell him it was no big deal.
Realistically, what could go wrong?
But being rumbled by Salvio wasn’t the worst thing which could happen, was it? Not by a long way. The fear which had been nagging at her for days came flooding into her mind and this time would not be silenced, because all her excuses about stress and anxiety were rapidly fading. Because she wasn’t sure if anxiety was capable of making your breasts ache and feel much bigger than usual. Or whether it could sap your normally voracious appetite.
She stared at her pale reflection in the hall mirror and saw the terror written in her own eyes. Because what if she was pregnant with Salvio De Gennaro’s baby?
VISIBILITY WAS POOR—in fact, it was almost non-existent. Salvio’s fingers tightened around the soft leather of the steering wheel. Eyes narrowed, he stared straight ahead but all he could see was an all-enveloping whiteness swirling in front of the car windscreen. Every couple of seconds, the wipers dispelled the thick layer of snow which had settled, only to be rapidly replaced by another.
Frustrated, he glanced at the gold watch at his wrist, cursing the unpredictability of the weather. His journey from central London to the Cotswold countryside had been excruciatingly slow and in an ideal world he would have cancelled his annual party. But you couldn’t really cancel something this close to Christmas, no matter how preoccupied you were feeling. And he was feeling preoccupied, no doubt about it—even though the reason for that was disconcertingly bizarre. An impatient sigh escaped his lungs as he watched another flurry of snow. Because he couldn’t stop thinking about the curvy little housekeeper with the big grey eyes, with those luscious breasts, whose tips had fitted perfectly into his hungry mouth. Most of all, he couldn’t stop remembering her purity. Her innocence.
Which he had taken. Without thought. Without knowledge. But certainly not without feeling.
Memories of how it had felt to penetrate her beautiful tightness flooded his mind and Salvio swallowed as he touched his foot against the brake pedal. Would he have bedded her so willingly if he’d known she was a virgin? Of course he wouldn’t. His desire for the housekeeper had been completely out of character and he still couldn’t quite fathom it. He usually enjoyed women who were, if not quite his equal, then certainly closer on the social scale than Molly Miller would ever be.
He thought about Beatriz—the Brazilian beauty with whom he’d been enjoying a long-distance flirtation for the past few months. He had been attracted to her because she’d played hard to get and he’d convinced himself that a woman who wouldn’t tumble straight into his arms was exactly what he needed. But as her attitude towards him had thawed, so had his interest waned—and the memory of Molly had completely wiped her from his mind. And although Beatriz had made it clear she would be happy to share his bed after his Christmas party, the idea had left him cold, despite the fact that most men lusted after her statuesque beauty. He had been wondering about the most tactful way to convey his sudden change of heart, when she’d rung last night to say her plane had been delayed in Honolulu and she didn’t think she was going to make his party. And hadn’t he been struck by an overwhelming feeling of relief?
‘No importa. Don’t worry about it,’ he had responded quickly—probably too quickly.
A pause. ‘But I’m hoping we can see each other some other time, Salvio.’
‘I’m hoping so too, but I’m flying out to Naples for Christmas and I’m not sure when I’ll be back.’ His response had been smooth and seasoned. And distinctly dismissive. ‘I’ll call you.’
He could tell from her sharp intake of breath that she understood the underlying message and her goodbye had been clipped and cold. She hadn’t even wished him a happy Christmas and he supposed he couldn’t blame her.
But his mind had soon moved on to other things and, infuriatingly, he kept recalling the sweet sensation of a naked Molly in his arms. He swallowed. The way her soft lips had pressed into his neck and her fleshy thighs had opened so accommodatingly. There were a million reasons why he shouldn’t be thinking about her but she was proving a distractingly difficult image to shift. Was that because she hadn’t put any demands on him? Because she’d been okay about him walking out of her life? Most women hung on in there, but Molly Miller was not among their number. And hadn’t that intrigued him? Made him wonder what it might be like to see her in a more normal setting. Perhaps even take her out to dinner to see how long it would take for her allure to fade.
He’d thought a few times about contacting her—but what could he say, without falsely raising her hopes? No. He was doing her a favour by leaving her alone—that was what he needed to remember. Breaking hearts was his default mechanism—and no way would he wish that kind of pain on the passionate little housekeeper.
* * *
It was the most beautiful house Molly had ever seen. Pressing her nose against the icy-cold glass, she peered out through the taxi window at the sprawling manor house, whose gardens were a clever combination of wild and formal and seemed to go on for ever. Although the sky was pewter-grey, the light was bright with snow and everything was covered in white. Fat flakes tumbled like giant feathers from the sky, so that the scene in front of her looked like one of those old-fashioned Christmas cards you couldn’t seem to buy any more.
But Molly’s emotions were in turmoil as the cab inched its way up the snowy drive. She had underestimated the impact of leaving Cornwall because even though the job had left a lot to be desired, it had still been her home and her security for the last two years. More than that, her departure had been forced upon her in the most dramatic and shameful of ways. Suddenly she felt rudderless—like a leaf caught up by a gust of wind being swirled towards an unknown destination.
But even worse than her near-homelessness was the confirmation of her worst fears. That it hadn’t been stress
