The Italians: Luca, Marco and Alessandro. Natalie Anderson

      ‘I have nothing more to give. You know this. A good time. That’s all.’

      ‘A good time is more than just sex. You could give me some respect too. Some time.’

      ‘I do have to work, Emily.’

      ‘Twenty hours a day?’

      ‘Usually, yes. But not this week, in case you haven’t noticed. I’ve been home in the middle of the damn day.’

      ‘And for what exactly? A tumble in bed?’

      ‘No-holds-barred sex and nothing else. Your idea.’

      ‘The complete holiday package. Your idea.’

      ‘What, you’re saying the onboard entertainment officer needs to lift his game, that it?’

      ‘Absolutely.’ Vexed, wanting to hide the hurt, she rolled her eyes and turned away. ‘I shouldn’t stay here. I should go.’

      There was a long silence.

      ‘Maybe you should,’ he said softly. ‘But you can’t, can you?’

      ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘Because, fool that I am, I still want you. I find it very difficult to say no to you. You look at me with those eyes, ask me with that voice and while my brain says one thing my mouth says another. Temptation, Luca.’ She looked at him. ‘You embody it.’

      Brooding, almost black eyes dominated his face. ‘So do you, Emily.’ And then the smallest of smiles pulled his lips. ‘I think it’s good to take up temptation’s offer now and then. The chance doesn’t happen all that often.’

      Not for her, no, but for him it must all the time. He was exceptionally attractive and there must be a list of women a mile long who’d like to be in her shoes right now. She hated the whole imaginary lot of them.

      He sighed. ‘I’d forgotten the dinner party. I’ll go and tell Micaela now.’

      Emily, smarting with insecurity, with the uncomfortable feeling that she’d had to force this little from him, saw a chance to strike back. ‘You’re going to land a dinner party on her at this late hour?’

      He gave her a sideways look. ‘Micaela is well used to catering for me. She’s completely capable.’

      ‘You’re expecting her to serve for you?’

      ‘Of course. That’s her job.’

      ‘What about Marco?’

      ‘What about him?’ Luca looked mystified.

      ‘Who’ll look after him?’

      ‘Ricardo, of course. The child does have a father. Or don’t you think fathers are capable of looking after their offspring?’

      Not all fathers, no. She winced. His hand lifted, a quick frown tightened his features, but she got in before he could open that can of worms any further.

      ‘I’m sure he’s perfectly capable, but I imagine you’ll have him off doing some other urgent business,’ she blustered.

      ‘Well, I’m not going to get him to drain the pool tonight, Emily,’ he said witheringly. ‘Look, Micaela and Ricardo have been working for me for years. I pay well above the standard rate and we’re all happy. I don’t think it’s something you need to worry about.’

      ‘Well, have you watched her trying to iron your damn sheets recently?’

      ‘What?’ At his stunned look she knew she had him.

      ‘Ironing your sheets. Of all the things—I mean, what sort of la-de-da request is that, oh, lord and master? The woman is swamped in them. What are they—king-size plus?’

      ‘Ironing my sheets?’

      Emily nodded curtly as if it were the crime of the century. ‘Mountains of the things and she’s so pregnant.’

      ‘You’re right,’ he said briskly. ‘It’s a waste of time, especially while I have you around to rumple them anyway. I’ll take them off her list of “dos and don’ts”.’ Sarcasm all the way.

      The victory was bitter and not nearly enough—they weren’t his sheets she was rumpling, were they? Not the ones on his bed in his private lair. And his arrogant assumption that she’d still be around to rumple them—even though she would—made her all the more irrationally angry. All the more determined to score a decent point.

      ‘You might own everything in sight, Luca, but that doesn’t give you the right to be so arrogant. Is this why you got divorced? Your wife couldn’t be bothered putting up with your attitude any more?’

      ‘I’m not divorced.’

      ‘What?’

      He’d gone glacial, repeated the words slow and cold. ‘I’m not divorced.’

      She stared at him. Not divorced? There was a wife somewhere? Harsh, sick anger rose in her chest—acrid, stinging bile burning its way up.

      No wonder he didn’t want people knowing she was here. No wonder he didn’t want her sleeping in his own bed—her scent mixing with that of his absent wife? What, was she on holiday somewhere? Fury clouded her judgment, her logic.

      She swore she saw guilt wisp across his face before the heat of anger chased it away. What had happened? Had she left him? He left her? Emily lost it at the thought of his infidelity—her every cell screamed in denial. Even though she knew he must have…he must…

      Rage turned everything red. She opened her mouth to hurl the venom at him but he, as visibly irate as she, got in first.

      ‘She died.’ His lips barely moved as he ground out the answer.

      It was a full minute before she moved. Even longer for him—rigid with the effort of containing high-running emotion.

      Finally, Emily released a painful breath. Remorse, pity, despair exploded inside. Her eyes, her nose, stung as if she’d sucked in some poisonous gas.

      ‘Luca…’ Her voice caught. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Not just for his loss, but for her thoughts of just a few seconds ago—thoughts that she knew had been written all over her face. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

      ‘Why would I?’

      She flinched. That one hurt. Hard and unforgiving and a bitter reminder of her nothing status. Her vision fogged as she turned away. She heard him swear under his breath.

      ‘Emily—’

      ‘No, you’re right,’ she gabbled, walking to the door. ‘It’s none of my business.’

      ‘I’m sorry I snapped.’ He grabbed her arm. ‘I didn’t mean that.’ He held on hard and she had to stop walking. ‘It’s just that it was a really long time ago and I don’t like to think about it much. Or talk about it. Or anything. Much.’

      She blinked. ‘I’m sorry too.’ She couldn’t look at him. ‘I shouldn’t have been so rude.’

      ‘Stay here. I’ll just have a word to Micaela.’

      He stood just outside the door and called to Micaela. They yabbered for a few minutes; Emily understood nothing of what they said. But she understood so much more of him now: why he held her, and the rest of the world, at a distance. Not only had he buried his wife. He’d buried his heart with her.

      He reappeared in the doorway. ‘Dinner will be at eight.’

      ‘I’m not going to be here, Luca.’

      ‘Yes, you are.’ He crossed the room and infiltrated her space enough to send her pulse crazy. Damn, rational thought was impossible when all the oxygen seemed to be sucked away in his presence. ‘We’re not done yet and you know it. You just admitted it. Besides—’ he inhaled deeply and seemed