The Secret Kept From The Italian. Кейт Хьюит

her lips brushing his fingers with every syllable. He kept his finger there, pressed to her lips, light as a feather and yet feeling like the most intimate thing she’d ever experienced.

      His gaze was dark and hooded as he replied, ‘Because it shines from you. Love and...and goodness.’

      From someone else it would have sounded like sentimental flattery, but Antonio’s tone was so gentle and sincere, with a touch of sorrow that made Maisie ache. No one had ever said such things to her before. No one had ever even noticed all she’d done for Max. All she’d given up for herself. And somehow this beautiful stranger had.

      ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and Antonio pressed his finger more firmly against her mouth, a caress that Maisie felt to her core. She shuddered, unable to stop herself, and Antonio smiled.

      ‘So loving,’ he murmured as he traced the outline of her lips with his fingertip. ‘And so lovely.’

      Maisie remained transfixed under his touch; the touch of his fingers felt as if he were imprinting himself on her soul. She’d had a few boyfriends over the years, but none of them had been serious—there had been Max to think of, and life was so busy, working full-time and trying to keep up with her music. Those boyfriends’ kisses and clinches hadn’t affected her the way Antonio Rossi did, by simply touching her lips with the tip of his finger. Not remotely.

      Some hazy part of her brain was telling her that she needed to stop this nonsense and get back to work. Finish her shift and go home and forget the dangerous magic that was being wrought in this room, making her insides fizz and the air shimmer.

      Antonio trailed his finger from her lips to her chin and then down to the hollow in her throat, where her pulse beat frantically. He rested it there, his brows drawn together as he studied her. He glanced at her from underneath heavy-lidded eyes and then he dropped his finger lower, undoing her coverall and skimming under the plain white T-shirt she wore beneath, with the cleaning company’s insignia on the breast pocket.

      Shock and desire crashed through Maisie in a double wave and the half-full tumbler of whisky dropped from her nerveless fingers and fell onto the floor, the alcohol soaking into the carpet and filling the air with its pungent scent.

      She gasped and looked down in horror. ‘Oh, no...’

      ‘It doesn’t matter...’

      ‘It does. I can’t leave a mess in an office I’ve just cleaned.’

      ‘Then we won’t leave it.’

      He smiled, the wry yet intent look in his eyes as good as telling her that this was not going to serve as a distraction from his true purpose, or at least not for long. Yet what did he, magnetic sexy billionaire that he was, want with her?

      Of course, the answer was glaringly obvious. Maisie blinked, rooted to the spot, as Antonio fetched a cloth and some carpet cleaner and began to scrub the stain.

      He wanted sex. That was what rich, powerful men wanted with women like her. The only thing. Yet here he was, cleaning the carpet for her. She didn’t understand him. She didn’t understand herself, and how she could actually be tempted by such a sordid proposition.

      Sex with a stranger. That was what she was actually thinking about right now. Yet perhaps Antonio wasn’t thinking of sex at all; perhaps he was just being kind, a little flirty, humouring the housekeeper. Pure mortification shot through her, turning her insides to ice and her face fiery. Hot and cold, that was how she felt. Hot and cold right through.

      Antonio tossed the cleaning supplies back onto her trolley and then straightened, turning to her with a wickedly sexy smile.

      ‘Now, then,’ he said. ‘Where were we?’

      She was blushing, right to the roots of her hair. Antonio noted her change in colour with interest, just as he’d noted the way she’d responded to his finger against her lips. And he’d responded, desire arrowing through him along with something deeper. He’d meant what he said when he’d told her she was loving and good. She seemed, at that moment, like the most uncomplicated, honest and kind person he’d ever encountered, and he craved that as much as he craved her body. Well, almost.

      Maisie tilted her chin a little, her eyes flashing emerald fire. ‘Where were we, exactly?’ she asked, her voice a little croaky yet full of challenge and bravado.

      Antonio smiled. ‘I think,’ he murmured as he skimmed his fingers along her cheek, her skin like warm satin under their tips, ‘we were right here.’

      Maisie closed her eyes, gritting her teeth as if she had to endure his touch and yet Antonio knew better. Her whole body trembled as if she was strung through with a wire and he was plucking it. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’ she whispered.

      ‘I haven’t even kissed you yet.’

      She opened her eyes, shocked despite everything that had already happened, the tension crackling in the air. ‘Yet?’

      ‘Yet,’ Antonio confirmed. ‘Surely, Maisie, you know it’s only a matter of time? You want me and I want you. Very much. I want to forget all the grief and sadness, and I want to remember...this.’ Gently, so she could pull away if she really wanted to, he drew her towards him. Their hips bumped and her breasts brushed his chest. Her body quivered and her eyes looked like huge, glassy pools, the colour of ferns.

      Part of him, a large part, wanted to drive his hands through her wild, auburn hair and plunder her mouth, lose himself in the oblivion of lust with no thought to the wide-eyed woman before him.

      But of course he couldn’t do that. Maisie was too lovely for such coarse treatment. So he took his time, letting his gaze move slowly over her as she adjusted to being so near to him, the shift in their bodies as well as the shift in the air. Flirtation had turned to anticipation. Expectation.

      ‘You’re very lovely,’ he murmured as he wound a reddish curl around his finger, tugging it gently so she had to come even closer. ‘Very, very lovely.’

      ‘So are you,’ she returned on a shaky laugh. ‘But you must know how handsome you are.’

      He laughed, because there was something so delightfully refreshing about her artless candour. ‘Maybe you could show me.’

      She sucked in a breath and then shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t know how.’

      He tugged that curl again. ‘You could kiss me.’

      A lovely pink blush washed over her face in a tide of colour. ‘I...couldn’t.’

      ‘You could.’

      ‘I wouldn’t know how,’ she repeated, her face even fierier now.

      ‘So I’m meant to do all the work and seduce you?’ he teased gently, and she bit her lip.

      ‘You don’t have to,’ she muttered, looking away. ‘It’s not like I’m asking.’

      He laughed softly, enjoying the repartee as much as the delicious anticipation of her kiss. ‘I’m asking,’ he told her. ‘In fact, I’m demanding.’

      ‘Demanding...?’

      ‘Kiss me, Maisie.’

      She turned back to him with wide, shocked eyes. He would have thought she was offended except for the flare of excitement in their emerald-bright depths, the way her teeth sank into her lower lip as she considered his request—no, his demand.

      ‘You’re looking at my mouth like it’s a mountain to climb,’ he observed wryly. They’d barely touched and he was finding it hard to hold on to his light, laughing manner. The need was growing inside him—a torrent, a torment, and soon it would be overwhelming.

      ‘It feels like it,’ Maisie admitted. ‘I’m not... I’m not adventurous.’

      ‘But you want to kiss me.’ It was a statement, not a question. He saw and felt her answer in the tremble of her body, the dilation of her pupils, the way her tongue darted