Italian Escape: Summer with the Millionaire / In the Italian's Sights / Flirting with Italian. Liz Fielding

      ‘Ready to go?’ Minty jumped as Luca came up behind her, at the gentle brush of his hands on her bare shoulders. A shiver ran through her at his touch.

      ‘I’m the guest; I’m at your command,’ she replied, drawing the words out long and low, and had the pleasure of seeing his eyes dilate at her words.

      ‘Then I’m definitely ready to go,’ he said, his hands tightening momentarily on her shoulders. ‘I’ve talked business, you charmed my grandfather; I think we have fulfilled our duties admirably.’

      Minty tossed her hair. ‘I told you grandfathers were my speciality.’

      Luca bent over and kissed her neck. ‘I was rather hoping grandsons were,’ he said softly against her ear.

      ‘Depends on the grandson,’ she replied, and walked off towards the ballroom exit. She didn’t look back. Right here, right now she was sure of him, she knew he would be following her. She left the glittering room full of the cream of Florentine society and descended the old stone staircase to the grand foyer below, where they had left their coats.

      ‘If I hold your hand will I be acting like the perfect escort or overstepping our agreement to keep our private lives hidden?’ Luca asked as he helped Minty into her coat. She laughed; put like that, it did sound ridiculous.

      ‘We’re in Florence, so act away,’ she said and held her hand out to him and he took it. His hand was large, comforting. It would have felt safe if the skin-on-skin contact didn’t make her tingle everywhere.

      ‘Where to, my lady?’

      ‘Can we walk just for a bit?’ Minty asked. ‘One of my favourite Italian traditions is watching people promenade. It’s too cold in London and, on the rare occasion it’s not, watching people stagger drunkenly down the street isn’t quite the same thing. Look.’ She held up one of her wedge-heeled shoes. ‘I even have sensible footwear on.’

      ‘Seven inches of heel is not sensible, no matter how the heel is styled,’ Luca grumbled.

      Minty shot him a limpid glance. ‘Typical male exaggeration. These heels are three inches at the most, but we’ll call it seven if it pleases you.’ She squealed as Luca swung her round, pulling her hard against him.

      ‘You seemed satisfied earlier.’

      His mouth hovered temptingly above hers. Minty stood on her tiptoes, trying to reach it, but he moved it fractionally away, tantalisingly out of her reach. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, trying to look contrite. ‘You are of course magnificent in every way. A love machine of the highest order.’

      Luca quirked an eyebrow at her. ‘Seven inches doesn’t even begin to do justice,’ she continued, trying to look serious, her smirk threatening to break out any second. She made her eyes big, pleading. ‘Please say you forgive me?’

      His mouth descended onto hers and for the next few moments all Minty was aware of was him. The bunch of his muscles under her roaming hands, the hardness of his mouth, the way he felt, smelt, overloaded all her senses. The sound of teasing voices brought her out of her sensual stupor. She pulled back.

      ‘Not in the street! You, at least, were brought up much better than that.’

      ‘We could go back to yours?’ he suggested, his eyes molten gold with desire.

      Minty shook her head. ‘Magdalena will be back. Besides, you promised me a promenade, and a promenade is what I want.’

      ‘Then a promenade you shall have,’ Luca promised.

      * * *

      ‘You don’t know this city at all,’ she accused Luca with a grin when he took them the wrong way for the third time.

      ‘Maybe I just want to get you alone in a dark alleyway,’ he suggested.

      ‘Good try. Come on, I told you it was this way.’

      ‘I never come here as a tourist,’ he explained. ‘I stay at the conte’s villa, which is outside the city. We are driven to parties and restaurants. Obviously I have been inside every museum, every church, every park, but I’ve never had the freedom to walk around like this.’

      ‘Not even with Francesca?’ Minty asked, wishing she’d not spoken the moment she’d done so. She sounded dangerously like a jealous girlfriend, which she wasn’t—jealous, or indeed a girlfriend.

      He laughed. ‘Francesca? Wander round the streets without a purpose or someone to impress? No, she would have made me stay at that gala until the last moment, and then escort the conte home so she could be seen leaving with him.’

      ‘I like him,’ Minty said, wanting to change the subject. ‘Your grandfather, I mean. And I think...’ She cast about for the right words but ended up saying baldy, ‘I think he is really proud of you.’

      ‘You got all that from a five-minute conversation?’ Luca sounded sceptical.

      ‘I got that from five minutes of him singing your praises. Did you know that your gelato is the most authentic mass-produced product he has ever tasted?’

      ‘It’s traditionally made, not mass-produced—’ Luca stopped mid-speech. ‘The conte said that?’

      Minty nodded. ‘And much, much more, but I’d hate for you to get big-headed. Aha! I told you this was the way.’

      They were at the entrance to a large square, a fountain in the middle. Along one side was a two-storey building with a series of steps leading to the pillared terrace. At the back of the shallow terrace was a wall with heavy-looking doors interspersed at intervals. The pillars were impressively carved with round medallion-style decorations, a picture of a baby on each one.

      ‘The hospital of the innocents,’ Minty said softly. ‘I used to come here most days, trying to imagine what it was like to know you had been literally posted into an orphanage. I wonder if it was better to grow up never knowing who your parents were or to know why you were here. Or—and spot the melodrama of a teenager here—was it worse to have parents who took no notice of you at all? These children had no expectations, no obligations; they were free...’

      ‘Free to be foundlings, paupers and servants,’ Luca said wryly. He put an arm around her. ‘Is this what you did when you lived in Florence, mooched dreamily around here?’

      Minty nestled into his embrace. ‘I promenaded and flirted with dangerously attractive Italian boys.’ She looked up at him provocatively. ‘A habit I don’t seem to have lost.’ Luca’s arm tightened round her shoulders. ‘I went to every museum at least once and what felt like every church. I saw more depictions of the Madonna and Child than anybody could cope with and realised an art history degree wasn’t for me, despite its royal connections!’

      ‘What did you do instead?’

      ‘Well, I did get engaged twice before I was twenty-one,’ she pointed out. ‘That took up some time.’

      ‘And the boat to Australia,’ he said.

      ‘That came afterwards. I was running away from the fallout with Spike.’ She sighed. ‘I do seem to run away a lot.’ She straightened up, moving out of his embrace. ‘I shouldn’t have brought you here; it always makes me sombre. Come on, I want gelato. Does anywhere round here stock yours?’ She smiled at him. ‘Ours, I should say.’

      She grabbed his hand and pulled him along, away from the square and the gloomy thoughts it always evoked. ‘All the really good gelato shops in Florence make their own,’ Luca said. ‘And they are all worth trying.’ He flashed her a dangerously sexy grin. ‘I’m not so vain that I can’t appreciate somebody else’s artisanship.’

      Another couple of moments and they were outside one of the city’s most popular gelaterias. The glass windows showcased the long counters filled with over one hundred vibrantly coloured ice creams.

      ‘Cone or a cup?’

      Minty