The Tuscan Tycoon's Pregnant Housekeeper. Christina Hollis

he said abruptly.

      In all her years of sketching Michelle had never had the nerve to ask a stranger to pose for her. She thought of all those lost opportunities and wished she could be spontaneous, like Alessandro. He had come straight out with a suggestion she would never have been brave enough to make in a million years. So many times she had felt the urge to sketch or paint a person, but had been too shy to do anything about it. Now he was showing her how it should be done.

      ‘I—I don’t know.’ She scraped her wet hair back from her face to give herself time to think. ‘I work for Mr Bartlett, really, and if he found out I was lounging around being drawn, when I should be busy in the house…’

      Alessandro threw off her objection. ‘You’re working for me at the moment. Not Terence.’

      Michelle paused. There was nothing she could say except, ‘If you put it like that, I can’t refuse.’

      He smiled. ‘Yes…’ he said thoughtfully. ‘The more I see of you, Michelle, the more I realise you’re wasted here. You ought to be immortalised somehow. And I’m exactly the man to do it. Wait here. I’ll go and fetch my things.’

      She had no choice. He vaulted out of the pool and picked up a robe from one of the poolside chairs. He pulled it on and walked quickly into the villa.

      Michelle knew she should be feeling cold. She wasn’t. The sight of his muscles sleek with water had brought a slow-burning fire to life deep within her body. Alessandro Castiglione had a lot to answer for. From the moment he’d landed he had invaded every part of her life. First he’d stopped her sleeping. Then he’d aroused her by touch, outside the studio house. Now he had persuaded her to wait for him, wet through and waist-deep in water.

      As he disappeared from sight, a chill wind rippled across the pool. Michelle’s skin contracted with the cold. Sinking beneath the wavelets, she let the water waft her feet off the floor of the pool. She knew she ought to thrash through a few lengths to warm herself up. Her heart wasn’t in it. Exercise no longer had the power to distract her. All she could think of was Alessandro. Big, strong Alessandro Castiglione. He acted the part of blasé tycoon to perfection, but his bitter-chocolate eyes told a different story. When Michelle shivered now, it was at the thought of his deep brown gaze. If only she could decode its meaning.

      Twisting in the water, she saw Alessandro walking back towards the pool. He was dressed now in jeans and a tight white tee shirt. His muscles were still on display, and Michelle felt them through her fantasies. Those jeans were so well cut they were obviously made for him. ‘Casual’ still meant ‘designer chic’ in his circles. The sketchbook under his arm was bound in leather, and he was carrying a long metal container. He put this down beside one of the poolside chairs.

      ‘If you could swim a few lengths for me, Michelle, I’ll try out a few ideas…I need something to make my working days worthwhile. Art is my therapy.’

      ‘And mine. I always wanted to go to art college, but it wasn’t possible for me to finish the course,’ Michelle said shyly.

      He was already rifling through the contents of his art box. Selecting a piece of willow charcoal, he made a few swift, sweeping strokes across his sketchbook.

      ‘A little taster for you.’ He showed her the pad. She was amazed. In a few strokes he had laid her down on his plain white sheet with nothing more than a sliver of burnt wood.

      ‘You swim slowly, up and down.’

      As he sketched, he asked her all sorts of questions about her own work. His conversation was light and insubstantial—until he asked her something that really burst her bubble.

      ‘What made you give up your art course?’

      She didn’t answer for a while. Then she rolled onto her back to watch him.

      ‘The answer to that is the same as it is to most of your other questions—my mother,’ she said at last. ‘Mum didn’t consider art to be a proper job. There was no room for anything in my life unless she thought it had value. As a child, I was a disappointment to her. If I couldn’t be beautiful, then I had to be useful.’

      Alessandro frowned. Michelle was struggling to keep her mind on their conversation, but his disapproving expression helped keep her on track.

      ‘“Art isn’t a job, it’s almost as much a waste of time as reading.”’ She quoted one of her mother’s favourite sayings.

      Alessandro’s mood darkened further. ‘I thought you said in the studio house that you had some books?’

      ‘I do—and that was the problem. They’re art books, and Mum hated them most of all. If I wasn’t painting or drawing then I was reading about it. She thought I was doing it to spite her.’

      This softened his expression, but only a fraction. ‘It might be for the best. I’m in the trade, and art colleges turn out far too many indifferent graduates, in my opinion.’

      Alessandro worked quickly, changing medium and trying out several grades of paper. He was enjoying this. Any man could take a woman—Alessandro did, frequently—but this was something altogether different. The more he worked on his sketches of her, the more relaxed he became and his stress fell away. It was a circle of satisfaction.

      Eventually he put down his work and stretched, long and luxuriously. The sun felt good.

      ‘Shall I stop swimming?’ Michelle called as he stood watching her, hands on his hips.

      ‘Yes. Come and lie on one of these loungers for a while.’

      The water accepted her once again, showering her with a thousand droplets at she swam towards the steps. Alessandro watched them tumbling over her smooth wet skin. Each time she raised her arm he marvelled at the perfect curve, the sleek, easy beauty of her. Stepping out onto the hot white tiles, she slicked her wet hair back from her face. He felt his body rise in anticipation.

      Grabbing a towel, he enveloped her in its folds. Michelle immediately pulled up a corner and made to rub at her hair.

      ‘Wait—leave that. I want you to look as though you’ve just left the water. Relaxed, and soaking up the sun.’ He took her hand to lead her over to the seats.

      In a flash Michelle was swept right back to his good-night kiss. Alessandro took away her towel and, dropping it in a heap, told her to sit down on the sun lounger.

      ‘Do you want me to do anything special?’

      ‘You look just fine as you are.’ His gaze grazed her body appreciatively. ‘All you need to do is lie back and close your eyes.’

      It took Michelle a little while to get comfortable, and longer to relax.

      ‘I feel a bit self-conscious,’ she said apprehensively. She often wore a bikini, but this was the first time she had been within touching distance of a man as gorgeous as Alessandro.

      ‘Don’t worry. I’ve drawn dozens of women—most of them wearing less than you are now.’

      Michelle giggled. That made her feel so much more comfortable in his company. But still, when his hand reached out to arrange her wet hair, she flinched.

      ‘Did I hurt you, Michelle?’

      ‘No—not at all. I just have this thing about being touched, that’s all. I know I’m never going to be struck again, but my body isn’t so sure.’

      She tried to laugh it off, but Alessandro was shocked. He withdrew a fraction, until her smile reassured him.

      ‘Then I shall be very careful how I position you,’ he smiled.

      He was more than careful. Each time he reached out to touch her, he hesitated before making contact. She had the double pleasure of anticipation and effect. His touch when it came was so light it was evocative of their evening in the starlight. She could hardly bear it. She knew exactly how each touch would feel, because she had already imagined the grain