Moretti's Marriage Command. Кейт Хьюит

Tyson only has a handful of resorts, doesn’t he? The Santa Nicola resort, one on Tenerife, one on Kos, one on—’

      ‘Sicily, and then a couple in the Caribbean. Yes.’

      ‘It’s small potatoes to a man like you,’ Hannah pointed out. Luca had orchestrated multibillion-dollar deals all around the world. A couple of family resorts, especially ones that looked as if they needed a bit of updating, hardly seemed his sort of thing.

      Luca shifted in his seat. ‘As I told you before, the land alone makes this a lucrative deal.’

      ‘Okay, but you still haven’t told me why this is a social occasion.’

      ‘Because Tyson wants it to be one. He’s always espoused family values, and so he wants each potential owner to socialise with him and his family.’

      ‘So chatting up little kids?’ Hannah couldn’t quite keep the note of amusement from her voice. ‘It sounds like your worst nightmare.’

      ‘His children are grown up,’ Luca answered. ‘The son is only a year younger than I am.’

      ‘Do his children have children?’

      ‘I have no idea.’ Luca sounded eminently bored. ‘Probably. The son is married.’

      Hannah considered the implications of everything he’d just said. So she’d be socialising with Andrew Tyson and his family, chatting up his children and generally being friendly? She was starting to realise why Luca had wanted her to come along.

      ‘So you want me to be your front man,’ she said slowly.

      Luca swivelled to face her. ‘Excuse me?’

      ‘To do the talking,’ Hannah explained. ‘Chatting to his wife and children while you get on with the business side of things. Right?’

      He gave one terse nod. ‘Right.’

      She settled back in her seat. ‘All right. I can do that.’

      ‘Good,’ Luca answered, and he turned back to his phone.

      The VIP lounge at the airport fully lived up to Hannah’s expectations. She enjoyed the plush seats, the complimentary mimosas and breakfast buffet, and when Luca suggested she take advantage of the adjoining spa and get a manicure and pedicure, she decided to go for it. Why not enjoy all the opportunities that were on offer? It wasn’t as if she had many chances to relax in a spa.

      By the time they boarded the plane she was feeling pleasantly relaxed; one of the spa attendants had given her a head and neck massage while her feet had been soaking. It had felt lovely, as had Luca’s look of blatant male appreciation when she’d emerged from the spa—the attendant had insisted on doing her hair and make-up as well.

      ‘You look good,’ he said in approval, and, while Hannah knew she shouldn’t care what Luca thought of her looks, his masculine admiration spoke to the feminine heart of her.

      ‘I think,’ she told him as they took their seats in the plane’s first-class section, ‘I could get used to this.’

      Luca’s mouth quirked up at one corner. ‘I’m sure you could.’ He accepted two flutes of champagne from the airline steward and handed one to Hannah. ‘And now you should get used to this.’

      ‘Why are you so determined to have me become used to champagne?’ Hannah asked as she took a sip. Second time round the bubbles didn’t tickle her nose quite so much.

      ‘Why not? You should enjoy all of these new experiences.’

      ‘True,’ Hannah answered. ‘And since you said this was a social occasion, I might as well.’ She took another sip of champagne. ‘Are we meant to be working during the flight?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘So why did you put me up in first class?’

      ‘I wanted to watch you enjoy the experience.’

      Hannah felt her stomach dip at this implication of his words, the intimacy of them. She was suddenly conscious of how this all seemed: the champagne flute dangling from her fingers, the cosy enclave of their first-class seats, and Luca Moretti lounging next to her, not taking his warm gaze from hers. She swallowed hard.

      ‘Well, I am enjoying it,’ she said, striving for normality. ‘Thank you.’ The last thing she needed was to start crushing on her boss. He’d probably find that amusing—or maybe offensive, and fire her. She handed her half-drunk champagne to the steward and buckled her seat belt. Time to get things back to the way they’d always been.

      Luca must have been thinking along the same lines because he reached for the in-flight magazine as the plane took off, and then spent the rest of the four-hour flight looking over some paperwork. Hannah asked him once if he needed her to do anything, and he snapped at her that he didn’t.

      In fact, with each passing hour of the flight, he seemed to get more and more tense, his muscles taut, his eyes shadowed, his face grim. Hannah wondered what was going on, but she didn’t dare ask.

      She tried to watch a movie but her mind was pinging all over the place, and so she ended up simply staring out of the window at the azure sky, waiting for the minutes and hours to pass.

      And then they did, and they landed on Santa Nicola, the Mediterranean glittering like a bright blue promise in the distance.

      ‘Is someone meeting us at the airport?’

      ‘Yes, one of Tyson’s staff is picking us up.’ Luca rose from his seat and shrugged into his suit jacket. ‘Let me do the talking.’

      Okay... ‘I thought you wanted me to socialise.’

      ‘I do. But not with the staff.’

      Bewildered, Hannah stared at him, but Luca’s deliberately bland expression gave nothing away. He held a hand out to her to help her from her seat, and after a second’s hesitation she took it.

      The feel of his warm, dry palm sliding across and then enfolding hers was a jolt to her system, like missing the last step in a staircase. Instinctively she started to withdraw her hand but Luca tightened his hands over hers and pulled her forward.

      ‘Come on,’ he murmured. ‘People are waiting.’

      With his hand still encasing hers she followed him out of the plane, blinking in the bright sunlight as she navigated the narrow steps down to the tarmac. She was just thinking that she wished she’d packed her sunglasses in her carry-on rather than her suitcase when she heard someone call a greeting to Luca and then felt his arm snake around her waist.

      Hannah went rigid in shock at the feel of his fingers splayed on one hip, her other hip pressed against his thigh.

      ‘Signor Moretti! We are so pleased to welcome you to Santa Nicola.’ A tanned, friendly-looking man in khaki shorts and a red polo shirt with the Tyson logo on the breast pocket came striding towards them. ‘And this is...?’ he asked, glancing at Hannah with a smile.

      ‘Hannah Stewart,’ Luca filled in smoothly, his arm still firmly about her waist. ‘My fiancée.’