His For Christmas. Amy Andrews

You are the only man in the frame. Did you think that because of my previous line of work that there would be a whole load of contenders?’ She shook her head in despair. ‘You really are fond of stereotypes, aren’t you, Niccolò? Well, for your information, there isn’t. If you really must know, I could count my previous lovers on one hand and still have some fingers free—and there’s been no one in my life for the last three years.’

      Niccolò let out the breath he’d been holding, unprepared for the powerful hit of pleasure which flooded through his body in response to her words. He was the only man in the frame. There had been no one else in her life for the past three years.

      He stared at her, his eyes taking in the way she was illuminated in the harsh winter light. Her thick hair looked blue-black, like the feathers of a raven. He swallowed. Dai capelli corvini.

      In her jeans and loose shirt she shouldn’t have looked anything special, but somehow she looked unbelievably beautiful. Against her hair, her skin was creamy and her pallor emphasised the dramatic blue of her eyes. A little brooch in the shape of a dragon-fly glittered on her lapel and suddenly he found himself envying the proximity of that worthless piece of jewellery to her body.

      What if there were a baby?

      His mouth hardened.

      He would cross that bridge when he came to it.

      The shrill sound of the doorbell shattered the silence.

      ‘That’ll be one of the painters,’ she said. ‘He rang up to say he’d left his keys behind.’ Rising to her feet, she walked over and picked up a shoal of silver keys from where they lay on another window seat. ‘I won’t be long.’

      Alannah was aware of his eyes burning into her as she left the room. Her shoes were squeaking as she went to open the front door where one of the painters stood. There were four of them in total and they’d been working around the clock—and although she’d stopped short of making cups of tea for them, she’d been friendly enough. This one had plaster dust in his hair and he was grinning.

      She forced a smile as she held out the clump of keys. ‘Here you go, Gary.’

      But after he’d taken them and shoved them into his dust-covered jeans, he caught hold of her wrist. His big, calloused fingers curled around her skin and his face had suddenly gone very pink. ‘I didn’t realise you were the Alannah Collins,’ he said suddenly.

      Her heart sank as she snatched her hand away because she knew what was coming next. She wondered if it would be better to call his bluff or to slam the door in his face. But there were only a few days of the project left and it was nearly Christmas…why alienate one of the workforce unless it was absolutely necessary?

      ‘Will there be anything else?’ she questioned pointedly. ‘Because I have work to do.’

      ‘The schoolgirl,’ he said thickly. ‘With the big—’

      A figure seemed to propel itself out of nowhere and it took a moment for Alannah to realise it was Niccolò and he was launching himself at Gary with a look of undiluted rage on his face.

      Grabbing hold of the workman’s shirt collar, he half lifted him from the ground and shoved his face very close.

      ‘Che talii bastardu?’ he spat out. ‘Ti scippo locchi e o core!’

      ‘Niccolò!’ protested Alannah faintly, but he didn’t seem to be listening.

      ‘How dare you speak to a woman like that?’ he demanded. ‘What’s your name?’

      The man blanched. ‘G-Gary.’

      ‘Gary what?’

      ‘G-Gary Harkness.’

      ‘Well, take it from me that you won’t ever work in this city again, Gary Harkness—I shall make sure of that.’ Releasing the shirt collar, Niccolò pushed him away and the man staggered a little. ‘Now get out of here—get out before I beat your worthless body to a piece of pulp.’

      Alannah didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone look so petrified as the workman turned and ran down the corridor towards the elevator.

      She lifted her gaze to Niccolò and met the furious blaze firing from his eyes as he clicked the door shut.

      ‘What was that you said to him in Sicilian?’

      ‘I asked him what he was looking at.’ He paused as he steadied his breath. ‘And I told him I would wrench out his eyes and his heart.’

      Alannah gulped. ‘You don’t think that was a little…over the top?’

      ‘I think he’s lucky he didn’t end up in hospital,’ he ground out and his jaw tightened as he stared at her. ‘How often does that happen?’

      ‘Not much. Not these days.’ She shrugged as she began to walk back into the main reception room, aware that he was following her. Aware that her heart was pounding. This wasn’t a conversation she usually had—not with anyone—but maybe Niccolò was someone who needed to hear it. She turned to look at him. ‘It used to be a lot worse. People only ever seemed able to have a conversation with my breasts—or think that I would instantly want to fall into bed with them.’

      Guilt whispered over his skin and Niccolò swallowed down the sudden dryness in his throat. Because hadn’t he done something very similar? Hadn’t he judged her without really knowing the facts and assumed a promiscuity which simply wasn’t true?

      ‘And I did the same,’ he said slowly.

      Her gaze was fearless. ‘Yes, you did.’

      ‘That was why you suddenly froze in the hallway of my house when I was making love to you, wasn’t it?’ he questioned suddenly.

      His perception was nearly as alarming as the realisation that the conversation had taken an even more intimate twist. Despite her determination to stay strong, Alannah couldn’t prevent the rush of heat to her cheeks. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly.

      She started to turn her head away, but suddenly he was right there in front of her and his fingers were on her arm. They felt good on her arm, she thought inconsequentially.

      ‘Tell me,’ he urged.

      It was hard to get the words out. Baring her soul wasn’t something she normally did—and she had never imagined herself confiding in Niccolò da Conti like this. But for once his gaze was understanding and his voice was soft and Alannah found herself wanting to analyse the way she’d reacted—not just because he’d asked, but because she needed to make sense of it herself. ‘I just remember you saying something about my body being even better in the flesh and I started to feel like an object. Like I wasn’t a real person—just a two-dimensional image in a magazine, with a staple in her navel. Like I was invisible.’

      ‘That was not my intention,’ he said slowly. ‘I think I found myself overwhelmed by the realisation that I was finally making love to you after so many years of thinking about it.’ There was a pause as he looked at her. ‘Do you think you can forgive me for that, mia tentatrice?’

      She studied him, and the flicker of a smile nudged at her lips because it was strange seeing him in this conciliatory mood. ‘I’ll think about it.’

      Niccolò pulled her into his arms and she didn’t object. She didn’t object when he bent his head to kiss her either. Her breath was warm and flavoured with coffee and he wanted to groan with pleasure. She tasted as good as he remembered—in fact, she tasted even better—and there seemed something awfully decadent about kissing her in the near-empty apartment. This wasn’t the kind of thing he usually did between meetings, was it? His heart skipped a beat as his fingertips skated over her breast, feeling it swell as he cupped it, and he heard her breath quicken as he began to unbutton her shirt.

      It pleased him that she let him. That she really did seem to have forgiven him for his out-of-control