The Italian's Marriage Bargain. Carol Marinelli

to her vague attempt at humour. ‘Yes, Felice, we are still in Australia. Your mystery tour stops here. I spoke in Italian then because Rico, who I was just talking to, is from my home town in Moserallo. There are a lot of Italians on my staff.’

      ‘To remind you of home?’

      He laughed again. ‘No, my family has a lot of friends and a lot of…’ She waited as he paused, and the words that came out made Felicity smile even more. ‘…a lot of wild cats and dogs backpacking around the world, who all decide to look up Luca for a job.’

      At least she was in the right country, but the room she and Matthew had was small—not that it had seemed so at the time, but compared to this…

      Matthew!

      With a whimper of horror Felicity pulled the counterpane tighter around her, waves of panic threatening to drown her as she began to realise the true horror of her situation.

      ‘I asked for some iced water also,’ Luca said, apparently oblivious to her sudden distress. ‘I expect you are thirsty.’

      That was the understatement of the millennium. Her mouth felt as if someone had emptied a vacuum bag inside it, but even that was small fry compared to the heavy throbbing in her head the small movement had caused.

      ‘Thank you.’ Felicity sat up gingerly, pulling the heavy counterpane up and around her, acutely aware that all she was dressed in was some very small panties and a rather sheer bra. ‘Thank you,’ Felicity said again, clearing her throat with a small cough and wishing her mind would work, throw her some clue, some tiny snippet as to what on earth she was doing here.

      ‘Are you all right?’ He sounded concerned, his forehead furrowing as he looked at her closely. The colour drained away from her flushed round face as she sat up, blonde hair starting to escape from the French coil that had held it last night, petite hands moving up to her temples, which she massaged slowly, screwing her eyelids closed tightly.

      ‘Actually, no,’ Felicity said, taking a very deep breath and then exhaling out through her full lips, wishing the wretched room would stop moving for a moment so she could gather her thoughts. ‘In fact I don’t feel very well at all.’

      ‘I’m sure you don’t.’ The concern had gone from his voice, the sliver of sympathy she could have sworn she’d heard retracted so sharply Felicity opened her eyes abruptly.

      ‘Look, I’m so sorry—’ Felicity started, her mind racing, words spilling out of her mouth. ‘I really don’t know what’s happened. I’m staying here with…’ she hesitated, unsure what title to give Matthew ‘…my boyfriend; we were at the award ceremony…’

      He was staring at her, one quizzical eyebrow raised, as she struggled to make an excuse and work out how the hell she could get out of here with even a shred of dignity, how she could get back to her and Matthew’s room and, more importantly, what possible excuse she could come up with to stop Matthew finding out where she had been…

      ‘I think I must have food poisoning, or the flu or something. I must have made a mistake and wandered into the wrong room…’ Her voice trailed off as his other eyebrow joined its partner in his hairline, and somewhere at about that point Felicity admitted defeat.

      ‘I’ve got a hangover, haven’t I?’ she mumbled, completely unable to meet his eyes, pleating the counterpane with her fingers.

      ‘I would suggest so.’ He gave a very small nod and she was positive, as his lip twitched slightly, that he was laughing at her, enjoying her utter humiliation. Felicity decided she had had enough. Coiling the counterpane tightly around her, ignoring the million hammers pounding in her head, she stood up. There was no point wasting her time with excuses. Whatever had happened, whatever awful mess she had got into last night, sitting here watching him enjoying her utter misery wasn’t going to solve anything.

      ‘I have to go.’ How Felicity wished she was one of those sophisticated women she had seen in the movies. How she wished she could manage a mystical smile and sashay off as she blew a kiss. But waking up in a strange man’s bedroom—in any man’s bedroom, come to that—was uncharted territory for her, and her usually confident demeanour, the slight air of aloofness she generally portrayed, didn’t seem to be surfacing this morning.

      Tears were threatening now, but Felicity blinked them away. Whatever had possessed her to weep in Luca’s arms last night certainly wasn’t about to be repeated—and, sniffing none too graciously, she cast her eyes around the room in an attempt to find her clothes.

      Skimming the room, she located her shoes and bag and hobbled over. The counterpane—wrapped way too tightly to merit a graceful manoeuvre but Felicity was past caring. She had to get back to Matthew, had to hope to that he was somehow as hungover as her and miraculously would not notice her creeping in at the crack of dawn.

      ‘If you’re looking for your dress, Housekeeping will bring it up shortly.’

      It was all too much. With a small sob of frustration Felicity lowered herself onto the edge of the bed, resting her head in her hands. Her carefully pinned hair finally collapsed under the strain and unravelled in a blonde curtain around her shoulders tumbling across her face, and for a moment she took refuge under the golden curtain. For a second or two she welcomed its temporary veil as she tried to fathom how she, Felicity Conlon, meticulously organised, completely in control, could have made such an utter mess of things.

      Last night had been planned down to the minutest detail. She had attacked it in the same careful way she tackled any job that needed to be done—determinedly pushing emotion aside, looking at every angle, checking and rechecking details until she was sure she had every possible scenario covered.

      Last night had been business.

      ‘I didn’t just wander in here, did I?’ Felicity mumbled, undignified memories not just trickling now, but gushing in with horrible precision. ‘You carried me.’

      ‘I did.’

      ‘You were going to sleep on the sofa,’ Felicity ventured. ‘I didn’t want to go downstairs—’

      ‘To be with your boyfriend,’ Luca broke in, his lips curling somewhat around the word. ‘Right again. So I agreed you could stay here, in my bed, and said that I would sleep on the sofa.’

      That much made sense. She’d got the four corners of last night’s jigsaw now, and was working on the bottom line, but the rest of it still lay in a higgledy piggledy pile in her cluttered mind.

      ‘So why did I…?’ He registered her nervous swallow, the dusting of pink on her far too pale cheeks and fought back a smile. ‘Why did I wake up in your arms? Why weren’t you on the sofa?’

      ‘You asked me to share the bed.’ Luca’s voice was slow and measured, every word a scorching indignity as she screwed her eyes more tightly closed. ‘I refused at first. Naturally I was concerned, given your…’ a small cough, another sting of shame ‘…given your inebriated state and your lack of attire.’

      ‘But you came over anyway.’ Her attempt to discredit him, to exert some control over this hopeless situation, was quickly and skilfully rebuffed.

      ‘You were insistent,’ he countered. ‘Most insistent.’

      ‘Oh.’

      ‘In fact you became quite hysterical. Rather than slapping you on the cheek, I lay down with you.’

      ‘Oh.’ He was speaking the truth. Ever if she’d doubted him for a moment, his words had set off a fresh cascade of memories. Luca begging her to be quiet; Luca pouring her water, standing like a protective parent and insisting she drank it; Luca pulling tissues out of a box, wiping away black mascara-laced tears… But through the murky depths of her despair a rather more disturbing image was taking shape. Luca taking her in his arms, holding her not gently, not tenderly, but firmly, clamping his arms around her, that beautiful methodical voice talking over her tears, on and on until…

      Felicity took a shaky breath. She could almost