From Florence With Love. Lucy Gordon

cradling his jaw in her hand, and he turned his face into her hand and kissed her palm, his tongue stroking softly over the sensitive skin.

      ‘What time is it?’

      He glanced at his watch and sighed. ‘Two. Just after.’

      Two. Her flight was in thirteen hours.

      She swallowed hard and drew his face down to hers. ‘Make love to me again,’ she whispered.

      How could he refuse? How could he walk away from her, even though it was madness?

      Time out, she’d said, from reality. He needed that so badly, and he wasn’t strong enough to resist.

      Thirteen hours, he thought, and as he took her in his arms again, his heart squeezed in his chest.

      Saying goodbye to the children and Carlotta and Roberto was hard. Saying goodbye to Massimo was agony.

      He’d parked at the airport, in the short stay carpark, and they’d had lunch in the café, sitting outside under the trailing pergola. She positioned herself in the sun, but it didn’t seem to be able to warm her, because she was cold inside, her heart aching.

      ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done for me,’ she said, trying hard not to cry, but it was difficult and she felt a tear escape and slither down her cheek.

      ‘Oh, bella.’ He sighed, and reaching out his hand, he brushed it gently away. ‘No tears. Please, no tears.’

      ‘Happy tears,’ she lied. ‘I’ve had a wonderful time.’

      He nodded, but his eyes didn’t look happy, and she was sure hers didn’t. She tried to smile.

      ‘Give my love to the children, and thank Francesca again for my Italian lessons.’

      He smiled, his mouth turning down at the corners ruefully. ‘They’ll miss you. They had fun with you.’

      ‘They’ll forget me,’ she reassured him. ‘Children move on very quickly.’

      But maybe not if they’d been hurt in the past, he thought, and wondered if this had been so safe after all, so without consequences, without repercussions.

      Maybe not.

      He left her at the departures gate, standing there with his arms round her while she hugged him tight. She let him go, looked up, her eyes sparkling with tears.

      ‘Take care,’ she said, and he nodded.

      ‘You, too. Safe journey.’

      And without waiting to see her go through the gate, he walked away, emotions raging through him.

      Madness. He’d thought he could handle it, but—

      He’d got her address from her, so he could send her a crate of wine and oil.

      That was all, he told himself. Nothing more. He certainly wasn’t going to contact her, or see her again—

      He sucked in a breath, surprised by the sharp stab of loss. Ships in the night, he told himself more firmly. They’d had a good time but now it was over, she was gone and he could get on with his life.

      How hard could it be?

CHAPTER SIX

      ‘WHY don’t you just go and see her?’

      Massimo looked up from the baby in his arms and forced himself to meet his brother’s eyes.

      ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

      ‘Of course you do. You’ve been like a grizzly bear for the last two weeks, and even your own children are avoiding you.’

      He frowned. Were they? He hadn’t noticed, he realised in horror, and winced at the wave of guilt. But …

      ‘It’s not a crime to want her, you know,’ Luca said softly.

      ‘It’s not that simple.’

      ‘Of course not. Love never is.’

      His head jerked up again. ‘Who’s talking about love?’ he snapped, and Luca just raised an eyebrow silently.

      ‘I’m not in love with her.’

      ‘If you say so.’

      He opened his mouth to say, ‘I do say so,’ and shut it smartly. ‘I’ve just been busy,’ he said instead, making excuses. ‘Carlotta’s been ill, and I’ve been trying to juggle looking after the children in the evenings and getting them ready for school without neglecting all the work of the grape harvest.’

      ‘But that’s over now—at least the critical bit. And you’re wrong, you know, Carlotta isn’t ill, she’s old and tired and she needs to stop working before she becomes ill.’

      Massimo laughed out loud at that, startling his new nephew and making him cry. He shushed him automatically, soothing the fractious baby, and then looked up at Luca again. ‘I’ll let you tell her that.’

      ‘I have done. She won’t listen because she thinks she’s indispensable and she doesn’t want to let anybody down. And she’s going to kill herself unless someone does something to stop her.’

      And then it dawned on him. Just the germ of an idea, but if it worked …

      He got to his feet, wanting to get started, now that the thought had germinated. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before, except he’d been deliberately putting it—her—out of his mind.

      ‘I think I’ll take a few days off,’ he said casually. ‘I could do with a break. I’ll take the car and leave the children here. Mamma can look after them. It’ll keep her off Gio’s back for a while and they can play with little Annamaria while Isabelle rests.’

      Luca took the baby from him and smiled knowingly.

      ‘Give her my love.’

      He frowned. ‘Who? I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is a business trip. I have some trade samples to deliver.’

      His brother laughed and shut the door behind him.

      ‘Do you know anyone with a posh left-hand-drive Mercedes with a foreign number plate?’

      Lydia’s head jerked up. She did—but he wouldn’t be here. There was no way he’d be here, and certainly not without warning—

      ‘Tall, dark-haired, uber-sexy. Wow, in fact. Very, very wow!’

      Her mouth dried, her heart thundering. No. Surely not—not when she was just getting over him—

      ‘Let me see.’

      She leant over Jen’s shoulder and peeped through the doorway, and her heart, already racing, somersaulted in her chest. Over him? Not a chance. She’d been fooling herself for over two weeks, convincing herself she didn’t care about him, it had just been a holiday romance, and one sight of him and all of it had come slamming back. She backed away, one hand on her heart, trying to stop it vaulting out through her ribs, the other over her mouth holding back the chaotic emotions that were threatening to erupt.

      ‘It’s him, isn’t it? Your farmer guy. You never said he was that hot!’

      No, she hadn’t. She’d said very little about him because she’d been desperately trying to forget him and avoid the inevitable interrogation if she so much as hinted at a relationship. But—farmer? Try millionaire. More than that. Try serious landowner, old-money, from one of Italy’s most well-known and respected families. Not a huge brand name, but big enough, she’d discovered when she’d checked on the internet in a moment of weakness and aching, pathetic need.

      And try lover—just for one night, but the most magical, memorable and relived night of her life.

      She