The Correttis (Books 1-8). Кейт Хьюит

out there like a beast in the shadows and she knew it was going to pounce. Suddenly she wished she could keep driving into the sunset. Vanish and live a different life.

      On impulse, she pulled in by the side of the road and stared at the view. ‘It’s so beautiful.’

      ‘Sicily is the most beautiful island in the world. That’s why I try and spend as much time here as I can.’

      The phone in her bag pinged to signify a message, disturbing the moment, and Taylor reached across him eagerly and pulled it out of her bag. ‘With luck this will be good news on the director situation.’

      But it wasn’t and her excitement turned to sick panic as she read the words on the screen.

      Her hands grew clammy and her phone almost slid from her fingers.

      She wanted to hurl it off the cliff, as if that simple gesture might cut her off from her past and keep her safe. But she knew there was no point. Whatever she did, her past would always haunt her. He would always haunt her.

      ‘Trouble?’ Luca was watching her and she tried desperately to pull herself together.

      ‘No.’ She shut off her phone and slipped it back into her bag.

      ‘For an actress, you’re a terrible liar.’

      She knew she wasn’t a terrible liar but she was fast discovering that Luca Corretti, for all his reputation as a shallow playboy, was sharp as a razor. ‘I’m not lying. Just tired. I wish the press would disappear.’

      ‘You care too much about what people think.’

      ‘You have no idea what it’s like.’ The lump in her throat appeared from nowhere. ‘No idea what it’s like having cameras filming your every move from your first step to your first boyfriend. No idea what it’s like to be betrayed by the people closest to you—people who are supposed to care about you and love you—and no idea how it feels to wake up and realise the only person in the world you can trust is yourself.’ Her outburst shocked her almost as much as it clearly shocked him.

      Taylor sat there, wondering how to pull back the words and recover the situation. She was usually so good at hiding her feelings but from the first moment she’d met Luca Corretti those feelings had been perilously close to the surface.

      ‘Sorry.’ Her voice was husky. ‘Ignore me. It’s been a difficult few days for me and today has been the most difficult of all.’

      ‘Why are you apologising? For once, you were honest about your feelings.’ Luca stared straight ahead, sunglasses hiding his eyes. Then he turned to look at her and when he spoke there was no trace of his usual humour. ‘We should go. Do you want me to drive?’

      ‘No.’ She was grateful to him for not delving further but of course he wouldn’t, would he? That sort of confession probably came under the heading of ‘emotional depth’ and Luca Corretti was a man who avoided ‘emotional depth’ at all costs.

      He was no doubt already trying to find ways to ease himself out of their ‘fake’ engagement because who would want to be engaged to someone as messed up as her?

      It took another ten minutes to get back to Luca’s house and, as the car purred through the security gates, she spotted cameras and two security guards.

      ‘You say you’re not worried about the press but you have very high-level security.’

      ‘That’s to protect me from all the women I’ve upset. and all the ones I haven’t yet upset, but probably will in the future.’ He was back to his normal self, his tone smooth and bored, and was relieved he clearly didn’t intend to question her further about her past.

      ‘I would have thought you needed an army for that.’

      ‘Fortunately for me I now have a fiancée.’ The tyres crunched on the gravel and he sprang from the car and opened the door for her in an old-fashioned gesture that surprised her. ‘I hate the word, but the institution might prove more useful than I could ever have imagined.’

      ‘So now you’re using me as a female defence system?’

      ‘Something like that.’ He relieved her of the car keys. ‘You drive well for a woman.’

      ‘That is so patronising. If I’d known you were going to say something like that I would have wrapped your precious Ferrari round a lamppost.’

      The banter felt so much more comfortable than confidences but just being with him unsettled her. She was used to spending her time around ridiculously attractive men—men who spent their days working on their physique, men who spent a considerable time in front of the mirror, none of whom tempted her. Luca was different. He was spectacularly handsome, that was true, his Sicilian bloodline evident in his darkly brooding features and his volatile personality, but for her the attraction lay deeper. She was drawn to his self-confidence, his lack of pretentiousness and, most of all, his innate honesty. Luca Corretti didn’t waste time putting a barrier between himself and the world and if they came too close, he simply shrugged.

      As his arm brushed against hers she felt sensation flutter across her skin and float through her body. She was tall but he was significantly taller, much taller than her current leading man, who needed heel lifts and clever camera angles to increase his height. Luca needed no such help.

      It was only as he closed the bedroom door behind them that she realised they hadn’t discussed this part of their arrangement.

      ‘Where am I sleeping?’

      ‘In my bed, where all good fiancée’s sleep.’

      Keeping her expression in place she dropped her purse on the soft white sofa. She realised that she was exhausted. She hadn’t slept well since hearing the film role was hers and now wouldn’t sleep until she knew she hadn’t lost it. ‘I will sleep in your bed, but not if you’re in it.’

      ‘Sleeping apart is not one of the habits of happily engaged couples.’

      ‘Unless you’re expecting hoards of slavering women to break into your room tonight, I assume we’re not going to have an audience for the next part of our deception?’

      ‘We might. It would strengthen our story if Geovana deserves to hear you moaning with pleasure as she walks past the door.’

      ‘I’m not a moaner.’

      He smiled as he undid the buttons of his shirt. ‘You’d moan if you were with me, bellissima.’

      ‘Sure of yourself, aren’t you?’

      ‘I’ve never subscribed to the benefits of false modesty. I can have you moaning in under thirty seconds. Want to try it out? Practice the scene?’

      Her heart was pounding. ‘I don’t need to practice. I’m a one-take wonder. And the only way I’d moan is if it was written into the script.’ Her mouth dried as he shrugged off the shirt, revealing bronzed shoulders and muscles that could have featured in an action movie. The hardness of his physique contrasted with the effortless elegance of his clothes and she clenched her jaw and dismissed the thought that he was better looking than any of the actors she’d worked with.

      ‘Admit it.’ Fully aware of her scrutiny, he dropped the shirt over the back of the nearest chair. ‘You can’t stop thinking about that kiss.’

      ‘What kiss?’

      He smiled. ‘How does it feel to spend your life pretending to be someone you’re not? Uncomfortable? Frustrating?’

      ‘I’m not pretending. This is who I am.’

      The smile faded and this time when he looked at her there was no sign of the flippant playboy. ‘No. You present the world with a plastic, perfect version of yourself. No flaws. You show the person you think the world wants to see, not the real you. Maybe that’s what some men want, but not me.’ The hardness of his tone surprised her and she took a step backwards, wondering what had triggered that response.

      ‘But