The Correttis (Books 1-8). Кейт Хьюит

up to a lunch stark naked.’ Luca drained his glass. ‘When he bawled me out I told him there was no point in getting dressed because he always told me to get changed anyway. He never criticised me after that.’

      Taylor laughed. ‘I can imagine you saying that. How old were you?’

      ‘Nine, I think. I don’t remember. All I remember was learning that pleasing people is a thankless task and you’re much better off pleasing yourself.’

      ‘But you made him proud. You’ve turned Corretti into something that people associate with luxury and elegance.’

      ‘When I took over, the focus was on couture. I persuaded them to take a more integrated business model. We expanded into ready-to-wear and accessories and then we launched Corretti Home. Furniture, lighting, bed linen…’ He gave a mocking smile. ‘You can date in your Corretti dress and then go home and have sex on your luxurious Corretti sofa wrapped up in Corretti sheets.’

      ‘Is that your tag line? Corretti—Bedlinen for Better Sex?’

      ‘Not officially but I think it’s possibly an improvement on the one we picked for the campaign. Thank you, by the way—’ his tone was casual ‘—you were brilliant tonight. I haven’t had a chance to ask how it went today on set. Did Rafaele behave himself?’

      ‘It went well.’ She chose not to divulge just how awful the day had been but Luca’s gaze was steady on her face and she had a feeling he knew.

      ‘If he steps out of line, tell me.’

      ‘He’s my problem.’

      ‘You’re my fiancée.’

      Her stomach curled and knotted. And that, she thought, was turning out to be more complicated than she’d ever imagined.

      A week later, exhausted after days of filming with Rafaele and sleepless nights in Luca’s bedroom, Taylor slid a pair of dark glasses onto her nose, took a deep breath and left her trailer. Blinded by a storm of camera flashes she struggled to keep the smile in place and it came as a relief to see the red blaze of Luca’s Ferrari. He was leaning against the bonnet, talking into his phone.

      ‘No, I haven’t heard from my brother. No, I don’t have any comment on his behaviour,’ he drawled, grabbing Taylor’s hand and hauling her against him. ‘I’m the last person to comment on anyone’s behaviour… . I don’t have a comment on my own either because frankly it’s none of your business.’ He hung up and pulled her into him. ‘Cristo, you’re sexy. How was your day?’

      ‘Exhausting. I filmed the scene where my husband appears from the dead and discovers I’m carrying his best friend’s baby.’ And she’d worked harder than she’d ever worked in order to make sure no criticism could be levelled at her but still the director had managed to make her feel inferior with his constant sniping. He’d made her redo each scene repeatedly even though she knew it had been perfect the first time. He’d wanted her to lose her temper and she’d been determined to hang on to control even if it killed her.

      ‘What you need is to chill or, better still, get hot and naked with someone and that someone is me.’

      She found herself looking into sultry, sexy eyes fringed with impossibly thick, dark lashes and wishing she could do just that. And then she found herself wishing she could turn off her senses because she didn’t want to feel this way.

      Spending so much time in his company was creating a level of tension she hadn’t thought possible. He was supposed to be a solution to a problem, instead of which he was becoming the problem.

      Her instinctive response was to pull back but she was expected to play her part so when he flattened his hand against her back and drew her against him, she lifted her mouth to his. She’d intended it to be a brief kiss but his hands came up to her face and he kissed her slowly and hungrily. And because he was so good at this, because he somehow knew everything there was to know about exactly the right way to kiss her, she didn’t even try to fight it.

      Seduced by the heat of his mouth and the skill of his kiss, Taylor felt will power drain from her like rain water down the gutter. If it had been up to her she never would have stopped. Who would choose to end something so perfect? And in the end he was the one who slowly lifted his head and broke the connection.

      Dizzy with it, Taylor looked up at him, expecting to see mockery, but he wasn’t laughing.

      And she wasn’t laughing either.

      ‘Let’s get out of here.’ It was the most serious she’d ever heard him and suddenly she was relieved she’d thought about this earlier before he’d fused her brain with the skill of his mouth.

      ‘I’ve already planned tonight. I have a surprise for you—tickets for the opera in Palermo.’ The idea had come to her halfway through the day when she’d been desperate to do something that allowed them to be ‘seen’ together, but still gave her privacy from the public. What better place than a dark box high above the auditorium? And it had the added benefit that she’d be saved from intimate conversation.

      She had no idea if he even liked opera and no opportunity to ask him with the journalists surrounding them. One of them pushed against her in an attempt to elbow the competition out of the way and Taylor would have stumbled but a strong arm came round her waist. Holding her safe in the protective circle of his arm, Luca snapped something in Italian that Taylor didn’t understand. Whatever it was that he said turned the man several shades paler and he backed away, giving them space, hands raised in a gesture of apology.

      ‘Get in the car, dolcezza.’ Luca was calm and in control. ‘I’ll get you out of here.’

      Grateful to him, Taylor slid into the Ferrari thinking how much easier it was to handle the press when he was with her. He wore the Corretti power as lightly and elegantly as his immaculate suits but there was strength and steel under the casual sophistication and she knew the press found him intimidating. They treated him with a degree of caution they never afforded to her.

      ‘Thank you.’

      He didn’t have to ask what she was thanking him for. ‘I’m starting to understand why you’re so scared of the press. They never leave you alone.’ He was frowning as he weaved through the heavy Palermo traffic. ‘Has it always been like that?’

      ‘Yes. Right from the beginning. I had a mother who knew how to give them exactly what they wanted. She was the master at drawing media attention and using it.’

      ‘Just what you want when you’re an awkward adolescent.’

      ‘It’s got worse since then. I’ve come to accept I’ll never shake them off. My dream is to go out and for no one to recognise me. Once, just once, I’d love to live life like a normal person, not having to worry about who is pointing a camera and how what I do will be interpreted. Can you imagine that?’ She gave a short, desperate laugh because she knew it was never going to happen.

      ‘What would you do? If you could go out and not be recognised—what would you do?’

      ‘I don’t know. Just go to a concert or something and stand in the crowd. Blend in. But seeing as that isn’t going to happen, I choose to do things that give me some privacy. Do you even like opera? It seemed like a good idea but now I’m not sure.’

      ‘I’m Sicilian. I love opera.’

      She relaxed slightly. Even the most persistent observer was unlikely to interrupt the opera to ask them questions about their relationship, and the bonus was that they wouldn’t be able to talk. He wouldn’t be able to make some sharp comment that showed how easily he saw through to the person she really was.

      He already knew far too much about her.

      An evening at the opera should be perfect.

      Except that it didn’t turn out that way.

      She’d thought that the dark would protect them from prying eyes, but it turned out she was wrong about that too.

      Seated