The Correttis (Books 1-8). Кейт Хьюит

the length of the bedroom and then back again. She could hear the shower running and she turned her head, wrestling with an almost painful urge to throw caution to the wind and join him there.

      Admit it—last night was the hottest sex you’ve ever had.

      ‘No!’ She covered her ears with her hands to block out the sound of the water because hearing the water made her think of the man and thinking of the man made her think of his body and how it had felt to be with him.

      When that didn’t work she snatched up her bag in desperation and left the room.

      Down in the kitchen she found Geovana removing warm brioche from the oven. The scent was another assault on her already overloaded, overindulged senses.

      Her stomach rumbled. ‘Could I make myself some coffee, please?’ She muttered the words in English and vowed to learn more of the language while she was filming here. ‘Strong, black. Americano.’

      Geovana smiled and responded in Italian.

      Taylor caught one word that she translated as breakfast and shook her head. ‘I don’t eat breakfast.’ But Geovana either didn’t understand her or chose to ignore her because she loaded a plate with fresh, glossy brioche and placed it on the scrubbed, antique table in front of Taylor.

      Her mouth watered. It was as if everything in this house was designed to tempt her self-control. She felt herself weaken. ‘That smells so good but I really can’t—’

      ‘Granita.’ Geovana placed a glass filled with frosted sorbet in front of her and gestured that Taylor should eat the brioche with the granita. Unable to find a way of refusing without offending, Taylor broke off a piece of the soft, warm roll and ate as instructed, intending to take only a nibble.

      ‘Oh, that’s so good… .’ She closed her eyes briefly, enjoying the flavour and the novelty of starting her day with food. She was so used to disciplining herself not to eat that she’d forgotten the pleasure of breakfast.

      ‘Sex and food in one day. You really have fallen off the wagon.’ Luca strolled into the room looking maddeningly fresh and relaxed while Taylor averted her gaze. He was the biggest temptation of all.

      ‘I came down for coffee and—’ She broke off as he kissed her and then stole a corner of her brioche. ‘Don’t do that!’

      ‘Kiss you or steal your food?’

      Judging from the way Geovana beamed at them both, she was thrilled by the scene of morning-after domesticity and Taylor was trapped by the story they’d spun.

      Luca spoke in Italian to Geovana and helped himself to coffee and brioche while watching Taylor. ‘You don’t like breakfast?’

      ‘Of course I like breakfast. It’s my favourite meal if you must know. Crispy bacon and a short stack.’ Her stomach growled. ‘I ran away from home once just so that I could eat it.’

      ‘You had to run away from home to eat breakfast?’

      ‘My mother decided that if I was allowed to embrace my appetites I soon wouldn’t have a career.’

      ‘So that’s when you stopped eating.’

      ‘I didn’t stop eating but I learned to control myself.’ Until I met you.

      ‘But having to control yourself for every minute of every day is exhausting. Eventually your natural impulses escape.’

      ‘No, they don’t, because I hold them in.’ Except she hadn’t held them in the night before. She knew it. He knew it.

      Taylor found herself looking at him across the table and thinking about the night before and maybe he felt it because his gaze lifted to hers and in that single split second she knew he was thinking about the same thing. Dropping her gaze, she focused on her breakfast, feeling intensely vulnerable. Not because they’d had sex, but because she’d been herself. It had been real.

      And he knew it.

      ‘I need to make a move.’ She stood up suddenly and gave Geovana a faltering smile. ‘Thank you. Grazie…’ She stumbled over the word, embarrassed that her Italian was so limited. ‘That was the most delicious breakfast.’

      Draining his coffee, Luca rose to his feet, kissed Geovana lightly on both cheeks and walked to the door. ‘I’ll give you a lift.’

      She would have preferred to drive herself but she knew that to have admitted that would have triggered questions she didn’t want to answer so instead she followed him into the car, her heart sinking at the thought of another day of filming. She wanted to lose herself in the role but with Rafaele hovering in her line of vision it was impossible.

      ‘So what’s the history between you and Rafaele?’ Luca accelerated down the long, tree-lined drive. ‘You dumped him. Why the antagonism?’

      ‘I’m sure your world is populated by disgruntled exes.’

      ‘That’s all that’s going on here?’

      She almost told him the truth but stopped herself in time, alarmed by the impulse to confide. She’d learned never to confide. Never to trust. She knew better than anyone that today’s confession was tomorrow’s headline so she kept her answer suitably bland. ‘He isn’t an easy man to please. He’s very critical.’ And he’d threatened her, but of course only she knew that. Only she knew what he was holding over her.

      ‘These photographs are boring.’ Luca scanned the images of a pretty girl standing on the sand with the sea behind her. ‘It’s like an advert for butter, not clothes. She’s too wholesome. That girl has never had wild dirty sex in her life. Where’s the edge? At the very least you should have stuck a huge shark in the water. We need something more contemporary and modern.’

      ‘She is modern.’

      ‘She looks like the girl next door.’ It didn’t help that he’d just had a night of raunchy sex with a woman he suspected might be half she-wolf. He turned away and stared out of the window of his office, thinking about Taylor.

      She hadn’t had much sleep the night before and she was expected to put in a twelve-hour day on the set with a director known for his childish temper tantrums and out of control drinking habit.

      A director who was clearly still festering over the fact Taylor had once dumped him.

      Making a snap decision, he picked up his car keys. ‘I’m taking my fiancée—’ he frowned slightly as he realised he’d managed to say the word without stumbling ‘—my fiancée for lunch. We’ll meet again tomorrow to talk about the campaign.’

      Wondering why no one else shared his vision for the new collection, he strode to the car and drove to the docklands where filming was taking place.

      As a Corretti and Taylor’s fiancé, he was allowed through the security cordon without question and he was about to ask someone where he could find Taylor when he saw her stroll through the abandoned docklands buildings, her hair flowing over an impossibly thin dress that floated around her slender frame. And he knew instantly that this was the image he wanted for his campaign. The contrast between decaying urban and floral femininity was exactly the look he wanted. Gianni had wanted a marine theme—docklands could be classed as ‘marine.’

      He was reaching for his phone to call Gianni and break the good news that he’d found the perfect setting, when he saw Rafaele striding towards Taylor.

      Just looking at the way he walked made Luca clench his jaw. It was more of a swagger than a walk.

      The man was a bully, a chauvinist and an idiot.

      He watched, assuming they were about to have a conversation, and froze as he saw the other man grab her arm, spin her round and pin her roughly against the dilapidated wall of one of the old docklands buildings. Taylor struggled frantically, her fists pummelling his chest as he trapped her against the wall. She was twisting and turning like a madwoman and when Rafaele locked his hand