He couldn’t say. But it seemed that they did now. He wanted to wrap his hands around her ankles as he eased her legs apart. Kiss up and up till his mouth reached the heart of her. Make her scream his name. Recollections of those drawings of hers flooded back. A man’s head buried between a woman’s thighs. Hand gripping his hair, holding him tight. Holding him in place. That was the meal he craved right now...
Matteo took a deep, steadying breath. Fantasies were fine. It was the reality that could come back to bite you and that was a sobering thought. She looked up at him in anticipation, probably wondering why he was standing there. What would she do if she could delve inside his head, read his imaginings? Run to him, or away? He’d never know. Matteo hopped into the car next to her. After a blissfully short drive achingly aware of her presence next to him, they pulled up at a street at the bottom of a hill.
‘Are we here already? We could have walked!’
‘We can walk back after the meal, if you like.’
He could imagine that. The moonlight over the lake. Strolling back to the villa, hand in hand...
Where had that absurd thought come from? He’d never once held hands with a woman.
Matteo shrugged it off as he hopped out of the car and tipped the driver. Leading Louisa up a narrow street to a red door in a centuries-old wall. Just a small sign with the words Trattoria Galante announcing what lay behind. He pushed it open and they walked through a softly lit hall.
‘Signor Bainbridge!’ The ebullient owner welcomed him almost like a prodigal son returned. ‘I have a special table for you both.’
They were led through premises bustling with locals, with its old stone walls and tables with checked cloths, towards the rear. Louisa seemed a little wide eyed, almost overwhelmed. He settled his hand on her back. Gently guiding her through. Trying not to forget how new this was for her. The bile rose to his throat. Anger at Mae, for taking in a child who she seemed to have kept hidden away rather than showing her the world. Not ever having been to the beach. Never having eaten in a restaurant.
Why?
Mae had done all of those things before her husband had died. She must have known what a young woman needed out of life, and yet she’d kept Louisa there like some hermit. It made no sense.
He flexed his fingers on the small of her spine. He’d started now, and he’d complete the job. She wouldn’t want to go back to Easton Hall after he’d finished with her. He could take her to all his properties. His boutique hotel in Paris, his resort in the Maldives. His island in Australia. There were any number of places and he’d show them all to her...
Except that wasn’t his job. His job was to set her free and watch her fly. Yet the ideas took hold and wouldn’t let go. How he’d love to see her bury her toes in pristine white sand for the first time. Step into the turquoise waters of a tropical beach. To watch her relish the food at each of the finest restaurants he knew. He could show her the world, yet somehow, he knew...
That was the most dangerous fantasy of them all.
They sat alone in a small courtyard. Above them strings of lights wound through a vine-covered pergola glimmered like fireflies. Candles flickered on the table, lending everything a soft glow. It looked as if she’d been dropped into some kind of wonderland. If she’d allowed herself to dream of the perfect date, then this would have come close.
Of course, dreams couldn’t hurt you. Not like people.
People were all risk. Little reward.
Anyhow, she’d never have a date because relationships weren’t in her repertoire. What was the point of a relationship if you didn’t want love? That hadn’t ever been something she’d searched for, not romantic love at least. Love didn’t mean happiness to her. Her mother had said she’d loved her and done terrible things. Love meant loss, obsession. Something unhealthy.
There was nothing healthy about it.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy tonight, though she wouldn’t let her imagination run away from her. Matteo was simply being kind again. He’d used the word ‘date’ as a figure of speech, that was all. Yet it was as though he’d stolen a little piece of her heart when he’d brought her here to this romantic setting. The tableware gleaming. A pristine, starched white tablecloth. A little vase of geraniums adding a vibrant splash of colour in all the green.
She pulled her reading glasses from her small clutch, put them on and looked down at the menu, but it was in Italian. Her stomach grumbled.
Matteo chuckled. ‘Hungry?’
He was so devastatingly handsome. He’d taken off his jacket, now sitting across from her in a white shirt that accentuated the golden colour of his skin. His eyes flickering chocolate in the candlelight.
‘I don’t understand anything on the menu.’
‘There’s no risk. Everything here’s good but I can order if you like. Surprise you.’
Matteo picked up the menu himself, held it in his long, strong fingers. How they’d touched her as he’d guided her through to their table, sending a shiver of pleasure up her spine. How she wanted him to touch her like that again...
He smiled and a flicker of heat ignited deep inside her, glowing like the candles on the tabletop.
‘Since this is a celebration, how about something that sparkles? Have you ever had champagne?’
The heat rose to her face. Embarrassment. What must he think of her, especially given her admission she’d never been to a restaurant before? The man was so...urbane. He probably drank champagne all the time.
‘I wasn’t totally sheltered. Mae opened a bottle on my sixteenth birthday. Dom Perignon, I believe.’
