Luca stood before her, impossibly tall, imposing. Infinitely fascinating.
“Luca,” she said hoarsely.
He didn’t answer, but looked down at her searchingly. What the question was she did not know, but her face must have signaled an answer, because with a muttered groan Luca pulled her close, molding her long curves against his hard body, one hand tilting her chin up as his mouth came down upon hers.
There was nothing but him and the heat blazing between them. Nothing but the here and the now. Nothing but them.
What are your most romantic memories?
Oh, bella Italia! Many years ago I visited Italy for the first time on my first holiday with my not-yet-husband. We spent the most magical week in Sorrento walking around ancient ruins and admiring the stunning views across the incredible bay of Naples. Less than two years later we had our very own room with a view when we spent our honeymoon in Florence and the glorious Tuscan countryside. Writing Minty and Luca was the perfect opportunity to revisit some of my favorite places—even if it was only in my imagination! Is there anywhere more romantic than Sorrento or Florence or Rome? I couldn’t think of a better setting for my wild, impetuous heroine and her childhood crush.
When socialite Minty Davenport finds herself back in the headlines and cut off from her trust fund there’s only one place she can go—back to the only place she’s ever called home and to the man she ran out on six years ago. Ice-cream maker Luca Di Tore has always disapproved of the spoiled party girl. Can she persuade him to give her one last chance?
Writing this book took me back to the Italy I love, to the smell of lemons in the air, the sun warming my bare arms, to seas so impossibly blue they look like they’ve been filtered on Instagram. And the food! Trattorias selling ambrosial pizza, fresh seafood and local wines—and let’s not forget the incredible gelati. Mine’s a frutti di bosco e limone, per favore.
I hope reading about Minty and Luca transports you to Italy, too, and that you love Minty and Luca as much as I do.
Love,
Jessica x
After learning to read aged just two, JESSICA GILMORE spent every childhood party hiding in bedrooms in case the birthday girl had a book or two she hadn’t read yet. Discovering Harlequin on a family holiday, Jessica realized that romance writing was her true vocation and proceeded to spend her math lessons practicing her art, creating Dynasty-inspired series starring herself and Morten Harket’s cheekbones. Writing for Harlequin® really is a dream come true!
A former au pair, bookseller, marketing manager and Scarborough-seafront trader selling rock from under a sign that said Cheapest on the Front, Jessica now works as a membership manager for a regional environmental charity. Sadly, she spends most of her time chained to her desk, wrestling with databases, but likes to sneak out to one of their beautiful reserves whenever she gets a chance. Married to an extremely patient man, Jessica lives in the beautiful and historic city of York with one daughter, one very fluffy dog, two dog-loathing cats and a goldfish named Bob.
On the rare occasions that she is not writing, working, taking her daughter to activities or tweeting, Jessica likes to plan holidays—and uses her favorite locations in her books. She writes deeply emotional romance with a hint of humor, a splash of sunshine and usually a great deal of delicious food—and equally delicious heroes.
For Abby
My amazing, enthusiastic, enquiring, bright girl. Thank you for all your encouragement, belief and pride—and thank you for just being you. I love you.
I want to thank everyone who has supported Minty, especially my friends and colleagues who voted daily in SYTYCW 12 and begged me not to give up. Special thanks once again to Jane, Julia and Maggie for reading every single version with patience, humor and just the occasional crack of the whip, and I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Heidi Rice for a thoroughly comprehensive New Writer’s Scheme report, thank you.
Finally, thanks to Dan for all your support x
‘NO, HE ISN’T expecting me, and no, I don’t have an appointment, but...’
The impeccably made-up woman behind the desk held up a hand dismissively. ‘I am sorry, signorina, but without an appointment I cannot let you go in.’
Minty Davenport suppressed a sigh. It was only 10:00 a.m. but she had already done more this morning than she usually managed in a full day. After negotiating the Tube armed with two large suitcases, battling the automated check-in of the budget airline and enduring her taxi driver’s taste in music, she really needed something to go her way. Even the subtle scent of juniper, olives and garlic, and the sight of much missed rolling hills and olive groves, had failed to settle her nerves.
‘Here is Signor Di Tore now,’ the receptionist said, thankfully, gesturing to someone behind Minty. Minty closed her eyes, butterflies tumbling around her stomach.
I’m not ready for this.
But she had no choice.
Calm, collected and professional, Minty reminded herself, taking a deep breath and straightening her shoulders before pivoting round, confident smile pinned brightly onto her face.
Only to be transported back in time to her gauche teen self. To when just the sight of him had caused the breath to whoosh out of her body like a blow to the stomach—a hard blow.
Oh, he had changed; only for the better. She’d been hoping for seedy, balding and obese. No such luck. He was still enviably trim, but muscled in the right places. His dark hair was cut shorter than she remembered, with just enough length to run her fingers through; those strangely light caramel eyes framed by long, dark lashes. Devil’s eyes, she used to taunt him.
Okay. Time to switch it on. She could do this.
‘Buongiorno, Luca. What a beautiful day. It was so gloomy when I left London this morning, but spring seems well and truly to have hit Italy.’
Luca raised an eyebrow, laughter lurking in hooded eyes. ‘I don’t know what part of that statement surprises me more,’ he said. ‘Polite chit-chat about the weather, or the realisation that you must have got up at the crack of dawn to get here. Unless you didn’t bother going to bed at all; jumped on the plane straight from one of your Mayfair nightclubs? It wouldn’t be the first time,’ he added.
Minty clenched her fists against the light wool of her skirt, resisting the temptation to smooth down the material. ‘No, it wouldn’t,’ she agreed evenly. ‘But you are behind the times, Luca darling; I haven’t partied in Mayfair for years.’ She smiled sweetly up at him. ‘All the best clubs are in the east of the city now, you know. And I’m not dressed for dancing.’
Damn, she never knew when to stop talking. Why did she have to mention her clothes rather than let them make the statement for her? The laughter in Luca’s eyes ratcheted up as he surveyed her up and down, the firm lips folding together to suppress something that looked suspiciously like a smile. ‘So I see.’
She had dressed carefully, appropriately, in a simple grey, short-sleeved dress, a wide red belt adding a splash of colour as it cinched her narrow waist. Her shoes were a sensible height, her jewellery elegant and understated. She had even pulled her long blonde hair back into a loose bun. All she needed was a pair of glasses perched on her nose and a briefcase to make the metamorphosis complete. Leaving London in the lamplit, drizzly early hours, Minty had felt smart, professional, businesslike.
Now she felt like a child playing dress-up.
‘Not