‘So how do you propose—no pun intended—to make this work? Not,’ Hannah informed him with swift asperity, ‘that I’m actually thinking of going along with this idea.’
‘Of course not,’ Luca murmured.
Hannah watched, mesmerised, as he tugged off his tie and then began to unbutton his shirt. ‘What are you doing?’ she squeaked.
‘Changing. We’re due for cocktails in an hour.’
‘Can’t you use the bathroom—?’ She nodded towards the door that led to what looked like a sumptuous en suite.
‘Why should I?’ Luca’s smile was wicked. ‘We’re engaged to be married, after all.’
Hannah took a deep breath. ‘So, you still haven’t told me how this is going to work.’
‘We’re going to act like we’re engaged. Simple.’
‘Simple?’ She opened her eyes to glare at Luca. He stood across the room, buckling the belt on a pair of grey trousers. His chest was still gloriously bare. ‘It’s not simple, Luca. We’re not engaged. We barely know each other. If someone asks either one of us anything about our relationship or how we met we’ll have no idea what to say.’
‘It’s best to keep as close to the truth as possible,’ Luca advised as he reached for a light blue shirt and shrugged into it. ‘You’re still my PA.’
‘And we just happen to be engaged? Convenient.’
He shot her a quick, hard smile. ‘It is, isn’t it?’
After spending three years as a die-hard New Yorker, KATE HEWITT now lives in a small village in the English Lake District with her husband, their five children and a golden retriever. In addition to writing intensely emotional stories, she loves reading, baking and playing chess with her son—she has yet to win against him, but she continues to try. Learn more about Kate at kate-hewitt.com.
To all my readers.
Thank you for your encouragement and support. It’s always a privilege to write stories for you.
LUCA MORETTI NEEDED a wife. Not a real one—heaven forbid he’d ever need that. No, he needed a temporary wife-to-be who was efficient, biddable, and discreet. A wife for the weekend.
‘Mr Moretti?’ His PA, Hannah Stewart, knocked once on the door before opening it and stepping inside his penthouse office overlooking a rain-washed Lombard Street in London’s City. ‘I have the letters for you to sign.’
Luca watched his PA walk towards him holding the sheaf of letters, her light brown hair neatly pulled back, her face set in calm lines. She wore a black pencil skirt, low heels, and a simple blouse of white silk. He’d never really bothered to notice his PA before, except at how quickly she could type and how discreet she could be when it came to unfortunate personal calls that occasionally came through to his office. Now he eyed her plain brown hair, and lightly freckled face that was pretty without being in any way remarkable. As for her figure...?
Luca let his gaze wander down his PA’s slender form. No breathtaking or bodacious curves, but it was passable.
Could he...?
She placed the letters in front of him and took a step back, but not before he caught a waft of her