The Ruthless Italian's Inexperienced Wife. Christina Hollis

in step beside her. He was close enough for her to sense the musky, warm male smell about him. It tantalised her nostrils until she had to glance at his face. As usual he was smiling, but it was to himself now, not her.

      ‘I never thought it would be a relief to find a woman whose eyes don’t light up every time she says the word Marco!’ he murmured.

      ‘Don’t worry, I’m not unique. Graduates from the academy for advanced childcare professionals I attended are trained to deal with celebrity parents at close quarters,’ Cheryl replied, glad he had hit on a bland subject. ‘Our illusions soon go. We stop noticing people like you as individuals. In my experience, they all treat their children the same way in any case,’ she finished, managing a barb.

      ‘Oh? And you’re so much better than they are, I suppose?’ he probed.

      ‘That’s why they employ top-class nannies like me, yes,’ Cheryl retorted, but regretted it straight away. Marco Rossi’s expression had hardened. She knew then it was a mistake to go on digging in the knife over Vettor.

      Luckily, they reached the door to Marco’s suite before either of them could react to her words. Cheryl stood aside. It was a good excuse for another change of tone.

      ‘I’ll go and fetch you some towels and pyjamas—’

      He exploded with laughter. ‘I don’t need pyjamas! I haven’t worn those since I left home as a teenager!’

      ‘Then what—’ Cheryl began, and stopped. What else would Marco Rossi wear to bed, apart from that crooked smile of his? Flustered, she looked down at the toes of her shoes and blushed.

      He stopped laughing the moment she realised her mistake. ‘Just towels will be fine.’

      Only gentle amusement tinged his words now. It gave Cheryl the confidence to look up and carry on.

      ‘I’ll be as quick as I can, although I must look in on Vettor every few minutes. He’ll be so pleased to know you’re here when he wakes up properly!’ she said, hoping it was true.

      ‘When are the electricity people turning up?’ Marco strolled past her into his room, already peeling off his sodden jacket.

      ‘They wouldn’t give me an exact time.’

      ‘In that case, you concentrate on Vettor. I’ll tackle the workmen when they get here.’

      ‘But you haven’t had any sleep!’

      ‘Don’t worry about that. A shower and something to eat will keep me going for a while longer.’

      Cheryl gazed at him, half afraid to see how much more he might take off while she was standing on the threshold. ‘I hope there’s something in the kitchen for you to eat. Things went a bit haywire when the staff left, and with Vettor being ill…’

      Marco nodded. ‘I’m glad you were here to look after him, Cheryl. I’m grateful. Your glowing references weren’t exaggerating, were they? You really are a remarkable woman.’

      Cheryl took a second step back, away from him. It was another compliment. This could only mean trouble. She began to wonder if perhaps her instincts were right—that only a split second had separated Marco’s silver tongue from feeling so sweet against her lips. The next time they were alone together her resistance might crumble altogether. She could not afford to fall under his spell again.

      ‘That’s why you pay staff like me such good rates,’ she said, emphasising the social divide between them on purpose. ‘People who only offer peanuts get the monkeys they deserve. And now I really must go and look for those towels.’

      Her excuse was as feeble as her will-power. The only reason she had to get away was to escape the torment of his presence.