Powerful Italian, Penniless Housekeeper by India Grey

Author:India Grey [Grey, India]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2009-01-07T16:00:00+00:00

Lorenzo slammed his fist against the wall, cursing viciously and eliciting a look of great alarm from a passing wedding guest.

What was it about Sarah Halliday that made him screw up so spectacularly every time he spoke to her?

Dio, he was used to dealing with demanding producers, bolshy film crews and Hollywood A-list actresses, who were surely some of the most volatile, egocentric, emotionally unstable people on the planet, and he was renowned in the business for his ability to get them to do what he wanted. But put him in front of this girl—this ordinary, unassuming, self-deprecating girl—and suddenly his responses were all over the place.

He hadn’t meant it to sound like that. He hadn’t meant to put her down—she had her family for that, per l’amore de Dio, and he’d seen how she not only looked after her child, but the whole useless, lazy lot of them too. He’d simply meant that she put herself last. Always.

And that he didn’t like it.

He shook his head, suddenly noticing the throbbing in his knuckles where they’d hit the stone. God, what a fool, he thought bleakly as he gingerly flexed his aching fingers. What a bloody stupid thing to have done.

Although actually, when you looked at it in context of the greater scheme of things, punching a wall wasn’t so bad. After all, he actually had the girl who owned the rights to the film he’d been wanting to make for the last fifteen years right there in his house. Right there in his arms, at one memorable point. And he hadn’t even got around to mentioning it yet.

That was even more stupid.

He inhaled, deeply and rapidly, and leaned back against the wall. Most stupid of all was the fact that with everything he said to her, everything he did, he seemed to be making it more and more difficult to bring the subject up, and more and more likely that if he did she would tell him exactly what he could do with his film. And now time was running out. Tomorrow, as she said, she would be leaving.

Shouts of children’s laughter drifted through the drowsy afternoon. It was a sound not previously heard in the elegant formality of Castellaccio’s gardens. Not by him, anyway, although the palazzo itself had been here for five hundred years, so countless children must have run across its lawns and shrieked with excitement as they played hide-and-seek in the trees. Through a dappling of leaves at the end of the lawn he could see the pale glimmer of Lottie’s dress as she ran, chased by Alfredo’s little boy, and before he had time to think about what he was doing he found himself walking across the lawn towards them, a plan half forming in his mind.

Not so much a plan as an impulse, actually. Like a plan, but less sensible. Less logical. And with a lot more potential for disaster.

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