of the twenty-first century because of the absence of cars.
But as she’d grown increasingly disorientated, her uneasiness had increased. She’d ended up in dead-end alleyways, silent and beautiful courtyards with no obvious signage.
Matteo was annoyed with her. No—scratch that. He’d sounded ballistic. Would he fire her on her first day?
She walked over to the canal that ran diagonally to the start of Calle Ca Rizzo and moved down onto the canal steps. The temperature was dropping and the cold stone bit against her skin.
Matteo was like Venice. Utterly beautiful but completely frustrating. All morning she had tried to remain professional, but she had been constantly distracted.
Distracted by his deep, potent musky scent when he moved closer to her to point something out in the file sitting between them.
Distracted by the perfect fit of his grey trousers on his narrow hips when he stood.
Distracted by the sight of his large hand lying on the table beside her: golden skin, wide palm, smooth knuckles, long, strong fingers tapering off into pale pink nails, all perfectly clipped into smooth ovals. Several times she had lost her concentration to those hands, dreaming about them on her skin, removing her clothes...
She had been glad of an excuse to get away from the palazzo, needing some space to pull herself together.
She dropped her head into her hands. What was she doing? Why was she having these thoughts? She wasn’t interested in men. In any form of relationship. She had a job to do. And falling for the boss was not only out of the question it was beyond stupid. Well, she hoped she still had a job to do. Maybe not when he arrived...
Fifteen minutes later she saw him stop on a footbridge further down the canal and stare towards her. His hip-length black wool pea coat was topped with a dark grey woollen hat. The pull of attraction tugged on every cell in her body. His mouth was turned downwards in a you’re in big trouble scowl.
She jumped up and tried to match his stride in her direction, but her legs were too wobbly so she careened her way along the canal bank, probably looking as if she had recently consumed a considerable amount of Chianti.
When they met her words of apology became lost. His hat hugged his skull, emphasising the intensity of his golden-brown eyes framed by thick black eyelashes, the beauty of his honey-coloured skin, the proud straight nose, the no-nonsense mouth softened by the cleft in his chin.
That gorgeous mouth hardened. ‘We are late for our appointments.’
Did that mean he wasn’t going to fire her?
Without another word he walked away and she followed alongside him, over countless bridges and through a maze of calli. They passed few people, and in the tight confines of the laneways he seemed taller and more powerful than she remembered.
She gave a quick summary of her meetings, updating him on any changes. Hoping his mood might improve. He made no comment but gave an occasional nod. At least he was listening.
Eventually they arrived at the broad reach of Canale della Giudecca and he led her to a sleek, highly polished wooden motor boat moored at a landing stage.
After untying the two mooring ropes he held the stern tight against the wooden stage. He held out his hand to her. ‘You need to climb aboard.’
She hesitated for a moment, suddenly wary of touching him. But, with the boat swaying in the choppy waters, she decided she’d risk holding his hand over the chagrin of being crushed against the landing stage.
His hand encased hers, and his powerful strength guided her on board. For a crazy few seconds she was engulfed by the sensation that she would always be safe with him in her life.
With practised ease Matteo pulled the boat away from the stage and was soon heading across the canal towards St Mark’s Square.
‘I’m sorry I got lost. I didn’t mean to inconvenience you.’
He gave that ubiquitous continental shrug that might mean he accepted her apology with some reservations or was so irritated by her that he couldn’t speak.
At first she thought he was going back up the Grand Canal to Ca’ Divina, but just west of St Mark’s Square he turned right and slowly motored up a smaller canal. The canal was busy with gondolas, the majority of their passengers embracing and kissing couples.
She plucked her phone out of her pocket and pressed some buttons mindlessly. She had thought she wouldn’t mind seeing couples together, enjoying this city of romance. Boy, had she been wrong.
A heavy pain constricted her chest.
She was supposed to be here with her husband. Not with a man who was clearly irritated with her. Not with a man who in truth she was more attracted to than she had ever been to her fiancé.
That truth was shaming.
That truth was bewildering.
* * *
‘As I explained this morning, five of my companies have a presence here on Calle Larga.’
Matteo came to a stop outside the type of store Emma would window shop at when walking along Bond Street in London but would never dare to enter, knowing her monthly salary wouldn’t even buy her a set of barely there but, oh, so gorgeous underwear.
He pointed along the bustling street. ‘Verde for handbags, Marco for shoes, Osare is the label for our younger urban clients... Gioiello stocks daywear, and...’ Gesturing to the store behind them, he added, ‘And VMV for the discerning.’
Was he aware of the constant looks of appreciation he received from passers-by? How within the VMV store a bevy of model-like assistants were flapping their arms in excitement at his imminent entrance?
‘I had hoped to take you into each store so that you could familiarise yourself with our product range.’ He threw her a reproachful frown. ‘But that will not be possible now. We only have time for your fittings.’
With that he turned, and the door of the store was magically opened by a stealthy doorman Emma hadn’t seen lurking behind the glass pane.
Matteo gestured for her to enter first.
She took a step closer to him and in a low voice asked, ‘What do you mean, “fittings”?’
‘You will need dresses and gowns for the various events you will be accompanying me to during the week.’
‘I have my own clothes.’
With a raised critical eyebrow he ran his gaze down over her body. Okay, so her black padded jacket and red skirt mightn’t be the most glamorous, but she did own some nice clothes.
‘I mean I have suitable dresses back at the palazzo.’
He stepped closer, his huge body dwarfing hers. His head dipped down and he glared into her eyes. ‘I don’t have time for this. Let me be clear. You are representing my companies this week. You have to wear clothing from the lines. It’s not negotiable. If you don’t like it then I’m happy for you to leave.’
Emma gave a quick nod and, with dread exploding in her stomach like fast-rising dough, stepped inside the store and sank into plush carpet. She opened up her padded jacket and yanked at the collar of her jumper. She was burning up. Not only from the heat of the store but from the unfriendly gazes being thrown in her direction by the models.
Matteo walked through the store, pointing out garments which were immediately whisked away to the rear of the store.
‘Bene. I’ve selected the gowns which I think will suit you.’ He exchanged some rapid words with the woman who had accompanied him in his selection of dresses. ‘Andreina will help you try them on.’
Emma smiled warily at the six foot ash blonde diva standing before her. In return she received a cool blue stare. Boy, was she glad she had been waxed to within an inch of her life in preparation for her wedding.
The