LITMIR.BIZ

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I intend to keep you for ever and ever. Anything less than eternity wouldn’t be enough, amata mia.’

      ‘The baby was a shock, wasn’t it?’ She sighed, walking back towards the house with him hand in hand.

      ‘A wonderful one. Our little miracle,’ Gaetano said with sudden rueful humour. ‘It took one hell of a baby to get in under my radar, so I’ll be expecting a very determined personality in the family.’

      Gaetano halted at that point to claim a kiss. And Poppy threw herself into that kiss with abandon. He pressed her back against a tree trunk, his body hard and urgent against hers and a rippling shudder of excitement shimmied through her slender length.

      ‘Let’s go to bed,’ she suggested, looking up at him with bold appreciative eyes.

      ‘We haven’t had dinner yet and a mother-to-be needs sustenance,’ Gaetano told her lazily, trailing her indoors and out to the terrace where the table awaited them.

      But neither of them ate very much. Between the intense looks exchanged and the suggestive conversation, it wasn’t very long before they headed upstairs at a very adult stately pace, which broke down into giggles and a clumsy embrace as Poppy rugby-tackled Gaetano down onto the floor of their bedroom. By the time they made it to the bed and he had moved the suitcase she had left there they were kissing passionately and holding each other so tightly that it was a challenge to remove clothes. But they managed through kisses and caresses and mutual promises to make love with all the fire and excitement that powered them both and afterwards they lay with their arms wrapped round each other, secure in their love and talking about their future.

      * * *

      Poppy glanced out of the front window and saw her children with Rodolfo. Sarah was holding his hand and chattering, her little face animated below her halo of red curls. Benito was pedalling his trike doggedly in front of them, ignoring the fact that the deep gravel on the path made cycling a challenge for a little boy.

      Sarah was four years old and took after her mother in looks and her father in nature. She already knew all her numbers, was very much a thinking child and tended to look after her little brother in a bossy way. Benito was two, dark of hair and eye and as lively as a jumping bean. He was on the go from dawn to dusk and generally fell asleep during his bedtime story in his father’s arms.

      Sometimes, or at least until she looked at her expanding family, Poppy found it hard to credit that she had been married for five years. Gaetano might have been a late convert to family life but he had taken to it like the proverbial duck to water. He adored his children and rushed home to be with them and it was thanks to his persuasion that Poppy was carrying their third child. Third and last, she had told him firmly even though she liked the way their family had developed. In retrospect she was glad they hadn’t waited and that Sarah had taken them by surprise and not having too big a gap between the children meant that they could grow up with each other.

      But, at the same time, Poppy was also looking forward to having more time to devote to her own interests. She had taken several landscape designer courses over the years and was planning to set up a small landscaping firm. She had redesigned the gardens at La Fattoria to make them more child-friendly and had already taken several private commissions from friends, one of which had won an award. The gardens at the London town house and at Woodfield Hall both bore her stamp and when she wanted to relax she was usually to be found in a greenhouse tending the rare orchids she collected.

      Gaetano was CEO of the Leonetti Bank and when he travelled, Poppy and the children often went with him. He put his family first and at the heart of his life, ensuring that they took lengthy breaks abroad to wind down from their busy lives. Poppy’s mother, Jasmine, had made a good recovery and was now training as an addiction counsellor to help others as she had been helped. She lived in Manchester with her sister but she was a frequent visitor in London, as was Poppy’s brother. Damien, backed by Gaetano, had recently started up a specialist motorcycle repair shop.

      In fact there wasn’t a cloud in Poppy’s sky because she was happy. Sadly, Muffin had passed away of old age the year before and he had been replaced by a rescued golden Labrador who enjoyed rough and tumble games with the children.

      ‘Guess who...’ A pair of hands covered her eyes while a lean, hard body connected with hers.

      Poppy grinned. The familiar scent of Gaetano’s cologne assailed her while his hands travelled places nobody else would have dared. ‘You’re the only sex pest I know,’ she teased, suppressing a moan as the hand that had splayed across her slightly swollen belly snaked lower and circled, sending sweet sensation snaking through her responsive body.

      Gaetano spun his wife round and she reached up to wind her arms round his neck. ‘Sorry, I slept in this morning and missed seeing you.’

      ‘You were up with Benito last night when he had a nightmare, amata mia,’ he reminded her. ‘That’s why I didn’t wake you.’

      Poppy teased the corner of his wide sensual mouth with her own, heat warming her core. She wanted to drag him to the bed and ravish him. Her hunger for him never went entirely away. He shrugged off his jacket and stared down at her with smouldering dark golden eyes. ‘Share the shower with me...’

      ‘Promise not to get my hair wet,’ she bargained.

      ‘You know I can’t.’ An unholy grin slashed Gaetano’s lips. ‘Sometimes you get carried away. Is that my fault?’

      ‘Absolutely your fault,’ his wife told him as she peeled off her dress.

      Gaetano treated her to a fiercely appreciative appraisal. ‘Did I ever tell you how amazingly sexy you look when you’re pregnant?’

      ‘You may have mentioned it once or twice—’

      ‘Sometimes I can hardly believe you’re mine. I love you so much, amata mia,’ Gaetano swore passionately, gathering her up into his arms with care and kissing her breathless.

      ‘I love you too,’ she said between kisses, happiness bubbling through her at the sure knowledge that she was going to get her hair very wet indeed.

      * * * * *

       Inherited by Ferranti

      Kate Hewitt

       CHAPTER ONE

      TOMORROW WAS HER wedding day. Sierra Rocci gazed at the fluffy white meringue of a dress hanging from her wardrobe door and tried to suppress the rush of nerves that seethed in her stomach and fluttered up her throat. She was doing the right thing. She had to be. She had no other choice.

      Pressing one hand to her jumpy middle, she turned to look out of the window at the darkened gardens of her father’s villa on the Via Marinai Alliata in Palermo. The summer night was still and hot, without even a breath of wind to make the leaves of the plane trees in the garden rattle. The stillness felt expectant, even eerie, and she tried to shake off her nervousness; she’d chosen this.

      Earlier that night she’d dined with her parents and Marco Ferranti, the man she was going to marry. They’d chatted easily, and Marco’s gaze had rested on her like a caress, a promise. She could trust this man, she’d told herself. She had to. In less than twenty-four hours she would promise to love, honour and obey him. Her life would be in his hands.

      She knew the hard price of obedience. She prayed Marco truly was a gentle man. He’d been kind to her so far, in the three months of their courtship. Gentle and patient, never punishing or pushing, except perhaps for that one time, when they’d gone for a walk in the gardens and he’d kissed her in the shadow of a plane tree, his mouth hard and insistent and surprisingly exciting on hers.

      Another leap in her belly, and this was a whole different kind of fear. She was nineteen years old, and she’d only been kissed by her fiancé

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