LITMIR.BIZ

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told her there was more to it than simply a love of a playboy lifestyle. ‘Have you known her a long time?’

      ‘Since I was five years old.’

      Taylor felt a twinge of envy at the warmth of his relationship with the woman.

      She didn’t have anyone in her life she was close to. No one she could trust as Luca clearly trusted Geovana. It was obvious that the older woman adored him.

      ‘How did you meet her?’ She asked the question as they walked up the stairs towards the bedroom.

      ‘She was our nanny until my mother fired her in a fit of jealousy.’

      ‘You had a nanny?’ She bit her tongue. Of course he’d had a nanny. He came from a rich family. He hadn’t been used as the breadwinner by an ambitious mother while he was still in nappies. ‘Did your mother work?’

      ‘It was a full-time job trying to keep my father happy.’

      She was about to question that statement when he started to unbuckle his belt. ‘Whoa. Rewind. I do not need to see you naked. This engagement is fake, remember?’

      ‘There is no way I’ll forget that, dolcezza. Just make sure you don’t.’

      ‘Oh, please—there is no way I’ll forget that.’

      ‘Don’t be so sure. Every woman I meet thinks she’s going to be the one to change my ways and drag me to the altar.’

      Turning her back on him, Taylor paced around the room, noticing the art on the walls and the beautiful stylish touches. There were no photographs. Nothing personal. ‘You are known for living the high life. We are going to have to work extra hard to convince people this is real. Even pretending is giving you a hunted look. I’m going to have to teach you to act.’

      ‘I can act. I don’t need your help.’

      ‘And I may not need yours if Santo doesn’t manage to replace the director.’ Battling a rush of insecurity, Taylor walked through the French doors onto the pretty balcony with its glorious views of the Sicilian countryside. ‘It’s gorgeous. Are you sure the press won’t find us here?’

      ‘Of course I’m not sure. They can find us anywhere, that’s their job.’ He seemed completely indifferent to the possibility and she felt her own pulse rate quicken as she walked back into the bedroom.

      ‘Don’t you care?’

      ‘Why would I?’

      ‘It’s an invasion of privacy.’

      ‘I’ve never seen the need to hide what I do.’ He removed his shirt and dropped it onto the bed. The flex of hard, honed muscle across his wide shoulders had her staring, and because this was the day where nothing was going her way that was the moment he turned and caught her.

      ‘Enjoying the view?’

      ‘Not particularly. And I have no idea why you’re undressing.’

      ‘Purely for your entertainment, dolcezza.’ Sending her a sexy smile, he unclipped his watch. ‘And for the entertainment of any photographers who happen to have long lenses trained on my bedroom. I’d hate to disappoint them. Oh—and because I intend to take a shower.’

      ‘Photographers?’ Horrified, she looked from him to the long windows that offered a view into the distance. ‘Can this house be seen from the road?’

      ‘I have no idea. I suppose we’ll find out now you’re staying here.’

      ‘I’m not staying here…’ She stumbled over the words in her panic, tripping over her bag as she backed to the door and opened it. ‘If the press could be watching, I can’t stay. I have to go somewhere I know I can’t be photographed—I have to—’

      ‘You have to calm down.’ Luca strode over to her and pushed the door shut with the flat of his hand, saying something to her in Italian. ‘Cristo, Taylor, why all the drama? You’re not on set now.’

      ‘I hate being photographed.’

      ‘Yes, I’m starting to get that part. Even I’m not that obtuse.’ His keen gaze was fixed on her face. ‘What I don’t get is why. You’re an actress. You’re photographed all the time. It’s part of the job.’

      ‘And I accept it when I’m out filming, or at a premiere or even when I’m out having fun because I know I can never go anywhere without being recognised any more, but I have to know I’m safe when I’m at h-home. I don’t want to be photographed when I—think I’m alone.’ She was stammering. ‘I deserve that. Doesn’t everyone deserve that?’

      ‘Yes, I suppose so, if that’s what they want. And now are you going to tell me what happened?’

      Her stomach felt as if someone had tied a knot in it. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘No one freaks out like that without a reason. So tell me the reason. What happened?’

      ‘Nothing happened.’ She had no intention of talking about it, especially not to him. She’d learned the hard way that no one could be trusted. Thinking back to how naive she’d been at seventeen made her want to curl up in embarrassment but at least she’d learned the lesson. ‘I’m a private person, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong with that.’

      ‘Except that, like most celebrities, the press considers you public property.’

      His choice of phrase triggered something inside her. ‘I’m a person, not property. I am not anyone’s meal ticket!’

      ‘Taylor—’

      ‘Enough, OK? I don’t even know why we’re talking about this. I just hate the press, that’s all you need to know. I don’t want to stay somewhere they can see me! If they’re pushing a camera in my face, I want to know about it.’ Shocked to discover just how much emotion was still simmering deep inside her, Taylor reached for the door handle but his hand covered hers.

      ‘Cristo, you’re shaking.’

      ‘No, I’m not.’

      ‘You are the most confusing woman I’ve ever met,’ he breathed. ‘Ballsy one minute and fragile the next.’

      ‘I’m not fragile.’

      There was a long pause. ‘I’ll brief my security team. I’ll make sure this place is like a fortress. The only photographs those bastards get will be the ones we want them to take. Us doing engagement stuff—whatever that is. Talking of which, we’d better find out what we’re supposed to do.’ He released her and strolled across the bedroom as if nothing had happened, leaving Taylor shaken. It unsettled her to know she was nowhere near as in control as she liked to think she was.

      Pulling herself together, she looked at him. ‘What are you doing now?’

      He keyed something into his phone. ‘Given that you and I are clueless, I’m doing a search for the typical behaviour of engaged people. There has to be a website. It’s probably called getmeoutofhere.com. Or possibly killmenow.org.’ The remark was typical of him and for some reason that normality helped relax her.

      ‘We’re not just engaged, we’re newly engaged.’

      ‘And the significance of that is…?’

      ‘The first glow of excitement has yet to wear off. We have to be supersickly.’

      ‘No worries. The thought of being engaged makes me feel more sickly than you can possibly imagine.’

      ‘And you fed me spleen burger. Need I say more?’

      ‘No, but you’re a woman so no doubt you will anyway. If you want to sit down, sit on the bed. It can’t be seen from the window unless they have a lens shaped like a periscope.’ It was the only reference he made to her sudden loss of control. ‘Here you are. Ten habits of engaged couples. Can you believe someone researched

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