The Valtieri Marriage Deal by Caroline Anderson Page A

tomato sauce.’
    ‘Bottled?’
    He looked shocked. ‘Shh! Not so loud. My mother would be appalled. And you need to know I’m frightened of my mother.’
    That made her laugh. The very idea of Luca being frightened of anyone, not least his mother, was ludicrous. And she was absolutely starving.
    ‘Where’s your car?’ she asked, looking round as they emerged through the door.
    ‘At my house. It’s just round the corner. It’s quicker to walk.’
    ‘Oh! You live really close,’ she said as he stopped just twostreets away and opened a garden gate in front of a tall modern townhouse.
    ‘Yes—it’s handy. I hate commuting, so I bought it.’
    She stared at him blankly. ‘For a few weeks?’
    He gave a short laugh and explained. ‘No. I bought it four years ago, when I worked here, and I’ve used it as a base ever since. Come on in.’
    And, opening the door, he ushered her inside.
    Isabelle looked around, taking in the soft earth tones and the sense of light and space, conscious of a sense of order and quietness that pervaded the house. ‘It’s very tranquil.’
    ‘It is. I love it. It’s my favourite place. Well, except my family home in Tuscany. That’ll always be top of the list, but this is mine, and that makes it special. Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Tea? Wine?’
    ‘Have you got any juice?’
    ‘Sure. Apple and mango?’
    ‘Lovely.’
    She followed him through to the kitchen and sniffed appreciatively. ‘Oh, it smells really good.’
    ‘Of course. Did you really think I’d be allowed out into the world without knowing how to fend for myself? Even if it is out of a bottle,’ he added in a stage whisper.
    She tried not to smile, but not well enough because he winked at her, took a bowl of salad from the fridge and pulled a dish from the oven, bubbling with cheese and tomato sauce and smelling utterly fabulous.
    Her stomach rumbled, and he pointed to the breakfast bar, a thick, sleek glass shelf on shiny chrome supports with tall chrome and leather stools tucked in underneath. ‘I thought we could be uncouth and eat in here,’ he said, and she lookedaround at the kitchen, with its sleek granite worktops and high-gloss cupboards, thought of her house and how utterly uncouth it was in comparison to this undoubtedly extremely expensive kitchen, and her heart sank.
    She’d not given a moment’s thought to his financial status, but one serious look at this kitchen brought it all home to her with a vengeance.
    He was so completely out of her league, so overwhelmingly different, and there was no way he would ever be interested in her except as a passing fancy. The only reason he was interested in her at all was because she was playing hard to get. Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen—wasn’t that the saying? Except she wasn’t trying to be mean, and she didn’t want him to be keen, she wanted him to leave her alone, because he was going to break her heart all over again and this time, she knew, it would be so very much worse.
    ‘What’s wrong?’
    ‘Nothing. I’m just really hungry,’ she said, and turned her attention to the food. It wasn’t that hard. She was ravenous, she discovered after the first mouthful, and his cooking, bottled sauce or not, was sheer genius. So she ate, and he talked about breech presentations and cases he’d seen and the research he was doing, and gradually she forgot about his money and remembered only that he was a brilliant doctor, kind and gentle and yet persuasive when he needed to be, and brave enough to take a risk if he felt it was justified.
    There were all too few like him, she mused. Far too few. But that didn’t mean she was going to let him lure her into a relationship, and she realised she was getting dangerously close to that. Sitting in his kitchen eating food he’d cookedfor her while she finished her shift was all too cosy, and she had to be mad to do it.
    She pushed her plate away, nothing left on it but a touch of the rich tomato sauce, and