Captivated by Her Italian Boss Read online

  The boy she tried to forget...

  Now the boss her heart won’t let go

  Neve Wilder’s past suddenly comes flooding back when she meets her boss, Davide Cortese. Can he really be that boy who stole her heart and then disappeared all those years ago? The intensity of their attraction hasn’t changed, but everything else has... With so much at stake, can Neve allow herself to be captivated by her gorgeous Italian all over again?

  Why was his heart thumping?

  Davide waited silently, and when he caught a glimpse of Neve through a space in the oleanders, he considered making a dash for “home.” He’d wait another few seconds...and maybe she’d turn right around. Turn she did, before suddenly pivoting and charging right around the corner. And into him.

  Davide just managed to stop them both from landing in the cactus pear grove, which would have been much more painful than the body slam Neve gave him. His arms automatically shot out and wrapped themselves around her like a vise while his legs stood firm as he took the blow.

  For a moment Neve’s head lay flat against his chest, and if his heart had been thumping before, now it was clanging. She was in his arms. He could feel her chest heaving against his, and the knowledge that only two thin layers of material lay between them made his abdomen muscles tighten with a longing that almost hurt.

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to my second romance, set in a place that is dear to my heart—Calabria, southern Italy. I was born there and immigrated to Canada when I was three. From my nonna’s sun-drenched terrace, I would read my Harlequins (as a teenager, I packed a dozen of them for my summer visit) and occasionally pause to look beyond to the enchanting Ionian Sea.

  This is the backdrop for Davide and Neve’s story. From a humble beginning, Davide overcomes personal challenges and losses and eventually reaches the pinnacle of success in the Italian literary world. But fate hands him another daunting challenge, that of raising his niece, Bianca, in the secluded mountain castle where he now lives.

  Davide hires Canadian Neve Wilder as a nanny, aware that the spark between them eight years earlier—when she visited as a tourist—is still flickering in his heart despite Neve’s rejection of him. Initially Neve has no clue of the identity of her boss. And she has a different take on the past.

  I hope you enjoy reading how fate reunites Neve and Davide and offers them another chance at enchantment and love!

  Warmest Canadian and Italian wishes,

  Rosanna

  Captivated by Her Italian Boss

  Rosanna Battigelli

  Rosanna Battigelli loved Harlequin Romance novels as a teenager and dreamed of being a romance writer. For a family trip to Italy when she was fifteen, she packed enough Harlequins to last the month! Rosanna’s passion for reading and love of children resulted in a stellar teaching career with four Best Practice awards. And she also pursued another passion—writing—and has been published in over a dozen anthologies. Since retiring, her dream of being a Harlequin Romance writer has come true!

  Books by Rosanna Battigelli

  Harlequin Romance

  Swept Away by the Enigmatic Tycoon

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

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  To Calabria, a land of resilience and enchantment that continues to captivate me. And to all my Calabrese relatives and friends worldwide, starting with those in Camini, where my heart first began to beat.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM CARRYING THE BILLIONAIRE’S BABY BY SUSAN MEIER

  CHAPTER ONE

  WHEN NEVE SPOTTED the ad in the Vancouver newspaper in the second to last week of June, she felt a shiver of excitement run through her. It was an ad requesting applications from Canadian nannies for a position for the summer. In Italy. And Southern Italy, at that. A place she had visited with her mother when she was eighteen. Her parents had traveled through Calabria and Sicily on their honeymoon, and her mother’s nostalgia had drawn her back for what would have been their nineteenth anniversary.

  Neve had loved the leisurely five-week tour through the seaside towns and mountain hamlets, culminating with the last week in Valdoro—Valley of Gold—on the southeast coast of Calabria. It was the town where Neve had been conceived. Neve could still envision the shimmering, color-changing waves of the Ionian Sea. And the dazzling sun that rose at dawn, its face an orange-gold orb that soon took dominion of the cerulean sky. By 8:00 a.m., the temperature would register over thirty degrees Celsius, and Neve couldn’t wait to head to the beach.

  Her imagination had gone wild as they explored the ancient places she had read about in the works of British authors who had traveled to the area over a century earlier. Because of Greek colonization a thousand or so years ago, the area had become known as Magna Grecia, or Great Greece. Neve had read the books her parents had discovered about the South, including George Gissing’s By The Ionian Sea and Norman Douglas’s Old Calabria. She had particularly enjoyed Edward Lear’s Voyages in Southern Italy. Lear had traveled to the South with another artist to paint landscapes. As he traveled from hamlet to hamlet, he had written about his experiences in a journal. His accounts of peculiar townsfolk and the places they had stayed had put Neve in stitches, like the story of a pig running out from under a table as they were feasting on a dinner of macaroni. As an adolescent, Neve had dreamed of returning to Italy one day to rediscover the places that had so enchanted her.

  Reading the details in the ad, Neve’s jaw dropped. What were the chances of coming across a job opportunity in Valdoro for the summer? And one that she could easily apply for, since her job as a kindergarten teacher meant she had summers free. The ad read:

  Canadian Nanny wanted to prepare child for Kindergarten.

  Summer Position.

  Only highly experienced applicants will be considered.

  Skills in Behavioral Management and Modification a must.

  Child has experienced trauma and requires a special caregiver.

  Three nannies have been recently dismissed; please do not apply if you believe this will be a vacation.

  Position is full-time, with one day off per week.

  Send a letter including your CV to my assistant, Mrs. Lucia Michele, email address below.

  Do not inquire as to the status of your application.

  You will be contacted within one week for an interview if I am interested.

  Neve read the ad over several times. The prospective employer obviously wanted to make it quite clear to the applicant that this job was not going to
be an easy one. She wondered at the trauma of the poor child. A death? Divorce? Abuse? Her stomach twisted. She had a special place in her heart for children; she always had, even as a teenager. She had babysat regularly in her neighborhood, and she had decided early on that teaching would be the career for her. She had been teaching now for three years, and maybe that didn’t make her highly experienced, but she had dealt with a few difficult and sensitive situations, and as a result, had taken specialized courses to help children who had experienced trauma of some kind.

  She herself had experienced the loss of her father as a child. He had succumbed to a sudden stroke when she was eight, and it still made her heart twinge when she remembered the day she had come home from school and had found her house filled with relatives and family friends, some gathered around her mother. Bewildered, she had run toward her mother, who had sobbed the news to her before collapsing. Sadly, over the years, her mother had been more preoccupied with her loss and less over Neve’s trauma of losing her father.

  Neve’s eyes prickled. She squeezed them shut, then focused on the ad.

  Who was the sender? The most logical answer was that it was a parent who couldn’t stay at home and needed someone to help the child deal with the trauma and help prepare him or her for the challenge of another transition: school.

  A tall order. Especially since progress so far had been limited. At least that was what she had inferred from the terse statement: three nannies have recently been dismissed. She felt a twinge in her heart at what the child must be going through and the poor, desperate parent. A thousand thoughts swarmed her mind about the sad possibilities, and then one thought pushed the others away: I’m going to apply.

  And why not? She had the sensitivity required for such a position, given her own personal history. And she had dealt with behavioral and trauma issues in her three years of teaching, everything from stubbornness and aggression to grief over the loss of a parent or pet.

  Yes, she would have loved to return to a vacation in Valdoro, but just being there and knowing she would be helping a child in distress—or attempting to help—was enough to motivate her. She would be content with reacquainting herself with the area on her day off. Of course, that was if she was hired for the position.

  Neve had been ready to go to bed when she had picked up the newspaper, but now she was too excited to sleep. She reached for her laptop and typed up a letter. She read it over twice, added a section, read it over again and then attached her most recent CV. Taking a deep breath, she typed in the email address and pressed Send before she could change her mind.

  With a shiver of anticipation, Neve ran a bath, her imagination sparked. As she stepped into its bubbly warmth, her floral-scented body wash reminded her of the jasmine and other flowers blooming in the pots on the balconies at Villa Morgana, where she had stayed with her mother in Valdoro. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, her memories reactivated.

  Visions of the villa came rushing back: the spacious, elegant rooms with their sparkling marble floors; the colorful glazed pots on the balcony, bursting with blooms of every color; and the scent of the nearby bakery wafting up to her when she stepped out on her balcony—

  Neve’s eyes flew open. She blinked. There was something wrong with this picture. Well, not wrong, exactly. It was just missing one thing. One person. The guy walking down the road. The guy whose intense gaze had seemed to blaze across the street to connect with hers.

  She had been drying her hair outside after a cool shower, enjoying the balmy heat of the midday Calabrian sun. Her mother and their friends, the owners of the villa, had been taking their usual siesta after the sumptuous lunch they had all feasted on. The merchants had shut down their businesses for the afternoon, and would reopen in a few hours. Nobody strolled about in the scorching afternoon heat, which is why Neve had been taken aback to see him walking by. His stride seemed to have slowed down when he was directly across the road from her balcony. And although other boys in Valdoro had openly demonstrated curiosity about her with sly nudges and winks when she walked in and out of the ice cream shop or bakery down the street, they hadn’t turned her knees to jelly, like this guy had just done.

  He must have been working on a farm. His dark hair had been tousled and sweat-dampened, and his white T-shirt and jeans had been streaked with earth. He had been carrying a large burlap bag on his back, filled with greens and vegetables. But it had been his eyes that had galvanized her. Ebony eyes that had sent a shiver coursing through her veins. Eyes like river stones gleaming in the sun. And even with a coating of dust on his face, Neve had been able to make out his chiseled features, straight nose and sensual curve of his lips.

  Suddenly flustered, Neve had shifted her gaze and in mere seconds, had taken in his tanned arms—his biceps bulging from holding the burlap bag—and his well-fitting, straight-leg jeans. He is not a boy, she remembered thinking. She had guessed him to be in his early twenties. And she had been eighteen... For a few moments she had felt a strange weakness overcome her and had wondered if she was about to pass out.

  And then he had stopped. She had felt him staring at her and had looked up. Is he going to say something? she had wondered. Their eyes had locked. And then he had given a slight nod and, readjusting his bag, had kept walking. The following day Neve had watched him from behind the wooden shutters, too shy to suddenly appear on the balcony. But when he had slowed down and looked up toward her balcony, her heart had fluttered. He had been hoping to see her.

  * * *

  Neve realized she was holding her breath and let it out in a rush. And then other memories of that summer eight years ago came tumbling out. The way he had started going by the villa several times a day, not just to and from his farm job, but also later in the evening. He had made evening trips to and from the bakery, the Pasticceria Michelina. Sometimes he had walked; other times he had rumbled by on a motor scooter. Neve had felt herself falling under the spell of the Southern ways, the age-old custom of locking gazes, communicating with eyes only, a slow dance of intuition and anticipation. Her heart had thrummed all evening and night after that first encounter, and over the next few days she had found she could concentrate on little else.

  Her mother, Lois, had caught the exchange once. He had been walking by after his work on the farm, and Lois had come into Neve’s room and walked toward the balcony at the same moment that he had paused to look up and smile at Neve, who had taken to sitting out on the balcony with a book every afternoon. Neve had returned the smile, and then had become aware of her mother’s presence.

  “What are you doing?” her mother had asked. “You don’t pay attention to farmhands, Neve. That could get you into real trouble.”

  Neve had flushed, embarrassed to have been discovered flirting and even more embarrassed to think that he had heard or understood. But when she had looked back toward him, he had walked on and was almost out of sight. She had glanced at her mother, whose frown had deepened.

  “I’ve read stories about how some men in the South used to kidnap young ladies, take them up to a mountain cave and compromise their honor so their family would have no choice but to let them get married.”

  “Mom! Really? Are we talking about the same century?” Neve couldn’t believe what she had just heard. “I wasn’t doing anything other than smiling back. And I didn’t get the feeling he wanted to marry me,” she had added flippantly. “I don’t think you have to worry about him carrying me off.”

  Her mother’s cheeks had reddened. “Neve, you are not to give him or anyone like him any attention. You’re in Italy, remember. Men are more...passionate here. You came here a virgin. I don’t want you to fall for the first Romeo that pays attention to you and let him—”

  “Mom! Oh, my God!” Neve had jumped up, her face flaming. “Just stop! Give me some credit, would you?”

  She had barricaded herself in her private bathroom, ignoring her mother’s calls and half
hearted attempts to apologize. She had come out after her mother had gone, and wiping her tear-streaked eyes, she had walked to the balcony...

  * * *

  For the next few days Neve had been too busy with her school obligations to think much about the ad. When an email from a Mrs. Lucia Michele arrived, informing her that she was one of the applicants who could proceed to be interviewed, Neve’s heart had done a leap. She had thought it was a long shot, as there must have been hundreds of applicants, if not more, and her pulse had quickened at the thought that she might actually stand a chance of being hired.

  Mrs. Michele’s email had informed Neve of the interview details. It would be conducted by her. The employer would be watching the interview privately. Due to the sensitive nature regarding the child, she had been instructed to keep the employer’s identity confidential until the chosen applicant actually arrived in person in Southern Italy.

  And now here Neve was, communicating with Signora Lucia Michele, who was asking her in halting English about her philosophy of discipline. Neve felt a little self-conscious doing a Skype interview while her prospective employer watched from his computer.

  Neve paused for a moment, wondering what stance “the boss” expected her to take. She looked beyond the woman, almost expecting that he—why she thought it would be a he, she didn’t know—would appear, and took a deep breath. She could only answer truthfully.

  “I believe that consistency is essential in discipline,” she replied, her voice steady. “The child must know what you expect, and as a kindergarten teacher, I tell my children right at the beginning that I expect to be treated kindly, with respect, and that I will be treating them in the same manner. I make sure they know right away that A, their parents have trusted them to my care because I will keep them safe and take good care of them, and B, they will learn and have fun with me.”

  She couldn’t help smiling, thinking of her school kids as they looked at her with wide eyes on the first day of school. “Those are the two main things they need to know. And then, day by day, they will learn how to interact, how to solve problems, how to be a good leader.” She looked straight at the camera. “And they will learn about consequences when they do something inappropriate. I believe in positive discipline and fairness, and flexibility when it is required...without laying a hand on the child.”