The Long Weekend Read Online Free PDF Page B

additive dust cloud that came out of it. He wanted to tell her to stop. Not because he cared about the mess, but for her own sake. But now probably wasn’t the time to start. He was only a part-time father, after all. Very, very part-time.
    Angelica used her elbow to push down the handle of Claire and Luca’s room. Either Luca was still fast asleep or he was in the shower and hadn’t heard her knock. She edged inside cautiously, holding the tray bearing his wake-up ristretto – it seemed to have become her job to get him up in the mornings. The room was in half-light – sun was streaming in through the tiny skylight, but the curtains were still drawn.
    He was asleep. She could make out his figure in the bed. She breathed in, inhaling his scent, sharp, musky and masculine.
    ‘Luca!’ she called gently. He groaned and rolled over, rubbing his hands over his eyes. ‘Claire says get up.’
    ‘Tell her to fuck off.’ His voice was husky with sleep.
    ‘I’ve brought you coffee.’
    She walked across the room and round to his side of the bed, standing over him. She kneed him in the side.
    ‘Oi. Come on. You know we’re busy today.’
    He took his hand away from his eyes and stretched out an arm. She thought it was to take the coffee. She was about to pass it to him when she felt his warm fingers on her thigh, just under the hem of her skirt. The lightest touch. A gentle caress. Familiar, affectionate. Meaningless.
    Was it?
    ‘Just five more minutes. Please, Angelica. I’m knackered . . .’
    Her heart was racing, stumbling over itself as he stroked her. How tempting it was to tumble on to the bed with him, roll under the duvet, feel those hands not just on her thigh but all over her body. Did he know what he was doing to her with that tiny, infinitesimal tease?
    Of course he bloody did.
    She put the coffee down on the bedside table with trembling hands.
    ‘Up to you, Luca. But I’ve always been told that working here was a team effort.’
    And with that retort she left the room.
    Outside the door, she leant against the wall. Her legs were shaking. She could barely stand. She gave a groan, shut her eyes and tilted her head back in despair.
    Some days she could handle her obsession. And some days she couldn’t. This was going to be a ‘couldn’t’ day. Her skin was going to creep with it; her blood fizzing beneath the surface, buzzing like an overhead cable.
    She didn’t understand why she couldn’t control it. She had tried to rationalise it so many times. Sometimes common sense prevailed and she could function like a normal human being. But sometimes it just washed over her, taking her breath away, sucking all reason from her, leaving her limp in its wake.
    It wasn’t even as if she liked him much.
    She hated the way he took Claire for granted. She hated his cockiness. The way he made assumptions. The way he bullied people – not all the time, but when the pressure was on in the kitchen, Luca gave everyone short shrift. Yet there was something magnetic about him. He fascinated her. She wanted to know what made him tick. What he really felt. What his innermost hopes and fears were. He seemed to live in the moment, but surely he had regrets? Memories? Ambitions? Did he ever ask himself ‘what if’ . . .?
    She asked herself that all the time.
    Not that she would go near him. Not in a million years. She liked and respected Claire far too much for that. But at home, in the privacy of her own room, in the privacy of her own mind . . . that was a different matter. She could fantasise.
    And she knew that Luca knew. He could smell it on her; see it in her eyes. That was why he taunted her. It was a game to him, the way he played her. Tested her, tempted her; made her believe that anything was possible.
    She remembered a moment at the last staff Christmas party, which they held in January, when the silly season was over. She and Luca had met on the stairs. She had been two steps above him, which brought her to his