Unexpected Family for the Rebel Tycoon
Author
Rachael Stewart
Reads
17.9K
Chapters
19
From just neighbors…to a forever family? FROM REBEL TO MR. RIGHT NEXT DOOR? Everyone's heard of Matteo De Luca: tycoon, soccer player and international thrill seeker. Until an injury sees him permanently benched — and bored! So bored that when his neighbor's kid drives off another nanny, Matteo volunteers to step in, adding "manny" to his CV. After unexpectedly becoming her nephew's guardian, it's clear Porsha's defenses are high. But as Matteo gets to know the woman beneath, a startlingly intense connection emerges… Could this be his biggest adventure yet?
CHAPTER ONE
MATTEO WAS TAKING a rare moment to soak up the equally rare rays of the British sun when he found himself wearing a baby-pink bra like a pair of silk earmuffs...
Si, that’s right, a bra.
A very pink, very delicate, very much not his bra.
Pulling it from his head, he straightened in his lounger and fixed his hair, all the while frowning up at the fence over which it had appeared. There was a rustle and a scuttle, possibly a snigger, but it seemed the owner was making no attempt to accompany said underwear. He heaved a sigh of relief—Grazie a Dio!
He’d had his fill of women throwing their delicates at him over the years. But never had it happened in his own property. Quite literally, on his own turf.
Not that he’d spent much time here since purchasing the Notting Hill home a few years ago. But now that he’d hung up his football boots, injury seeing him permanently benched and retired at the ripe old age of thirty-two, he intended to change that. Hence the lounger, the iced water and the attempted session of—dare he say it—mindfulness.
That was until...
He stared at the intricate mix of lace and satin. Freshly washed, judging by the scent, and still damp in parts. As though its airing had been cut short when it embarked on its short flight.
The sound of voices—muffled, distant and gradually elevating—forced him to stand and take a closer look. Through the lattice top to the fence, he couldn’t see anyone in his neighbour’s garden, but the sliding doors to the rear of the house were ajar, the noise emanating out.
He scratched the back of his head, eyed the rest of the laundry still safely secure on his neighbour’s washing line. For a forced introduction, this was right up there with the weirdest, most forward...
But what should he do?
Toss it back and pretend to be none the wiser?
Or walk around and hand it back?
He really wasn’t the type to fall for such an obvious ploy, but...
He’d never met his neighbour before. She’d moved in while he’d been in Europe touring the many property developments he had underway. But he’d seen her coming and going. A petite brunette, no nonsense demeanour, always in black or a variation thereof and classy by all accounts...she didn’t strike him as the type to resort to such lengths.
Then again, he’d never have pegged her as the type to wear pink under all that monochrome either.
The voices continued, ever more harried...
He could hardly ignore the ruckus, and he certainly couldn’t ignore the bra.
Looking at his designer sun lounger—owned for years, never before used—he bade it farewell. His therapist wouldn’t approve, but who was he to ignore a woman in need?
He was his own worst enemy. His therapist knew it, he knew it, but then he should’ve introduced himself long before now.
And the lounger really wasn’t him. Not the lounger or the prescribed mindfulness.
Bra in hand, he strode through his house and out the front door. Hopping over the wall that divided his six-storey townhouse from hers, the dramatic charcoal-black facade to his standing bold against the pastel blue of hers, he went to ring the bell, but the front door was already opening.
He backed up as a woman hurried out. Not his neighbour. No, this one was also short but stout and, oddly, soaking wet. She barged past him, cheeks and eyes blazing as she donned her jacket, flicking out her sleek black ponytail and muttering under her breath.
‘Ms Smith, please!’
Now, there was his neighbour, desperation in every strained feature as she yanked the front door wide and hurried after her, bypassing him entirely and hollering over the garden gate as she gripped it, ‘We have a contract!’
‘Not any more we don’t.’ Ms Smith waved a hand over her head without halting. ‘You’re on your own, Ms Lang. I’d wish you luck, but I fear it will be wasted.’
Matteo’s neighbour stared after her and he gave her a moment, two, three...
Now what?
Was this what it felt like to be normal, ordinary, invisible?
Matteo took a tentative step forward. ‘Hi...?’
She spun to face him, surprise rolling with the desperation.
‘Can I...?’ Her voice trailed off as her eyes drifted to his hand, to the item dangling carelessly from it... ‘Is that...?’ She waved a weak finger at it, her eyes launching back to his face. ‘Did you...?’
‘Oh, Madonna mia, no!’ Palms outstretched, incriminating pink fabric swinging, he launched himself forward and hurried to explain. ‘I was in the garden minding my own business when this—’ he thrust it in the air ‘—came over the fence.’
A catcall sounded down the street, the item drawing attention, and he crumpled it to his chest. ‘It had nothing to do with me...’ And judging by her horrified expression it had nothing to do with her either. ‘Honestly. Nothing at—’
‘Bombs away!’
The war cry came from behind him, and she straightened, her eyes widening as she looked past him at her open door. ‘Finlay Lang, don’t you—’
He turned with her and found himself face to airborne missile a nanosecond before it exploded against his head in a shower of water. Stunned and soaked, he spluttered, ‘Whoa!’
‘Oh my God. Oh my God. I’m so sorry.’ She rushed forward, panicked hands fluttering all over him, uncaring where they touched as she sought to dry him off. ‘What a day. What an absolute mare of a day.’
He swept his sodden hair off his face. Okay, so it wasn’t the introduction he’d expected, but if she kept patting him up and down like that, he’d have more than just a soaking to worry about.
‘I think a towel might do a better job, don’t you?’
She stilled. Lashes lifting until her eyes met his. This close he could see they were hazel with an alluring ring of honey and as he watched, they dilated. Slashes of pink appeared in her olive-toned cheeks, her lips parting as she registered the position of her hands. One resting over a twitching pec, the other just below his belt and too close for comfort.
She jerked back, hands fisted. ‘This can’t be happening.’
She said it more to herself, her gaze zoning out as though willing it to be so.
‘I think my damp clothes might suggest otherwise.’
He gave her his most charming smile, eager to show no harm was done, and she backed up another step as a towel miraculously appeared to her right.
‘Sorry, Aunt Porsha,’ came a whisper.
She grabbed the towel and thrust it at him. ‘You’ll have to forgive my nephew, he’s a little...he’s...well he’s...’
‘I’m a little hooligan.’
She winced as the young lad stepped out from behind her, brown hair as floppy as Matteo’s own when it wasn’t tamed—much like now.
She touched a hand to the boy’s shoulder. ‘Ms Smith never should have called you that.’
The lad shrugged. ‘I don’t care, she was—bloody hell!’
‘Fin!’
Blue eyes blinked up at him, mouth to the floor. ‘You’re—you’re...’
‘Enough, Fin.’
‘But, Aunt Porsha!’ The boy pressed his lips together, eyes bugging out as he looked up at his aunt. ‘But he’s...’
Matteo’s smile was automatic, born of two decades in the limelight as he patted himself down with the towel. ‘Yes, I am.’
Confused hazel eyes lifted to his. ‘Yes, you are, who?’
‘I’m—’
‘He’s Lucky Luca, Aunt Porsha!’
‘Lucky who?’ Her brow furrowed deeper and Matteo gave up on the towelling off to give her his whole attention.
‘Matteo De Luca.’ He went to hold out his hand, belatedly remembering the bra still in it and, after adding it to the towel in his other, tried again. ‘I’m your next-door neighbour.’ He gestured to his house. ‘I live just there...’
Fin stepped between them and grabbed Matteo’s hand. Shook it with more ferocity than his slight frame would have suggested possible. ‘I’m Finlay Lang. And this is my aunt. Aunt Porsha. She’s my new mum. Kinda... I’ve not seen you here before. Why haven’t I seen you before? Have you seen him before, Aunt Porsha?’
Matteo chuckled over the detailed introduction and interrogation. One that, judging by his aunt’s pinched expression, she was none too pleased about.
‘Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Fin.’ He returned his handshake. ‘Can I call you Fin?’
‘Yeah!’ The boy gave a gappy grin. ‘Can I call you Lucky?’
‘You can call me whatever you like.’
‘Just wait until my friends hear about this! I’m going to get my phone. Can I get a picture? I can get a picture, right?’
‘Sure.’ Matteo looked at Porsha. ‘If that’s okay with your aunt?’
Too impatient to wait for his baffled aunt to respond, Fin raced off.
‘Are you some TikTok star or...?’ She smoothed a hand over her hair, hugged her middle as she eyed him. Increasingly edgy now the boy had gone. ‘I’m sorry, I’m really not up to speed on the world kids live in.’
‘No apology necessary. I’m a footballer. Was a footballer.’ Why did that still have to stick in his throat so much? ‘Recently retired.’
‘Ah!’ Her brows lifted. ‘That explains it.’
‘It does?’
‘Football is about the only thing capable of holding his attention for longer than five minutes.’ She gave a weak smile that had him wishing he could earn the real thing.
‘Not you so much though.’
A hint of pink crept back into her cheeks. ‘I didn’t say I didn’t care for the sport...’ She nipped her lip, drawing his eye to the alluring fullness of her mouth. Soft and glossy. ‘ More that I haven’t got the time for it.’
‘Maybe you could make the time,’ he said forcing his eyes back to hers, ‘and I’ll take you and Fin to a match one day?’
She gave a tiny huff—gratitude, surprise, disbelief?
Hell, he couldn’t blame her. He couldn’t believe he’d asked. Was he that caught up in the lad’s excitement that he was losing his head? Was he that bored of life as he now knew it that he was seeking excitement with the neighbour he’d only just met? Or was he just perturbed that she seemed to have no awareness or interest in him whatsoever?
But then, neighbours hung out, right? It was a normal thing to do...
‘I’ll—I’ll think about it.’ Her gaze drifted to the street and she ducked her head. ‘Would you like to come inside? I think we’re...’
She gestured behind him with a subtle hand and sure enough, they had a mini audience gathering. Notting Hill and its influx of famous faces saved him from such attention usually, but standing on a woman’s doorstep dripping wet, clutching pink undies hardly flew under anyone’s radar. Famous or not.
‘Grazie.’
She backed up and he hurried inside, his trainers squeaking against the plastic sheeting that covered the beige carpet of her entrance hall.
‘Please excuse the mess.’
‘Mess?’ It was an orderly haven of clean lines and neutral colours. Everything seeming to have a place and positioned just so...save for the very thin trail of devastation right through the middle that consisted of puddles and tiny strips of rubber—unfilled ammo in the shape of water bombs. ‘This isn’t a mess.’
‘We’re mid-renovation, but I’m starting to think the plastic sheeting might be worth keeping...’ She hurried to pick up the pieces of Fin’s trail as she led them through to the back. ‘Fin! What are you doing? I’m sure Mr Luca needs to be getting back and—’
‘There’s no rush,’ he assured her. ‘I don’t have any plans...’
Aside from your healthy dose of mindfulness that you’re clearly trying to avoid!
But could he help it if such a novel distraction had landed in his lap...or rather on his head?
Porsha bit her cheek, eager to keep her cool.
He was hot.
Like, seriously hot.
The kind of hot you expected a filter to produce, not the naked eye.
And she was gawping behind the lens when she was supposed to be taking a photo.
But then, he was still clutching her bra. Her very pink, very private bra.
It wasn’t often Porsha was lost for words and action, but in the last two years, Fin had brought her to a stunned standstill too many times to count. And this scenario truly took the biscuit.
‘Can I...? May I...?’ She waved a loose finger and he jumped forward, muttering something in Italian. Colour rushed his cheeks—all the boyish charm—and her heart skipped a beat as he thrust it at her.
Their fingers connected, his heat enough to scorch her skin...her bra too!
She snatched it back with a gulp. ‘Thank you.’
‘Like I said, it just appeared out of the blue.’
‘It just...appeared?’
They stared at one another. How was it possible her underwear could soar over the garden fence...take flight by its own volition?
There was a stifled giggle. Then another. Fin was trembling head to foot, eyes burning into the tiles of the kitchen floor.
‘Fin?’
His head shot up. ‘I’m sorry, Aunt Porsha, it was an accident. I saw this cartoon, and they had the bombs and the—the thing and some sticks, and together they managed to make them go really far and I—well, they made it look easy. And you and Miss Ellen were talking really loudly, and I wanted to get out of your way so you could work and ...well, I didn’t think it would fly too.’
‘You were shooting water bombs with my underwear?’
‘Trying to, yeah.’
Porsha’s cheeks had to be as pink as the bra in her hand, words failing her.
‘Well, you have to admire the lad’s ingenuity.’
‘Ingenuity?’ she choked out. ‘Copying something he saw in a cartoon?’
Fin pouted. ‘I did ask if you would help make a real catapult.’
‘And I told you I would at the weekend.’
‘That was two weeks ago.’
‘I’ve been busy.’
‘You’re always busy.’
‘I would be less busy if we could keep a nanny for longer than a week so I can get some work done, Fin.’
A throat cleared to her left—one very attractive, very masculine throat—and Porsha gave herself a mental slap. What was she even doing? Arguing with a seven-year-old like he could possibly understand where she was coming from...and in company too.
‘About that photo?’ Matteo said. ‘We could take it outside. I’m sure you must have a football—we can get some action shots in.’
‘For real?’ Fin bounced on his feet.
Matteo looked to her, again seeking permission, and she nodded. The sooner this was done, the sooner she could get Mr Sexy Footballer out of her home and get back to work.
And how do you propose working when you have no nanny?
She blew out a breath, ignored the look Matteo sent her way and followed a racing Fin outside. While he fetched his ball, Porsha focused on re-pegging her bra, grateful to have her back to her unexpected guest as her cheeks burned deeper. Why had she chosen today of all days to wash her delicates—a whole line’s worth?!
‘Got it!’ Fin declared, making her jump as Matteo gasped.
She turned to find the man rubbing his head, the ball rebounding through the air.
‘Fin!’ Porsha admonished.
‘Sorry, Lucky!’
‘My bad,’ the man said, evading her eye as he went after it. ‘I wasn’t paying attention.’
Wasn’t paying attention or wasn’t paying attention to Fin because his focus had been on her undies enjoying a good airing! For the love of...
She swallowed and threw her focus into the task at hand—playing photographer to her budding footballer. ‘Come on then, let’s see some action for the camera.’
She stood back and let Matteo take over. The man was a natural, getting Fin to do as he asked, lining up the best shots...and Fin listened. Listened and did. Following instruction after instruction. No backchat. No rolling of the eyes. No complaining. Just doing as he was told. By a grown up.
And Porsha was so captivated by the novelty that she lost track of time, forgetting all about work and the board meeting she was supposed to be hosting over Zoom. She even got as far as relaxing and enjoying the moment with them.
‘Did you see that, Aunt Porsha? Did you see it?’
She laughed. ‘I saw.’
‘I nailed it!’
‘You did.’
‘Did you get it on camera?’
‘Of course, I did.’ She turned to Matteo. ‘You’re a good teacher.’
‘Helps to have a good pupil.’
They shared an easy smile, the awkwardness from before slipping away as swiftly as Ms Smith had exited.
‘You think I’m good?’ Fin snagged Matteo’s attention once more.
‘Well, don’t you?’
Fin’s chest puffed up. ‘It helps when you’re getting taught by the best.’
And was Matteo the best? Porsha had no idea.
‘Not sure I’d agree to being the best any more, but I’ll take it.’ He ruffled Fin’s hair, the affectionate gesture warming Porsha’s heart as she snapped another pic.
Maybe this impromptu meeting wasn’t so bad after all...not if it had Fin happy and contained for a spell.
‘Why don’t you both—’ She broke off as her own phone started to buzz in the back pocket of her jeans, reality returning with a grimace-inducing thud. It would no doubt be her assistant wondering why she wasn’t online yet. She hurried over to Fin and gave him back his phone.
‘Why don’t you check over the photos while I take this call?’ She pulled her phone out and looked up at Matteo. ‘Is that okay with you? I just need a minute.’
‘Of course, take your time. I’m having as much fun as he is.’
He grinned and her stomach swooped. Definitely far too sexy. And far too kind.
‘Thanks!’
She hurried inside before her traitorous body could make her any more uncomfortable and took up position by the window so she could keep one eye out. Though she trusted Matteo to be good and kind and everything he appeared to be, as Fin’s guardian she wasn’t comfortable letting them out of her sight.
‘Hi, George,’ she said as soon as her assistant answered.
‘Hey, where are you? I’ve been holding everyone off, but Charles is getting tetchy. His flight to New York takes off soon and he wants this crisis addressed before he’s airborne.’
‘I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been held up. I’ve lost another nanny and—’
‘Another? But that’s—’
‘Fifteen in as many months, I know.’
Outside Matteo was creating makeshift goalposts with some upended plant pots she still hadn’t got round to filling, Fin his eager assistant, and she smiled.
‘Do you need me to postpone the meeting?’
‘What—no. Absolutely not.’ Porsha raked her fingers through her hair. She couldn’t keep bailing on work because of Fin. Not at her level. You didn’t get to be CFO of a FTSE 100 company ducking meetings because your childcare had bailed.
‘Porsha?’
‘No—I...’ She looked back out the window. At the child she couldn’t connect with and the man who had no such issue. Could she ask him? Would he mind? Did she have any other choice?
‘Look, I can just be honest with him,’ George was saying, ‘I’m sure—’
‘Don’t you dare, George. Charles would never understand. You know that.’
‘But, Porsha, last time you did a call with Finlay, you ended up with a feral cat trying to scratch your eyes out.’
She had, but then...
‘He’s over his rescuing waifs and strays phase now.’
‘And the fire starter phase? Because I’m not sure anyone’s ready for another nerve-provoking demo of fire containment.’
‘Every drawer is childproofed now, and I got rid of the candles.’
‘Still, if there’s trouble, he’ll—’
‘Find it, I know.’
And they were wasting precious time reliving it all when her job was on the line. ‘Can you buy me five minutes, George? Tell them I’m having technical issues.’
‘Wi-Fi down and you’re hooking up to mobile data? Sure thing, boss.’
She hung up, her gaze returning to the window and the scene that was so perfect it could be a sign of domestic bliss...a father and his boy spending quality time together. Something Fin would never get to experience.
Porsha swallowed the pang of it, rolled her shoulders back and stepped outside.
‘Watch, Aunt Porsha! Watch!’
She gave a strained smile. She’d love to watch. Only she couldn’t. She had five minutes, and the clock was ticking.
Matteo looked up, gave her a brief smile before positioning himself between the goalposts and giving what she was sure was a feigned attempt at a save, letting the ball in at the last minute.
Fin raced around the garden, arms in the air. ‘Goooaaalll!’
Porsha clapped. ‘Bravo, Fin!’
Matteo straightened as she walked up to him. ‘Everything okay?’
Her heart skittered. When was the last time someone had stopped to ask her that?
‘Yes...no...not really.’ She struggled between the lie and the truth, the concern in his warm brown eyes making her dizzy.
‘Let me guess, you used to be indecisive, but now you’re not so sure?’
‘What?’ And then she laughed, his tease registering and fracturing through the tension. ‘Would you believe I used to be the decisive one in the family?’
A family that had shrunk with the sudden loss of her sister two years ago...
‘Sorry.’ He raised a hand. ‘Bad joke.’
‘Not at all, more a bad day.’
‘So you said. I think your words were “an absolute mare.” Does it have something to do with the scary lady doing a runner when I arrived?’
‘You mean the nanny?’
‘Is that what she was...?’
‘Was being the operative word. She quit.’
The summer stretched long and impossible ahead of her. School was out. Holiday club had kicked Fin out. Her parents were travelling Europe. And she...she was rapidly failing her late sister’s child.
‘And I take it you’re supposed to be working?’
‘Yes.’ She breathed through the pain, the frustration...she couldn’t fail. Not at this. ‘I have a meeting I need to chair in five minutes and—’
Fin came running up to them. ‘Can we go again, Lucky?’
Matteo dragged his gaze from hers to smile down at Fin. ‘Defo. Just give me a moment with your aunt.’
Fin fist-pumped the air with a whoop and raced off. ‘Best day ever!’
‘At least he’s happy,’ she said, watching him go.
‘He is. And if you’re happy leaving him with me, I’ll watch him for you. You go and take care of your meeting.’
‘It’s like you’ve read my mind, I was going to ask, but...’ She sighed, her eyes returning to Matteo. ‘It doesn’t seem fair when we’ve only just met and I’m sure you have some place else to be.’
‘I’m retired, remember?’
She gave a scrunched up smile. ‘You really don’t mind?’
‘I really don’t. Now, off you go. Consider me your...what do they call it? Bro-pair? Manny?’
She laughed, her shoulders lighter than they’d felt in days. ‘Matteo the Manny...’ she shook her head in wonder ‘...it has quite the ring to it.’
‘Lucky Luca, Manny Matteo.’ He shrugged. ‘It seems my name befits alliteration.’
Fin burst through the middle of them. ‘Manny—yuck! I’m sticking with Lucky.’
‘You do that, kid,’ Matteo called after him, chuckling. ‘Now go, Porsha. Take your call. Fin and I will be just fine...as will your underwear.’
He gave her a wink and chased after Fin. Thank heaven. Because the last thing she needed was him witnessing her full-on blush. What was it about this man that had her all hot and flustered?
You mean, aside from the fact he’s like a charming white knight, coming to your rescue when you need it the most... wielding your bra instead of a sword?
Enough said! She headed back inside and set herself up in her first-floor office. The distance giving her the quiet she needed, but the window giving her ample view of the garden. While her office was barren, a solitary plant on her white desk the only splash of colour against the unpacked boxes, bare floors and stripped walls, outside was a scene of joyous colour.
And that joy had her smiling as she opened up her laptop.
She may not have the entire summer covered, but she had the immediate future taken care of, and that was miracle enough.
Not that Porsha believed in miracles or fairy godmothers or heavenly forces like guardian angels. But even she had to admit, this was up there with them all.
Matteo the Manny, her saviour and one extremely hot white knight.
