Cover Letter to Reader Title Page 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 Endpage Copyright

Happy Birthday Harlequin

25 Successful Years!

Hope there are many more.

Best Wishes

Anne Mather

Dear Reader,

Welcome to the twenty-fifth anniversary of Harlequin Presents®—a perfect opportunity for opening a bottle of champagne and toasting the world’s most exciting romance line.

I’ve had the privilege of contributing to it for over twenty happy, fulfilling years, and I can’t imagine a better job.

I love to read as well as write, and I’ve been fascinated to see how Presents has developed over the years to meet the romantic needs and aspirations of so many women. Long may it continue.

With love,

Sara Craven

Ultimate Temptation

Sara Craven

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

‘LUCY—check out the guy on the end table. Have you ever seen anything so gorgeous?’

Lucy Winters felt herself shrivel inwardly as Nina’s penetrating stage whisper reached her ears—and, presumably, those of everyone else around them at the pavement café. She stared down at the guide to Tuscany she was studying, wishing she could climb inside it, closing the covers behind her.

Her only hope was that this unknown Adonis was either stone-deaf or spoke no English. But one swift, embarrassed glance in his direction told her instantly that her optimism was unfounded.

She saw a profile that Michelangelo might have sculpted in bronze, etched now with lines of total disdain. A high-bridged, aristocratic nose complemented a firm mouth, curling in contempt and annoyance, and a strong chin jutted arrogantly as their owner signalled to the waiter for his bill. He turned to pick up a flat leather briefcase from the adjoining chair, and for a moment his eyes, cold as frozen amber, met Lucy’s.

They said that ice could burn. And Lucy felt as if she’d been scorched from head to foot.

She muttered urgently, ‘Nina—for heaven’s sake. He heard you.’

‘Well, what of it?’ Nina was unrepentant. ‘That’s what these Italian studs live for—being looked at—admired. There he goes.’ She leaned back in her chair, sighing gustily. ‘God, look at the way he moves his hips. I bet he’s a sensation in the sack.’

Lucy, wincing at her companion’s crudity, watched the tall figure’s retreat with more clinical interest.

Yes, he was almost classically good-looking, although his thick, waving black hair was worn rather too long for her taste, she decided with detachment. And he moved with a careless grace which was probably instinctive rather than studied. But he’d clearly resented being the object of Nina’s blatant interest, and made no bones about it either. And who could blame him?

Not, Lucy thought, a man to cross.

She said drily, ‘I think there could be more to him than that. He was wearing a designer suit—probably Armani.’

Nina giggled. ‘I was more interested in what was underneath it,’ she returned, unabashed. ‘I’m beginning to like Italy.’

She signalled to the waiter to bring two more cappuccinos, and Lucy returned to her guidebook.

Not for the first time in the forty-eight hours since their arrival, she found herself wondering if she’d done the right thing.

It had been a total shot in the dark, agreeing to share a villa in Tuscany with three other girls who were comparative strangers to her. But she’d been desperate to get away—to have a break—a complete change of scene.

And when she’d heard Nina, who worked in the accounts department, lamenting the fact that the fourth member of their projected house party had let them down virtually at the last minute, she’d heard herself, to her own astonishment, saying, ‘I’ll go with you.’

Three weeks of Tuscan sun would have been unthinkable while she was with Philip. He liked action holidays—white-water rafting, orienteering in Scotland, rock-climbing in Wales—and Lucy had masked her apprehension and tried to join in. Flotilla sailing in the Greek islands had been the nearest thing to relaxation he would agree to, but Lucy had turned out to be not a very good sailor.

Maybe his open irritation and impatience with her during that last trip should have alerted her to the fact that all was not well with their relationship. Or maybe love really did make you blind, after all, she thought, trying not to look at the pale band on her finger where his ring had been.

When he’d told her, quite abruptly, that there was someone else, she’d been devastated. But, looking back, she realised the signs had been there for a while.

She’d watched numbly while he briskly packed his things, and moved out of the flat they’d been sharing. Hers, of course, to begin with, but that was through choice. Now she had to choose again—to decide whether to stay there with all her memories or find somewhere new.

‘You can always camp out with us for a while,’ her sister Jan had told her, her pretty face wrinkled with concern. ‘Until you find your feet.’

Lucy loved Jan, and her enormous rugby-playing brother-in-law, and her pair of permanently mud-stained nephews, but she’d known that moving in with them all, however temporarily, was not the answer.

‘That’s one of the reasons I’m taking this holiday—to think—to get my life sorted.’ She’d tried to smile. ‘It takes time to adjust.’

‘But is this the right way to do it?’ Jan sprinkled sugar over the fruit in the pastry case in front of her. ‘Sharing a house with a girl you hardly know, and two of her friends?’ She shook her head. ‘Sounds like a recipe for disaster to me.’

‘Well, you stick to apple pies.’ Lucy tried to sound cheerful. ‘I’ve seen a photograph of the Villa Dante and it looks fantastic, besides being absurdly cheap. It belongs to a friend of the manager of the Italian restaurant that Sandie and Fee go to after their language class.’

‘Not a proper holiday company?’ Jan’s frown deepened, and Lucy hugged her.

‘Stop being a mother hen. It’ll be marvellous. I might even get some painting done.’

‘Well, if you’re sure.’ Jan sighed. ‘Oh, damn Philip. I can’t believe he’s done this to you.’ She paused, giving Lucy a wary glance. ‘Who is this new lady?’ she asked carefully. ‘Do you know?’

Lucy ate a slice of apple to cover her grimace. ‘Remember he changed his job a few months ago—went to a merchant bank in the City? Apparently she’s the chairman’s daughter.’ She added stonily, ‘He always was very ambitious.’

‘That’s not the word I’d choose,’ Jan said grimly. ‘Well, you forget about the two-timing swine and have a great holiday.’

That had been Lucy’s intention, but she’d been conscious of her misgivings even on the flight to Pisa, when the others had taken full advantage of the free drinks offered by the stewardesses, as well as engaging in a noisy and uninhibited flirtation with a group of young men across the aisle.

Lucy, staying off alcohol because it had occurred to her that someone had to drive the rented car awaiting them at Pisa, had seen some of the scathing looks directed towards them by other passengers. She’d also been aware that some of the men opposite had girls with them who were beginning to look downright hostile.

But her attempt to cool the situation had been treated with derision by her companions.

‘What a drag,’ she’d heard Sandie mutter to Fee. ‘No wonder her boyfriend dumped her.’

Tommaso, their landlord, had been waiting at the airport with the car—a smart little Fiat—and the keys to the villa. He was younger than Lucy had expected, efficient and more than charming, but she hadn’t warmed to him.

And one glance from his bold dark eyes had told her that neither her slender shape, her smoothly bobbed hair nor her wide, faintly slanting hazel eyes held the least appeal for him. Her companions, in their skimpy sundresses, high on booze and excitement, were far more to his taste, and he’d ogled them shamelessly while conducting the necessary negotiations.

Lucy had not expected to hand over her share of the rental in cash, there and then, but the others had seen nothing wrong in it, so she’d supposed she was being overly fussy.

‘Isn’t there an inventory we should see?’ she asked doubtfully, but Tommaso waved that away with one of his wide smiles.

‘Any problem—you tell the maid, Maddalena,’ he decreed.

‘And if she can’t deal with it?’ Lucy’s voice was cool. She’d come to Italy to relax, but this was altogether too casual.

Tommaso shrugged. ‘Then you come to me.’ He gave her a dog-eared card with a hand-written address on it. ‘I live here, in Montivemo.’

Lucy, struggling to accustom herself to the left-hand drive, as well as the unfamiliar clutch, felt consumed by pessimism about the whole enterprise, especially when her merry companions insisted she make a detour so that they could glimpse the famous Leaning Tower before they left Pisa.

‘Bloody thing looks straight,’ was Nina’s slurred comment from the back seat.

Lucy sighed under her breath as she edged carefully out of Pisa and headed south.

It was a wonderful day, the sun warm in a faultlessly blue sky, the faint breeze redolent of pine and rosemary. She found herself driving past fields of sunflowers, through tiny villages bright with flowers and shuttered against the heat, and always on the edge of her vision were the untamed rolling hills. The others had fallen asleep, so Lucy had it all to herself, and was content.

Following the sketch map Tommaso had given her, she bypassed Montiverno—a small town clinging to its rocky hilltop, and dominated by a ruined fortress—and turned into a wide valley lined by terraces of vines and silvery olive groves.

And, as she rounded a sharp bend, there, somewhat to her surprise, was the Villa Dante, its name carved into one of the tall stone pillars which flanked the gateway.

An imposing entrance for a holiday let, Lucy thought as she steered the Fiat carefully through the high wrought-iron gates and up the long, winding drive where cypresses stood like dark sentinels.

And when the house came finally into view, standing proudly back from a broad gravel sweep, Lucy felt the breath catch in her throat.

It was love at first sight.

She braked gently and sat, drinking in ancient walls the colour of pale apricot, the faded terracotta roof, the wide stone steps leading up to the heavily timbered front door.

The photographs in London hadn’t done it any kind of justice, she thought almost reverently. It was like some exquisite antique painting set in the matchless frame of the golden Tuscan landscape.

‘Well, it’ll do,’ Fee remarked as she emerged from the Fiat. ‘I hope to God the plumbing works.’

Maddalena was waiting to greet them. She was small, her black hair was liberally streaked with grey, and she was patently nervous. She barely spoke or smiled as she led them on a swift tour of inspection.

The villa had been built on three sides of a large courtyard, surrounded by a colonnaded veranda, with the usual shady loggia on the first floor. In the centre of the courtyard was a large stone fountain into which water poured eternally from a tilted urn upheld by a smiling nymph, while steps led down to a broad terrace with a swimming pool, and finally to a tumble of garden with tall hedges, gravelled paths and banks of roses and flowering shrubs running riot beyond.

Inside, the rooms were spacious, and while not overfurnished they gave the impression that each item had been selected with great care.

Lucy’s eyes widened as she assimilated the dining room, with its frescoed walls, massive polished dining table set off by ornately carved wooden candelabra and tall-backed formal chairs, and then went into the formal salotto, with its exquisite ceiling, elaborately patterned in coloured plaster, the wide stone fireplace, big enough to roast one of the wild boar for which the region was famous, and the cavernous but supremely comfortable leather sofas.

All this grandeur for the kind of rent we’re paying? Lucy questioned silently, but the others seemed to take it in their stride.

‘A bedroom each, and a couple over,’ Nina exulted. ‘Let’s hope we get lucky.’

Lucy was hoping for nothing of the sort. That kind of encounter had never been her style, and she felt too raw and vulnerable to contemplate even the most casual of relationships.

The first couple of days passed tranquilly enough. They sunned themselves, bathed in the pool and enjoyed Maddalena’s excellent cooking. Sandie and Fee spent a fair amount of time on the telephone, having low-voiced giggly conversations.

Lucy could only pray they weren’t calling home to Britain, or the bill at the end of their stay would be horrendous, and her funds were strictly limited.

But she would worry about that when the time came. In the meantime, she could revel in the drowsy ambience of her surroundings, and the unusual luxury of having a maid to wait on them.

Except, this morning, Maddalena hadn’t turned up.

‘Perhaps it’s her day off,’ Nina commented crossly as she wrestled with the coffee-machine. ‘Did she say anything to you, Lucy?’

‘She hardly says anything at all,’ Lucy admitted wryly. ‘She still seems scared to death of us.’ She looked at Sandie. ‘Why don’t you go down to her cottage and see if she’s all right?’

‘Why me?’ Sandie bridled.

‘Because you and Fee have been to Italian classes,’ Lucy reminded her patiently.

Fee pulled a face. ‘And a lot of good it’s done us so far. But I’ll try and get some sense out of her,’ she added, with the air of one making a great concession.

She was back almost at once. ‘There’s no one there,’ she reported. ‘I had a look through one of the windows and the place looks deserted, as if she’s cleared out altogether.’

‘Oh, Lord.’ Nina was alarmed. ‘Our money—our travellers’ cheques...’

But all their personal possessions and valuables were still safely in place.

‘She must have got fed up with the job,’ Fee said discontentedly. ‘But maid servce is included in the price Tommaso’s charged, so he can bloody well provide someone else. We’ll tell him after we’ve been to the alimentari this morning.’

Which was how Lucy now found herself sitting in Montiverno’s main square drinking coffee with Nina, while the other two shopped for provisions—something they’d volunteered to do, to her surprise.

They came back laden, and smiling like cats with a saucer of cream.

‘You’ll never guess who we bumped into in the supermarket,’ Sandie said airily as she sat down. ‘Those guys we met on the flight over—Ben and Dave. Ben’s parents have got a summer place just a couple of miles away at Lussione. Isn’t that an amazing coincidence?’

Her face and voice were equally guileless, but Lucy spotted the wink she directed at Nina.

They’d clearly been in touch with each other from the start. That was what all the phone calls were about, she thought resignedly. And this morning’s shopping trip had been a rendezvous.

‘So tonight we’re throwing a little party—a welcome to Tuscany bash for us all. They thought it was a great idea.’ Fee adjusted her sunglasses nonchalantly.

Lucy stared at her. ‘You’re having this party at the villa?’

‘Why not?’ Sandie challenged.

They were all glaring at her suddenly, looking as if they were waiting for her to put a damper on everything. As she felt she must.

‘It doesn’t seem the right setting for that kind of thing.’ She felt about one hundred and three. ‘A lot of the furniture’s old and very valuable. And Tommaso may not want a lot of strangers on his property.’

‘Well, if you’re so uptight about it, ask him,’ Nina flung at her. ‘Get his permission at the same time you tell him about Maddalena. Ask him to join us, if he fancies it.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’m going to look in that little boutique down the road. We’ll see you back here in an hour.’

Now I really am the outsider, Lucy thought as she climbed up through the maze of narrow cobbled streets towards the rocca. Party pooper par excellence.

She stopped to check the address Tommaso had given her, frowning slightly. She’d asked for directions at the café before setting off, but the houses in this area seemed far too shabby and run-down for the man who controlled the Villa Dante. The paint was peeling off many of them, and the roofs needed attention as well, their tiles either slipping or missing altogether.

A scrawny dog, lying in a patch of shade, lifted its head and growled at her as she went past, peering at the numbers on the doors.

Tommaso’s house was in the middle of the street. Two cracked steps led to the front door, and a broken shutter hung at a crazy angle from the main ground-floor window.

When the bell didn’t work, Lucy hammered on the door, but to no avail. There was no sound or movement in the house.

She stood on tiptoe, peering through the window. The room was totally bare. No furniture. No sign of life at all.

Lucy bit her lip as she stepped back onto the street. First Maddalena, she thought uneasily, now Tommaso. What on earth’s going on?

She glanced round, uncertain what to do next. Her phrasebook didn’t equip her to deal with errant maids and missing landlords, and she had the uncanny feeling, anyway, that she was being watched from several adjoining houses, and not in any kindly spirit either.

I’d better find the others—tell them, she decided, and began to retrace her steps, glad to get away from the mean, narrow street and its unseen eyes.

But she must have taken a wrong turning, because she found herself in a different square altogether. No bars or bustle but dominated by an elaborate Gothic church, and completely deserted apart from the statutory pigeons.

Lucy heard her own footsteps echoing as she crossed the cobbles and she paused, wondering which of the many alleys leading off the square would take her back to the town centre.

The silence was oppressive—threatening. Then suddenly it was shattered by the roar of a motorcycle coming from behind her.

The pigeons flew up in a flurry of alarmed wings. Lucy spun round, had a confused impression of two figures, leather-clad and anonymous in helmets, and realised a gauntleted hand was reaching towards her as the bike swerved in her direction.

She cried out, and tried to jump back as the hand snatched at the strap of her shoulder bag and tried to jerk it from her. But Lucy clung on grimly, refusing to let go. She heard the snarl of the throttle, warning her that the bike was about to accelerate away, and was pulled forward, falling painfully onto the cobbles. She was going to be dragged behind the bike if she didn’t release her bag.

She screamed, ‘No,’ her voice cracking, half in fear, half in anger. Then she cried, ‘Help me, someone,’ and heard a man’s voice shout in answer.

She saw a dark figure running towards her, felt another shoulder-wrenching jerk at her bag, and then suddenly the metal clips on the strap gave up the struggle and she was left lying on the ground, winded, bruised but free, her bag still clutched in both hands, while her assailants sped off with the dangling strap as their only prize.

It seemed safer to stay where she was. Her heart was pounding, she was shaking all over, and she felt deathly sick. She was dimly aware of someone bending over her, of a man’s deep voice speaking urgently in Italian, of a hand touching her shoulder.

‘No.’ She was galvanised into panicky reaction, kicking out. ‘Get away from me.’

She heard him mutter something under his breath as her foot connected with his shin. He said curtly in English, ‘Don’t be a fool, signorina. You called out for help. Can’t you see that’s what I’m trying to do? Are you badly hurt? Can you sit up?’

Wincing, Lucy allowed him to help her into a sitting position. The hands that touched her were gentle as well as strong, and a faint musky scent of masculine cologne teased her senses.

She turned her head slowly and looked at him, tensing with dismay as she realised that her saviour was none other than the man from the pavement café.

Nina’s designer stud, she groaned inwardly. It would be.

At close quarters, he was even more devastating. Handsome as a Renaissance prince, and, she acknowledged as his eyes narrowed in recognition, just as distant.

‘So, we meet again,’ he commented without pleasure. ‘What are you doing, wandering alone like this? Don’t you know it isn’t safe?’

‘I know now.’ She lifted her chin and gave him her own brand of dirty look. ‘Actually I was looking for someone, and I thought things like this only happened in big cities.’

‘Unfortunately, criminal elements from bigger places now sense there’s a living to be made even in towns like Montiverno.’ His tone was dry. ‘Now, let’s see if you can stand.’

She would have dearly loved to slap his patronising hand away, not to mention his sneering face, but she let him help her to her feet. She was bitterly aware that she was filthy from her contact with the ground, and that her new white cotton trousers were torn beyond repair. Every part of her seemed to be throbbing, and she knew an ignominious impulse to burst into tears.

Instead, she said, her voice wobbling slightly, ‘They wanted my bag, but I wouldn’t let them have it.’

‘Stupida!’ he said crushingly. ‘Better to lose your bag than be killed or maimed.’

Lucy pushed her dishevelled hair out of her eyes with a shaking hand. She said, ‘I’ve just been through one of the worst experiences of my life, and all you can do is criticise.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘That’s not all I can do. My car is nearby. I will drive you to the clinic for a check-up.’

‘No.’ The denial was instinctive and immediate, driven by some deep female consciousness that motorbike thieves were far from the only danger in the situation.

He was very still, his brows rising in regal hauteur. He said very quietly but with cool, relentless emphasis, ‘I beg your pardon?’

To add to her other ills, Lucy felt herself blushing all over as the amber eyes swept over her, slowly and comprehensively.

She said hurriedly, ‘I mean—thank you, but there’s no need for you to bother any more. I’m fine—really. Just—a little shaken.’

‘And prey, I think, to certain illusions.’ He was smiling, but there was no amusement in his eyes. ‘I am offering my help, signorina, but nothing more. I do not require sexual favours as a reward for my assistance, whatever fantasies you or your friend may enjoy,’ he added bitingly.

The contempt in his face and voice stung Lucy like a flick from a whip. There was no real reason to feel so mortified, she told herself angrily. He was a stranger to her, and she was never going to see him again, so what did it matter if he thought she was tarred with the same brush as Nina?

Yet somehow, and quite ridiculously, it seemed to matter a lot.

She said stonily, ‘Think what you wish, signore. I’m grateful for your help but not your opinion of me.’

‘Then accept my aid,’ he said. ‘Believe that I cannot simply walk away and leave you here like this.’ And, when she still hesitated, he added, ‘But on the other hand, signorina, I do not have the entire day to devote to your interests either. So please make up your mind.’

Lucy bit her lip. ‘Well—perhaps a lift back to the main square. I’m meeting my friends there.’

‘Of course,’ he said softly. ‘No doubt there will be more male talent to be reviewed. You should take care, signorina. You are not in the cold Anglo-Saxon north now. To provoke a Tuscan is to play with fire.’

She gave him a frigid Anglo-Saxon look. ‘Please don’t worry about me, signore. I’m fireproof, I assure you.’

Not that she felt it. Her abiding impression was that she had been run over by a bus, but she gritted her teeth and limped along beside him to where his car was parked in an adjoining street.

It was a sports car, naturally, black, long and low, with concealed power in every menacing line. Rather like its owner, Lucy decided, trying to extract some humour from the situation and signally failing.

She accepted his assistance into the passenger seat with as much dignity as she could muster, and sat in silence, hoping she was not bleeding onto his upholstery, as he expertly wove his way through the tangle of streets and traffic, out into the bustling familiarity of the main square again. Where he halted.

He said with cool politeness, ‘You are sure I may not take you to the clinic?’

‘Absolutely. The damage is only superficial, and I had an anti-tetanus jab before I came away.’ Lucy was aware that she was babbling, and stopped. ‘You’ve been very...’ She halted again. The only word she could think of was ‘kind’, so she said it, although she wasn’t convinced it was appropriate.

She fumbled for the door-catch, and he leaned across her to release it. Again she was aware of that tantalising musky fragrance, and of the disturbing warmth of his body close to hers. Too warm. Too close.

She met his gaze, saw a tiny flame dancing in the amber eyes, and heard herself swallow. Deafeningly.

He said sardonically, ‘So you think you’re fireproof?’

He leaned forward, took Lucy’s chin in his fingertips and kissed her on the mouth, slowly and very thoroughly.

Then he released her, and, with a graceful wave of his hand, indicated that she was free to go.

Burning, Lucy stumbled out of the car. Only to hear his voice following her, softly, mockingly.

‘I hope your Italian stud did not disappoint you. Arrivederci, signorina.’

Then, silently as a panther, the car slid away, and she was left staring after it, a hand pressed to her trembling lips.

CHAPTER TWO

FOR heaven’s sake, Lucy castigated herself wearily, not for the first time. You’re not a child. You’ve been in love with a man. You’ve lived with him. So one kiss, even from a complete stranger, is no big deal. Pull yourself together.

She was lying on the bed in her room at the villa, staring at the ceiling. Trying to get all that had happened into some kind of perspective.

The others had been genuinely shocked and concerned when they’d returned from their boutique trip and found out what had happened to her. At first, they’d wanted to call the police, but Lucy had vetoed this. She had neither the number of the motorcycle nor any adequate description of its riders. Besides, apart from the ruin of her bag and trousers, she’d lost nothing, and her only witness had driven off into oblivion.

She’d described him solely as a passer-by. It seemed wiser not to revive Nina’s interest, or lay herself open to any inconvenient questions, she’d decided, passing the tip of her tongue over her still tingling lips.

Nina had driven the Fiat back to the Villa Dante with exaggerated care, while Sandie and Fee had plied Lucy with offers of everything from grappa to a homely cup of tea.

They’d been frankly sceptical, however, when she’d told them about Tommaso. The collective feeling was that she’d gone to the wrong address.

‘I mean, would a man who owns a place like this be camping out in some kind of slum?’ Nina had demanded, and Lucy had to admit it seemed unlikely. Tomorrow, she’d thought, she would make proper enquiries.

However, there was still no sign of Maddalena, which meant Nina and the others had to prepare for their party themselves.

Lucy, however, was not expected to help. Nina had escorted her somewhat perfunctorily upstairs, asked if she wanted anything, and vanished at Lucy’s polite negative.

Once alone, she’d filled the big sunken tub which took pride of place in the adjoining bathroom, and soaked herself luxuriously, letting the warm water soothe as well as cleanse.

She had superficial grazing on her knees and elbows, and there would undoubtedly be bruising to follow, but she would survive, she’d decided with a faint sigh.

But her injured feelings were not as easily mollified, she’d thought as she’d dried herself carefully and put on her lemon silk robe.

It was galling to be classified with the man-hungry Nina, but probably unavoidable under the circumstances. However, she would never have to face her tormentor again, so the only sensible course was to put the whole basically trivial incident behind her, and enjoy the rest of her holiday.

Hers was not the largest bedroom, but it had the best view across the valley, and she liked the uncluttered lines of its furnishings and the plain, heavy cream drapes. It occurred to her now that the room was almost masculine in concept. Maybe this was where Tommaso usually slept, she thought, her flesh creeping at the very idea.

Someone had brought up a pitcher of fruit juice and some paracetemol while she was in the bath. It was a genuinely kind thought, and maybe it would mark a new phase in her somewhat chequered relationship with her companions.

They were younger than her, even if it was only by a matter of a few months, perfectly aware of their own considerable attractions, and looking for a good time. And where was the real harm in all that?

You should stop being so critical and join in more, she told herself forcefully. Make the best of things, starting with tonight’s party. Remember that you’re single too now, instead of half of a couple.

Aided by the painkillers, she slept for a while, her dreams confused and disturbing. And, throughout them all, a man’s dark figure walked on the edge of her consciousness, his face as proud and beautiful as a fallen angel’s.

She awoke in the twilight with a start, her hands reaching across the empty bed for a presence that didn’t exist, and lay still, waiting for the drumming of her pulses to subside.

Philip, she thought. I must be missing Philip.

She did not feel particularly rested, and she was beginning to stiffen up, too, her bruises announcing their existence. It wouldn’t have taken much for her to cry off from the evening’s festivities and stay in her room, she acknowledged, hauling herself gingerly off the bed and over to the big, heavily carved guardaroba. But then solitude had no particular appeal either. It gave her imagination too much scope, she decided wryly.

Most of the clothing she’d brought with her was casual, but at the last moment she’d thrown in a dress that was strictly after-dark gear.

She looked at it without enthusiasm. Philip had urged her to buy it, against her better judgement, during the last week they’d been together. It wasn’t her style, being brief-skirted and body-hugging, with the neckline slashed, back and front, to a deep V, which did no favours at all for her slender curves. And that shade of dark red was wrong for her too, draining her own natural colour.

It seemed to have been designed for a very different woman, and having caught a brief, piercing glimpse of Philip emerging from a fashionable Knightsbridge restaurant with his new lady—a vivid brunette built on voluptuous lines—she could guess only too well who’d he’d been thinking of when he’d picked it out.

But it was the only party wear she had, she thought as she zipped herself into it. And maybe it would do her good to wear it, as a tangible reminder of how little her relationship with Philip had come to mean.

She had spent days and nights since their break-up tormenting herself with self-blame. Asking how she could have been so blind, or why she hadn’t suspected in time to put things right—win him back.

Now, as she brushed her hair into a smooth curve swinging just above her shoulders, she knew there was nothing she could have done. And found herself questioning for the first time whether she should even have tried.

For the truth was, she realised almost dispassionately, that the magic had gone out of their lives long before he’d left.

In the first, euphoric flush of love, she’d ignored the fact that their lovemaking fell short of rapture for her. That Philip had always seemed more concerned for his own satisfaction than hers. That, invariably, she was left stranded, aching for a fulfilment which she could only guess at, having never actually experienced it in reality. And, towards the end, it had become perfunctory—almost a mechanical ritual because they shared a bed.

But how was it that she could suddenly see all this so clearly? she wondered, biting her lip in confusion.

Because today a man had kissed her—someone she would never meet again—and in those few moments when his mouth had possessed hers she had been shaken to the depths of her being, her body shocked into an instant arousal she had never known before.

In her dreams, it was not Philip she had sensed at all, but this other man—the warmth of his breath on her cheek, the scent of his skin, the casual strength of the arms which held her. And in her dreams she had wanted more—much more—than his kiss alone.

She looked at herself, half-wonderingly, in the mirror, her hand going once more to her lips.

She thought, Dear God, what’s happening to me? And could find no answer in her heart.

In spite of all her good resolutions, Lucy could not get into the swing of the party.

The guests had arrived, already uproarious, bringing a crate of assorted wine and a ghetto blaster blaring out heavy rock.

Fee had prepared an enormous bowl of spaghetti carbonara, which they ate in the dining room. Lucy winced as she saw Dave carelessly stub out his cigarette on the comer of the huge polished table.

‘What a fabulous place,’ Ben commented, leaning back in his chair. ‘You were damned lucky to find anywhere in this neck of the woods. When my parents first came out here looking for a holiday place, they found everything in the district belonged to a crowd called Falcone—bankers from Florence, by all accounts. And they weren’t prepared to part with one inch of land, or a single brick of property.’

‘Falcone?’ Lucy questioned, frowning. ‘How strange. There’s a carving of a bird like a falcon over the main door here. I wonder if there’s a connection?’

‘Lucy,’ Fee said patronisingly, ‘is heavily into old buildings. She notices things like that.’

Hal leaned forward. He was tall and blond, older than the others.

‘Maybe she could switch to the present day and notice me instead.’

He gave a mock leer, making everyone laugh, but Lucy noticed how his eyes lingered on her cleavage, and felt uncomfortable.

Ben picked up one of the bottles on the table. ‘Or we could all notice this—Chianti Roccanera—one of the Falcone local by-products.’ His voice took on a reverent tone. ‘Dad would kill me if he knew we’d helped ourselves to some of this.’

Nina raised her glass. ‘Then let’s drink a toast to Ben’s father, and all the Falcones, including the one over the door,’ she said lazily. ‘And our landlord, Tomasso Moressi, who managed somehow to beat the system.’

When supper was finished, they rolled up the rugs in the salotto and danced. Lucy found herself watching the pairing-off process with detached interest. That it was not going to be to everyone’s liking was more than evident.

Nina singled out Greg, with whom she’d been flirting on the plane and who was, apparently, unattached, so that was all right. But Ben’s girlfriend, Sue, was frankly mutinous watching him gyrate with a laughing Fee. And Sandie was blatantly intent on winning Dave away from Clare.

Aware that Hal was heading in her direction, Lucy decided hastily that she would be better employed in clearing the remains of the meal. The dining room looked as if a bomb had hit it, she thought ruefully as she collected the dirty plates. Food had been spilled. A puddle of wine had collected on the table from an overturned bottle and dripped onto the floor. A lamp on a side-table had been knocked over and damaged, and one of the beautiful crystal goblets had been smashed.

And the kitchen was even worse. Fee seemed to have used every pan and bowl to concoct her spaghetti. Lucy sighed soundlessly, tucked a towel round her waist, and set to work.

The noise of the party seemed to be receding, and presently she heard splashing and laughter coming from outside. When she went to investigate, she found them all down at the poolside.

It was a warm, sultry night, with the sky blazing with stars. The ornamental lamps had been lit, and someone had changed the cassette for one with music of a slower, dreamier tempo.

Greg and Nina were dancing slowly, as if they were welded together. He was kissing the side of her neck, pushing down the straps of her dress as he did so.

Fee and Sandie were in the water with Ben and Dave, obviously skinny-dipping, their discarded clothing lying in untidy heaps on the tiled surround. Sue’s face was frozen as she watched them, and Clare was biting her lip, close to angry tears.

There’s going to be trouble, Lucy deduced resignedly. And I don’t really want to be involved.

As she turned to go, she found Hal blocking her way.

‘Running out on us?’

Lucy lifted her chin. ‘I’ve had a bad day. I think I’ll go to bed.’

‘What a wonderful idea.’ He gave her a slow, meaningful smile. ‘I’ll keep you company.’

She didn’t return the smile. ‘I think you’d do better to stay with your friends,’ she said evenly. She nodded towards Sue and Clare. ‘Some of them don’t seem very happy.’

‘They can look after themselves,’ he dismissed. ‘I’ve been watching you all evening. You’re a bit of a dark horse, Lucy.’ His eyes slid over her, making her feel as naked as the revellers in the pool. ‘So, what’s your story?’

She took his hand from her arm. ‘I haven’t one. And, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go.’

‘Oh, but I do mind.’ His voice hardened slightly. ‘Whatever the lads get up to tonight, tomorrow it’ll be kiss and make up with Sue and Clare. I’ve seen it all before. I’m sticking with you. You intrigue me.’

‘I’m afraid it isn’t mutual.’ Lucy’s tone was icy. She turned away, seeking another means of retreat, but Hal grabbed her by the shoulders and swung her round to face the others.

‘The lady wants to leave,’ he announced. ‘What do you say?’

‘Oh, let her go,’ called Fee. ‘Winters by name, wintry by nature,’ she added with a giggle. ‘She’s no loss.’

‘No, chuck her in here.’ Ben’s voice was slurred. ‘Serve her right for being a spoilsport.’

‘But don’t ruin her pretty dress,’ Greg added, leering, and Nina began to laugh.

‘Off, off, off,’ she chanted, and the others joined in, only Sue and Clare maintaining a tight-lipped silence.

Lucy froze as she felt Hal’s hands, odiously familiar, fumbling for her zip. Felt her dress beginning to slide from her shoulders.

‘No.’ Frantically, she kicked backwards, her sandal heel connecting smartly with his shin. He swore and his grip slackened fractionally—momentarily.

It was enough. Lucy pulled free and ran round the pool towards the sheltering darkness of the garden, desperation lending her speed, in spite of her aches and pains.

She had some crazy idea of trying to reach the car parked at the side of the house. But there was something blocking her way again. Or someone, her mind registered helplessly as she was captured and held.

Greg must have cut her off. At the very least, she was going to be stripped and thrown into the water, and every fibre of her being recoiled in revulsion from the thought.

‘Let me go.’ She began to struggle fiercely, punching and clawing at the imprisoning arms. ‘I said, leave me be, damn you.’

‘Sta’ zitto.’ The low voice was grimly familiar. ‘Shut up, you little fool, and be still.’

‘You?’ Lucy stared up at the dark, patrician face, and her voice cracked with relief, and another, less easily recognisable emotion, as she acknowledged, ‘It’s you.’

Involuntarily, she found herself pressing against him and burying her face in his chest as she drew a shuddering breath.

For a moment he let her remain where she was, then he put her away from him and walked forward into the lamplight.

All heads had turned towards him as if they were on strings. The laughing and shouting had died away as if a switch had been thrown, to be succeeded by a strangely intense silence into which his voice, quiet and cold, fell like a stone.

He said. ‘I am Giulio Falcone. And this is my house. May I know what you are doing here?’

‘Your house?’ Nina was the first to break the spell his appearance had created. She faced him, flushed, tousled and frankly aggressive. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘Easy,’ Ben intervened sharply. ‘It is him. It’s Count Falcone himself.’

‘I don’t care who he is,’ Nina flung back. ‘This place belongs to Tommaso Moressi, and we’re renting it from him.’

‘You are mistaken, signorina.’ Count Falcone’s voice was like steel. ‘The man you speak of, Moressi, is no more than the nephew of my servant, Maddalena. He owns nothing apart from what he can steal,’ he added contemptuously. ‘I hope you have not been unwise enough to pay him anything.’

‘I’m afraid we have.’ Lucy spoke, her voice hollow, her hands shaking as she put her dress to rights. ‘Three weeks’ rent, plus the use of a car and maid servce. Only the maid has disappeared—and so has Signor Moressi.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’ Giulio Falcone shrugged. ‘Almost certainly word of my unexpected return spread at once, and he took fright.’ He shook his head, more in sorrow than in anger. ‘Poor Maddalena. She has always indulged that worthless fool’

‘Poor Maddalena?’ Fee echoed shrilly. ‘To hell with that. What about us—our money?’

She had climbed out of the pool, and the Count’s face tightened with distaste as he glanced at her.

‘Be good enough to cover yourself at once, signorina,’ he directed with icy formality. ‘I regret that you have been the victim of a confidence trick, but that is hardly my problem. What I must demand is that you vacate my house immediately.’ He looked around, frowning. ‘Are you all staying here?’

‘No.’ Ben was huddling into his clothes. He looked awkward and faintly ridiculous. ‘My parents have a place near Lussione.’

‘Then I suggest you return there. And take your friends with you,’ Giulio Falcone added bitingly.

‘No,’ Lucy said forcefully, her shocked negation instantly echoed by Sue and Clare.

‘You bring these slags back with us and I walk out.’ Sue glared at Ben.

The Count’s lip curled. ‘We seem to have an impasse,’ he drawled. ‘I suggest you settle it amongst yourselves before I am forced to call the polizia.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Shall we say fifteen minutes?’

His mention of the police had an oddly galvanising effect. Within seconds, the poolside was clear and the erstwhile tenants of the Vila Dante were on their way upstairs to pack.

As Lucy passed the door of the salotto, she could hear a furious argument going on between Ben and the others. Hal detached himself from it and came to the door.

‘It’s all right, sweetheart.’ His eyes swept over her in an appraisal that combined sensuality with malice. ‘You don’t have to worry about a thing. I’ve got my own room at Ben’s place. I’ll make sure you’re looked after—as long as you start being friendlier.’

She said with icy clarity, ‘Over my dead body,’ and went up to her room, two stairs at a time.

Her heart was thudding like a sledgehammer as she began to empty the chest of drawers and the wardrobe, hardly aware of what she was doing as she tried to think—to plan. She’d have to cut her losses altogether, she told herself as she piled everything untidily into her case. Somehow she’d have to make her way to Pisa and get a flight home. Anything else was unthinkable.

She presumed she’d be able to transfer the return half of her ticket to a different flight. If not, she’d simply have to pay all over again.

I’ll worry about that when I get there, she told herself as she dashed into the bathroom to collect her toiletries.

When she returned to the bedroom, she realised with another thump of the heart that she was no longer alone.

Giulio Falcone was lounging in the doorway, watching her.

‘You don’t have to check up on me,’ she said quickly, aware that her breathing had quickened, and resenting the fact. ‘I’ve almost finished.’

‘So I see.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘Are you so eager to go to Lussione?’

‘You know I’m not.’ She pitched her toilet bag into the case and rammed the lid shut.

‘No? You don’t want to be with your friends?’

She bit her lip. ‘They’re not my friends.’

His brows lifted sceptically. ‘Yet I observed an unusual level of intimacy for mere acquaintances,’ he murmured.

Lucy flushed, remembering exactly what he must have seen. ‘They’re just some people we met on the plane,’ she said. ‘Nina and the others wanted to give a party—and invited them here tonight.’

‘Yes,’ he said with chill emphasis. ‘I have seen the trail of destruction they have left—particularly in the dining room.’

‘I didn’t get around to that,’ Lucy admitted wearily. ‘But I tidied the kitchen.’ She lifted her chin. ‘And I’m sure we’ll be happy to make good any damage.’

He laughed. ‘You are being naive, signorina. Both the lamp and the glass were antiques of great value. Replacement would be impossible, and the cost inestimable.’

Lucy’s heart sank. ‘Well, we could all chip in,’ she returned bravely. ‘And, of course, the police may find Tommaso Moressi and get our money back. You could have a claim on that, I suppose.’

‘I think Tommaso will be a long way from here by now, with his tracks safely covered,’ Giulio Falcone commented drily. ‘Leaving his unfortunate aunt, as usual, to pick up the pieces,’ he added cuttingly.

Lucy looked down at the floor. ‘I understand now why she didn’t want us here. She seemed very frightened.’

‘I can imagine,’ he said sardonically. ‘Yet it should have been safe. I had no plans to use the villa myself until the time of the vintage. But circumstances intervened.’ He shrugged. ‘You are unfortunate, signorina. You could so easily have enjoyed your holiday uninterrupted and innocently unaware that your occupation was illegal.’

The last word seemed to hang in the air between them, raising all kinds of disturbing implications.

Lucy shivered. She said, ‘I’m not sure enjoyment is the word.’

‘No?’ The amber eyes surveyed her reflectively. ‘Yet you are dressed for an evening of pleasure.’

Lucy gritted her teeth. That damned dress, she thought.

‘A bad mistake,’ she said. ‘Like the entire trip.’ She forced a smile. ‘And being mugged was really the last straw anyway. I didn’t need to be conned as well.’

‘How did you meet Moressi—hear about this place?’ he asked curiously.

‘The others used to visit a pizzeria after their Italian classes. The manager arranged it. He and Tommaso must have been in league with each other.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘I wasn’t sure about him from that first moment in Pisa. And when I saw this house—how beautiful it was, and how old—it seemed even stranger. He didn’t—fit somehow.’

‘He never has.’ His voice was abrupt. There was another silence, then he said, ‘So, what is the alternative to Lussione?’

‘Pisa,’ she said determinedly. ‘And the next flight home.’

‘That could present problems. This is, after all, the holiday season. There will be few spare seats available—if any,’ he added starkly.

Lucy shrugged defensively. ‘Then I’ll find somewhere to stay—go on stand-by,’ she said with more confidence than she actually felt as she did a hasty mental calculation of her available funds.

‘Can you affford that?’ Clearly he wasn’t fooled.

‘I don’t have a choice.’ She gave him a defiant look.

‘How fortunate,’ he said softly, ‘that I was able to read your mind so accurately.’

‘What do you mean?’ Lucy was suddenly very still.

‘Your friends have gone. I told them you would not be accompanying them.’

Lucy stared at him, suddenly, tensely aware of how quiet the house had become.

‘You mean they’ve left me here alone?’ Her voice almost cracked. ‘Without even a word?’

His smile deepened. There was something pagan in the curve of his mouth, she thought, a stir of unbidden excitement warring with the growing apprehension inside her.

He said gently, ‘Not alone, signorina. You forget that I shall be here too. From now on you will be staying as my guest.’ He paused. ‘And also,’ he added softly, ‘as my companion.’

CHAPTER THREE

LUCY stared at him. She was suddenly aware that she was trembling. That all the warmth seemed to have drained from her body, leaving her ice-cold.

There was danger here, all the more shocking because it was totally unforeseen.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her nails grating across the soft palms. She tried to keep her voice level.

‘Companion, signore? I don’t think I understand.’

‘It’s quite simple. You will remain here, signorina, to make reparation for the insult which has been made to my home—my family—by you and your—acquaintances.’

‘I’ll remain?’ She took a startled breath. ‘But that isn’t fair...’

Giulio Falcone shrugged. ‘By your own admission you cannot afford proper recompense for the damage that has been done. However, there are other methods of payment.’ His smile barely touched the corners of his mouth. ‘I believe we can reach a settlement that would be—agreeable to us both.’

‘Then you’re wrong,’ Lucy said furiously. Cold no longer, she was now burning with shame and anger, and an odd sense of disappointment. ‘How dare you even suggest such a thing? Who the hell do you think you are—and what do you take me for?’

‘I am Falcone.’ He threw back his head, the dark face arrogant, brooding. ‘And you are a girl who has twice trembled in my arms. Can you deny it?’

‘I was upset,’ she flung at him defensively. ‘The first time I’d nearly been robbed, and the second I was running away. I thought you realised that—and why...’

‘Ah, yes.’ His voice was reflective. ‘But, in that case, why tempt a man by wearing a dress that begs to be taken from your body and then deny him the pleasure? Your companions, after all, showed no such reticence,’ he added, his mouth curling slightly.

She said shortly, ‘I’m responsible for no one’s conduct but my own, and I don’t play games like that.’

‘Are you a virgin?’

She gasped, the colour deepening to fiery red in her face. ‘You have no right to ask me that.’

‘A simple “no” would have sufficed,’ he said mockingly. ‘Although—’ he sent her a narrow-eyed glance ‘—your eyes do not have the look of a woman who has known all the satisfaction that love can bring.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Lucy said haughtily.

He laughed. ‘I’m quite sure you don’t, but it will be an exquisite pleasure to teach you some day—or some night.’

There was a caress in his voice which shivered down Lucy’s spine and danced in her pulses. She felt the muscles in her throat tauten.

She managed a brief shrug of her own. ‘Fortunately, I shan’t be around that long. As I said, I’m leaving for Pisa.’

‘Ah,’ the count said meditatively. ‘And just how do you propose to get there?’

Lucy paused in the act of locking her case. ‘Why— drive there, of course.’

‘I did not realise you had brought your own vehicle.’

‘Well, I haven’t, but...’ Her voice trailed into silence as she saw his smile deepen mockingly, and the slow negative movement of his dark head.

She said unsteadily, ‘Of course, the car is yours too. I should have realised.’

‘Not mine,’ he corrected her. ‘It belongs to the contessa.’

She was very still for a moment, her thoughts whirling blankly. The idea that he could be married had never even crossed her mind. Not, of course, that it made the slightest difference...

She said brusquely, ‘Then she has my sympathy.’

‘Why?’ His brows lifted enquiringly. ‘Is the car so difficult to drive?’

‘Certainly not,’ Lucy snapped. ‘I meant that I—I pity anyone who’s involved with a—a Lothario like you.’

‘You imagine, perhaps, that Lothario was an Italian.’ Giulio Falcone shook his head again. ‘You are wrong, signorina. He was the invention of an English dramatist. Just as you seem to be inventing me,’ he added, his tone dry.

‘It doesn’t take a great deal of imagination,’ Lucy retorted. ‘Nina was right, after all. You Italian studs are all the same.’

‘The looks of a dove and the tongue of a wasp,’ he said silkily. ‘An intriguing combination.’

‘Not for much longer.’ Lucy swung the case off the bed. ‘Will you loan me your—contessa’s car to drive to Pisa, please?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I will not.’

She lifted her chin. ‘Right—then I’ll walk there.’ ‘In that dress?’ He surveyed her mockingly. ‘You’d be lucky to get half a kilometre. Even if the police did not stop you first,’ he added, almost casually.

‘I planned to change, given some privacy,’ she said. ‘I don’t think jeans and a shirt would make me liable to arrest.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘But there is the matter of trespass, which you seem to have overlooked.’

Fright was building up again, making her stomach churn. Her fingers tightened almost convulsively round the handle of her case.

She said jerkily, ‘You can’t be serious, signore. I—we acted in good faith. We didn’t know this was your house.’

‘That is hardly a defence,’ he said. ‘Especially when added to the acts of vandalism committed against my possessions.’

She couldn’t argue. Her knowledge of Italian law was nil. Perhaps it ws one of those countries where you were guilty until you proved yourself innocent, she thought faintly.

She tried again. ‘But you can’t put all the blame on me. There were others involved.’

‘True,’ he said softly. ‘But they have gone, and you, columbina, are the only one left to make the recompense I require.’

‘You think I’m like them—like Nina and the others.’ Her voice shook. ‘But I’m not—I swear to you.’

‘I believe you.’ He lifted a negligent shoulder. ‘Otherwise I would not want you.’

The amber eyes, hooded, watchful, swept over her, lingering on her breasts, the curve of her hips, the slender line of her thighs.

The dark face was coldly, almost dispassionately absorbed. Like his namesake, the falcon—the ultimate predator—with its prey in sight, and helpless, Lucy thought wildly, her body trembling, her brain teeming with desperation.

She said, ‘You have no right—no right at all to keep me here against my will.’

‘I think, under the circumstances, I have any rights that I choose to assume, Lucia mia.’

‘Don’t call me that.’

Giulio Falcone frowned. ‘I was told it was your name.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t give you permission to use it.’ She stood her ground, glaring at him.

‘A minor detail,’ he said softly. ‘At such a time.’ He paused. ‘And when we are already on terms of such intimacy.’

‘Because I ran to you for help?’ Lucy asked scornfully. ‘In that situation I’d have run to Frankenstein’s monster.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Because you have been occupying my room. Sleeping, mia bella, in my bed, which presumably you chose out of all the others. Doesn’t that establish some kind of bond between us?’ He watched the shocked colour storm into her face and laughed. ‘Don’t tell me you hadn’t guessed.’

‘Think what you like.’ Lucy gritted her teeth. ‘But I’ll never spend another night in it, or anywhere else under your roof.’

‘I don’t think that is your choice,’ he said. ‘Make me the restitution I require, and I promise that afterwards you will be driven to Pisa, your air fare paid, and a suite at the best hotel put at your disposal while you await your flight.’

‘No deal.’ Lucy made her tone brief and cutting. ‘I am not for sale, signore.’

‘And I am not buying, signorina. But I am prepared to—hire you for a while.’

‘You disgust me.’ In spite of herself, her voice trembled. ‘Call the police, why don’t you? Even jail would be better than another minute in your company. And I shall have my own story to tell them too,’ she added bravely.

‘In my bedroom—in that dress?’ He sighed. ‘I think appearances would be against you, Lucia.’

‘Your wife might take a different view,’ Lucy flashed. ‘Or does she take your lousy, deceitful behaviour completely for granted?’

‘It would be worth keeping you here if only to teach you to speak civilly,’ Giulio Falcone said grimly. ‘Anyway, you are under a misapprehension. I have no wife.’ He paused. ‘You are also ludicrously wrong about my motives for detaining you.’

He saw the sudden bewildered question in her eyes and smiled sardonically. ‘The little comedy is over between us, signorina. My interest in you, alas, is more practical than romantic. I hope you are not too disappointed.’

She said between her teeth, ‘Not in the slightest—if I had the least idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Actually, it’s quite simple. I have a problem to which you could provide the solution.’ He gave a slight grimace. ‘Early yesterday, my sister was in a car accident. Neither she or the two children were badly hurt—cuts, bruises and shock, that’s all. But the governante—the nanny—was not so fortunate. She broke her leg, and has to spend some time in the clinic.

‘Fiammetta wishes to come here to rest and recuperate, but there is no one now to look after the children, and Marco and Emilia can be more than a handful.’

He spread his hands. ‘I thought, of course, that Maddalena would be here to take charge until Alison recovers. The children are accustomed to her.’ He paused. ‘But, of course, there is no Maddalena. Only you, Lucia.’

‘Me?’ Lucy swallowed, aware that relief was being overtaken by a curious sense of deflation. ‘But I’m not a nanny.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘But you are here at this moment. You have admitted you owe me a debt you cannot pay. In turn I have ruined your holiday.’ The amber eyes looked into hers, and she felt her heart thud suddenly and painfully. ‘Tell me truly, Lucia, do you really wish to leave Tuscany so soon, when you could stay here, and be paid for doing so?’

‘I couldn’t possibly,’ Lucy denied, trying to control her flurried breathing.

‘Why not? With my sister and the children, you would be well chaperoned, if that is your concern.’

Lucy saw the amusement in his eyes, the sensuous curve of his mouth, and decided it would be safer not to explore that particular avenue.

‘But I’d be totally unsuitable,’ she protested instead. ‘You don’t know anything about me, after all.’

‘You are unused to children, perhaps?’

‘Well, no,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I have nephews.’

‘Of what age?’

‘Six and four,’ she admitted, an involuntary smile curving her mouth. She saw him assimilate that betraying tenderness, and added hastily, ‘But it’s still out of the question.’

‘I don’t see why. Marco and Emilia are slightly older, it is true, but they have had a bad experience and they need someone who will care, as well as give them companionship.’ He added softly, ‘In spite of your temper, Lucia, you do not strike me as heartless.’

She said shakily, ‘That’s emotional blackmail.’

He shrugged. ‘You say you cannot be hired, and will not be bought. What else is left to me?’

She tried again. ‘But your sister may have other ideas.’

‘Fiammetta, as usual, will take the line of least resistance. And this is an emergency. They will be released from the clinic tomorrow morning, and will be coming straight here. I cannot allow them to find a scene of such devastation.’

‘And this is where I come in?’ Lucy’s tone was hollow.

‘Until tomorrow, when I can mobilise help from the estate, certainly.’ He gave her a measuring look. ‘If this had been a genuine rental, you would have been expected to keep the house clean and tidy, after all.’

She bit her lip. ‘I suppose so. But if all you want is a glorified housemaid-cum-nanny, why did you pretend—let me think...?’ She halted, vexed with herself for asking.

‘Because you were so ready to believe that I was just some—latter-day Casanova.’ The firm lips twisted slightly. ‘The temptation to confirm your worst fears became quite irresistible, believe me. But while you are in my employment and under my roof you are quite safe.’ He flicked a glance towards the tumbled bed. ‘Unless, of course, you insist.’

She was angrily aware that her face had warmed again. ‘I don’t,’ she said tersely.

‘Then I suggest you find yourself another room.’ Both his tone and smile were pleasant, and untinged by even a modicum of regret, which, oddly enough, seemed to increase her annoyance.

She met his gaze stonily. ‘So, if I agree to help out, you promise that will cancel all obligations between us?’

‘More than that,’ he said. ‘I will ensure you suffer no financial loss as a result of Moressi’s trickery.’

He paused. ‘You will also take with you, I hope, some unforgettable memories of Tuscany, as well as the undying gratitude of the Falconese,’ he added sardonically.

‘Naturally, that would be one of my main considerations.’ Her tone was sarcastic.

Giulio Falcone inclined his head gracefully. ‘I knew you would see things my way.’

‘Did you?’ Lucy gave him an assessing look. ‘Tell me, signore, are you related to the Medici by any chance?’

His mouth twitched. ‘Only on my mother’s side, signorina,’ he returned silkily. ‘Why do you ask?’

She shrugged. ‘I gather they were hard men to refuse in their day. And so are you, Count Falcone.’

‘Then don’t refuse me.’ He smiled at her, reminding her unnecessarily of the power of his attraction. ‘And I don’t use my title, unless I have to. Call me Giulio.’

Oh, no, she thought, the breath catching in her throat. That was an intimacy she didn’t need.

Aloud, she said, ‘I don’t know what to say—what to do...’

‘Then obey your instinct, columbina.’

Instinct was telling her to get out while she could. To put herself at the furthest, safest distance possible from this man. From his smile. From the charm that seemed to reach out to her like a caressing hand. From the sheer sexual charisma that turned the blood in her veins to warm honey. And which, she reminded herself, he seemed able to exercise at will.

Somehow, she heard herself say, ‘Very well, I’ll stay. But only till you can find someone else.’

‘Grazie, Lucia.’ His smile deepened, half-mocking, but wholly disturbing. ‘And now I suggest you change out of that dress—before I forget all my good resolutions.’

For one long moment, his eyes stripped her lazily and quite deliberately. Then he raised his hand to his lips, blew her an amused kiss, and walked out of the room.

Lucy watched the door close behind him, and said loudly and clearly from the bottom of her heart, ‘Bastard.’

Her first action, naturally, was to find another room. She chose one at the furthest end of the house from his, regardless of the fact that it was also the smallest.

Quite suitable for a servant’s quarters anyway, she told herself, swinging her case onto the narrow bed.

Her pulses still seemed to be behaving oddly. She couldn’t believe how easily she’d allowed herself to be wound up. How could she have thought, even for a moment, that someone like Count Giulio Falcone cherished even marginal designs on her?

The trouble was that at each of their prior encounters she’d been at some kind of disadvantage, which in turn had stopped her thinking rationally. That was the only explanation. And it provided a kind of marginal reassurance.

She still wasn’t sure why she’d agreed to stay, however, except that there didn’t seem to be much alternative. He was a wealthy and powerful man, who could probably be ruthless.

But it wouldn’t be for long, she appeased herself. No doubt his sister would find a replacement nanny from some domestic agency when she’d recovered from the shock of the accident. And then the whole incident would dwindle into a little adventure to be laughed over ruefully back in England. Although not with Nina and the others.

And now to get out of this damned dress.

Lucy twisted round, feeling for the zip and tugging it downwards, but nothing happened.

‘Oh, come on,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘You can’t be stuck.’

But the zip, apparently, had other ideas, and remained exactly where it was. With a sigh of frustration, Lucy decided she’d have to cut herself out.

She was searching for her nail scissors, when there was a peremptory rap on the door, and Giulio Falcone walked in.

‘So this is the sanctuary you have chosen.’ He glanced around. ‘A little cramped, don’t you think?’

‘I think it’s ideal,’ Lucy returned with a coolness she was far from feeling.

‘As you wish.’ He shrugged. ‘But why are you still not ready? I was going to show you where the clean linen is kept.’

‘Just give me general directions,’ Lucy said tersely. ‘I’ll find it myself.’

‘Is there a problem?’

‘Nothing I can’t handle.’ She straightened, scissors in hand.

He surveyed them enigmatically. ‘If you need to defend yourself, the range of knives in the kitchen might serve you better.’

‘Nothing of the kind,’ Lucy said crossly. ‘My zip’s stuck, that’s all.’

‘Then allow me.’ He walked over to her, and turned her so that her back was to him.

She stiffened. ‘I can manage.’

‘Stand still.’

His breath was warm on her exposed skin as he bent closer to examine the erring metal strip.

‘A thread has been caught,’ he murmured. ‘I think I can free it.’

Lucy waited rigidly, trying not to flinch as his cool fingers slid under the edge of the dress and touched her back.

‘Don’t be so nervous,’ he chided softly, laughter in his voice. ‘This must be better than attacking yourself with scissors.’

Not, Lucy thought with gritted teeth, necessarily.

He was infinitely too close to her, in the exact situation she had wanted to avoid. In the wall mirror, she could see his intent dark face, his lips only a fraction away from her bare skin. She found herself remembering, starkly, the feel, the taste of his mouth on hers, and was swept by a wave of longing she could neither control nor excuse. The movement of his hand against her spine as he tried to release the trapped fabric only increased her silent torment.

She said huskily. ‘Could you hurry, please?’

‘I am trying to be careful. I don’t want to damage the material.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘I’m never going to wear it again.’

‘Truly?’ He shrugged. ‘In tal caso...’ He took the edges of the dress’s neckline in his hands and pulled at them sharply. There was a harsh, splitting sound as seams and stitching gave way, then the entire bodice slid gracefully but inexorably from Lucy’s shoulders, baring her to the waist.

For a stunned second she was motionless, then, with a small wail of horror and embarrassment, she snatched at the ruined fabric, dragging it up over her breasts.

Giulio Falcone stood back, watching her struggles, amusement dancing in his amber eyes, along with something deeper and more dangerous.

She said thickly, ‘How could you? Oh, God, how dare you do such a thing?’

He shrugged. ‘I merely followed your instructions. I am hardly to blame if the result did not meet your expectations.’ He paused. ‘Although it exceeded mine,’ he added, half to himself.

‘Get out of this room.’ She was close to embarrassed tears. ‘Get away from me. I should have known I couldn’t trust you.’

‘Then you’d be wrong.’ His voice was stem. ‘If I was the villain you imagine, you’d be in bed with me now, and we both know it, so let there be no more pretence about that.’

He paused again, his mouth twisting. ‘As it is, I’m going to tell myself, mia bella, that you don’t have skin like moonlight, or breasts like flowers waiting to be gathered by a man’s hands, and go downstairs.’ He added laconically, ‘I’m going to make coffee. If you want some, join me.’

He sent her a brief, impersonal nod and walked out.

Lucy sank down onto the edge of the bed: In a reeling world, she was certain of only one thing. She could not risk remaining at the Villa Dante. She had to get away.

She lifted her head and looked at her reflection in the mirror. A stranger with dishevelled hair and eyes wide with confusion stared back. A stranger huddling the remnants of her dress against the pallor of her half-naked body.

‘Skin like moonlight...’ The remembered words sent an aching shiver through her body.

She thought, Let me get through tonight—just tonight.

And realised it sounded like a prayer.

CHAPTER FOUR

WORK, and more work, Lucy told herself with grim determination. That’s the answer. Keep busy—keep out of mischief.

Not that Giulio Falcone could be described as anything so innocent as mischief, she amended stormily as she changed into the comparative demureness of jadegreen leggings and a matching sweatshirt, and kicked the discarded red dress into the comer of the room. He was danger—sheer and unequivocal. And she was all kinds of a fool to let him get to her like this.

Survival was the name of the game in this situation, and she knew enough about that, even if men like the Count were an enigma to her. A mystery, she told herself tersely, that she had neither the right nor the inclination to solve.

By keeping busy—concentrating on the task in hand—she could stop herself thinking—wondering about him. And once the children arrived her time would be filled anyway, she reminded herself. Their presence would provide her with a measure of safety at least until she could make her escape.

She found all the clean bedding and towels she needed in a huge linen press at the head of the stairs. Sachets of dried herbs had been tucked amongst them, and she sniffed appreciatively as she collected her first load. However foolishly Maddalena might have behaved over her nephew, her housekeeping had been faultless, she thought wistfully.

The rooms the others had been using looked as if they’d been swept by a tornado, with unmade beds, cupboard doors swinging open, and empty drawers upended onto the floor, along with discarded hangers.

Wet towels decorated the bathrooms, with trails of dusting powder, and there were smears of hair gel and moisturiser on the mirrors and tiled surfaces.

Gritting her teeth, Lucy launched herself into the task of restoring order. Most of it was cosmetic, anyway, she realised as she made the bedding into loose bundles for future laundering. Luckily, they hadn’t occupied the Villa Dante long enough to create the kind of mess that had to be scoured away.

Her own room—his room, she corrected herself tersely—she left until last. She stood outside for a long moment, oddly reluctant to proceed. Then, steeling herself, she pushed open the door.

The room was safely empty, and, apart from the unmade bed, tidier than the others. She felt obscurely glad of that.

The long window was open to the night, and some faint current of air made the drapes billow into the room.

She walked over to the window, intending to close it, and paused, staring up at the star-sprinkled velvet of the sky.

People said that one’s fate was written in the stars, she remembered wryly. But she could see no pattern, no rhyme or reason for what had befallen her over the past twenty-four hours in those chilly, far-off specks of light.

The moon, on the other hand, looked close enough to touch, spilling silver light like a swathe of satin across the distant hillside.

‘Skin like moonlight...’ The words seemed to echo and re-echo in her mind. Her hand lifted slowly, and touched the curve of her breast.

For a moment, she was still, then she wrenched herself back to earth with a faint shiver, aware as never before of the silence of the encircling night. In daylight, the Villa Dante’s quiet isolation had been something to prize. But in darkness it only served as an unwanted reminder of her vulnerability...

Suppressing another shiver, she pulled the window shut and secured the latch. And, as she did so, she saw reflected in the glass a shadow moving in the room behind her.

The cry of alarm choked in her throat as she swung round, the precariously balanced armful of bedding sliding to the floor, spilling sheets and pillowcases at her feet.

‘You’re very nervous.’ Giulio Falcone was totally at ease, even faintly amused as he walked forward from the doorway.

‘Can you wonder?’ Lucy said crossly, her heart thudding as she bent to retrieve the linen. ‘I wish you wouldn’t creep up behind me like that.’

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