Tall, Dark and Italian

Will he be the one?

Three exciting, hot and intense romances from three fabulous Mills & Boon authors!

Tall, Dark and Italian
Anne Mather
Carol Marinelli
Catherine Spencer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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In The Italian’s Bed

By

Anne Mather

New York Times bestselling author ANNE MATHER has written since she was seven, but it was only when her first child was born that she fulfilled her dream of becoming a writer. Her first book, Caroline, appeared in 1966. It met with immediate success and since then Anne has written more than one hundred and forty novels, reaching a readership which spans the world.

Born and raised in the north of England, Anne still makes her home there, with her husband, two children and, now, grandchildren. Asked if she finds writing a lonely occupation, she replies that her characters always keep her company. In fact, she is so busy sorting out their lives that she often doesn’t have time for her own! An avid reader herself, she devours everything from sagas and romances to mainstream fiction and suspense. Anne had also written a number of mainstream novels, with Dangerous Temptation, her most recent title, published by MIRA Books.

Chapter One

THE man was standing outside the Medici Gallery as Tess drove past. She only caught a brief glimpse of him, concentrating as she was on keeping Ashley’s car on the right side of the road. She saw him look after her as she turned into the parking lot behind the smart row of boutiques and cafes that faced the flower-fringed promenade of Porto San Michele. And wondered if she wasn’t being paranoid in imagining there had been a definite air of hostility in his gaze.

She shook off the thought impatiently. She was imagining things. He wasn’t waiting for her. Besides, she wasn’t late. Well, only a few minutes anyway. She doubted Ashley’s timekeeping was any better than hers.

There were few cars in the parking lot at this hour of the morning. Tess had discovered that Italian shops rarely opened before ten and were definitely disposed towards a leisurely schedule. Her neighbours on the parade—Ashley’s neighbours, actually—seldom kept to strict opening hours. But they were charming and helpful, and Tess had been grateful for their advice in the three days since she’d been standing in for Ashley.

She hoped she was mistaken about the man, she thought as she let herself into the gallery through the back entrance. She hurried along the connecting passage that led to the showroom at the front and deactivated the alarm. Perhaps he was a friend of Ashley’s. Perhaps he didn’t know she was away. She glanced towards the windows and saw his shadow on the blind. Whatever, she was evidently going to have to deal with him.

Deciding he could wait a few more minutes, Tess turned back into the passageway and entered the small office on the right. This was where Ashley did her paperwork and kept all her records. It was also where she took her breaks and Tess looked longingly at the empty coffee-pot, wishing she had time to fill it.

But Ashley’s boss wouldn’t be pleased if her tardiness turned a would-be patron away and, after examining her reflection in the small mirror by the door, she pulled a face and went to open the gallery.

The door was glass and, unlike the windows, inset with an iron grille. Taking the precaution of opening all the blinds before she tackled the door, Tess had time to assess her visitor.

He was taller than the average Italian, she saw at once, with dark arresting features. Not handsome, she acknowledged, but she doubted a woman would find that a disadvantage. His features had a dangerous appeal that was purely sexual, a sophisticated savagery that sent a shiver of awareness down her spine.

Oh, yes, she thought, he was exactly the kind of man Ashley would be attracted to, and she guessed his visit to the gallery was of a more personal nature than a commercial one. When she pulled the door wide and secured it in its open position, he arched a faintly mocking brow in recognition of her actions. It made Tess want to close the door again, just to show him how confident she was.

But, instead, she forced a slight smile and said, ‘Buon-giorno. Posso aiutare?’ in her best schoolgirl Italian.

The man’s mouth twitched as if she had said the wrong thing, but he didn’t contradict her. Nor did he immediately respond. Pushing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, he swung round and surveyed the contents of the gallery, and Tess wondered if she was wrong about his association with Ashley and that he expected her to give him a guided tour.

Who on earth was he? she wondered, intensely aware of the ambivalence of his gaze. She was sure he wasn’t a tourist and it seemed far too early in the day for him to be a serious collector. Besides, the paintings they were exhibiting were hardly a collector’s choice.

Realising she was probably completely wrong, she nevertheless suspected he hadn’t come here to look at the paintings. Despite his apparent interest, the harsh patrician lines of his profile displayed a contempt for them—or for her. This man would not take rejection easily, she mused, wondering where that thought had come from. But if Ashley was involved, she didn’t envy her at all.

Tess hesitated. She wasn’t sure whether to leave him to his own devices or ask again if she could help. His elegant charcoal suit—which had to be worth a year’s salary to her—made her wish she were wearing something other than an ankle-length cotton skirt and combat boots. The spaghetti straps of her cropped top left her arms bare and she felt horribly exposed suddenly. In her place Ashley would have been wearing heels and a smart outfit. A linen suit, perhaps, with a skirt that barely reached her knees.

Then he turned to face her and she prevented herself from backing up only by a supreme effort of will. Deep-set eyes—golden eyes, she saw incredulously—surveyed her with a studied negligence. She realised he was younger than she’d thought at first and she was again aware of his primitive magnetism. An innate sensual arrogance that left her feeling strangely weak.

‘Miss Daniels?’ he said smoothly, with barely a trace of an accent. ‘It is most—how shall I put it?—enlightening to meet you at last.’ He paused. ‘I must say, you are not what I expected.’ His regard was definitely contemptuous now. ‘But still, you will tell me where I might find my son.’

Was that a threat? Tess was taken aback at his tone, but at the same time she realised he had made a mistake. It must be Ashley he wanted, not her. Yet what on earth could Ashley possibly know about his son? She was in England looking after her mother.

‘I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake, signore,’ she began, only to have him interrupt her.

‘No, Miss Daniels, it is you who have made a mistake,’ he snapped harshly. ‘I know you know where Marco is. My—my investigatore saw you getting on a plane together.’

Tess blinked. ‘No, you’re wrong—’

‘Why? Because you are here?’ He snapped his long fingers impatiently. ‘You bought tickets to Milano but you must have changed planes at Genova. When the plane landed at Malpensa, you and Marco were not on board. Di conseguenza, I had no choice but to come here. Be thankful I have found you.’

‘But, I’m not—’

‘Prego ?’

‘I mean—’ Tess knew she sounded crazy ‘—I’m not Miss Daniels. Well, I am.’ Oh, God, if only she could get her words straight. ‘But I’m not Miss Ashley Daniels. She’s my sister.’

The man’s eyes conveyed his disbelief. ‘Is that the best you can do?’

‘It’s the truth.’ Tess was indignant now. ‘My name is Tess. Teresa, actually. But no one calls me that.’

His eyes, those strange predator’s eyes, swept over her, rejecting her contention out of hand. ‘It’s the truth,’ she said again, unknowingly defensive. Then, on a wave of inspiration, ‘I can prove it. I have my passport with me. Is that good enough for you?’

The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘Let me see it.’

Tess’s eyes widened at the command but there was something about him that made her hurry into the office to collect her bag. The passport was zipped into the side pocket of the backpack and she brought it out triumphantly. But when she turned to go back into the showroom she found he was behind her and with a gesture of defiance she thrust it into his hand.

He was successfully blocking her exit now, she realised, aware of a stirring sense of panic. What did she know about this man, after all? Only that he apparently knew her sister—or rather knew of her—and what he knew seemed hardly flattering.

Or true?

‘Look,’ she said as he continued to flick through the mostly empty pages of her passport, ‘I don’t know who you are or what you want but I don’t think you have any right to come in here and accuse me—accuse Ashley—of—of—’

‘Kidnapping my son?’ he suggested scornfully, tossing the passport down onto the desk, and Tess’s heart skipped a beat at the ridiculous accusation. ‘Attenzione, Miss Daniels,’ he added, sweeping back the thick swathe of dark hair that had invaded his forehead as he studied the pages, ‘just because you are not your sister changes nothing. Marco is still missing. He left with your sister. Therefore, you must have some idea where they are.’

‘No!’ Tess hardly knew what she was saying. ‘I mean—I do know where Ashley is. She’s at her mother’s house in England. Her mother is ill. Ashley is looking after her.’

His expression didn’t alter. ‘And that is why you are here taking her place?’

‘Yes. I’m a schoolteacher. I was on holiday. That’s how I was able to help her out.’

‘You are lying, Miss Daniels. Why are you not caring for your mother? I have just read in your passport that you live in England. So tell me why you are not taking care of your mother in your sister’s place?’

‘She’s not my mother,’ Tess exclaimed hotly. ‘My father married again after my mother died.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Now, I think that answers your question. I’m sorry your son is missing but it’s nothing to do with us.’

‘You are wrong.’ He didn’t accept her explanation but at least he stepped back into the passageway to give her some room. When Tess escaped into the comparative safety of the showroom, he followed her. ‘Whatever you say, Miss Daniels, your sister is not caring for her sick mother,’ he insisted. ‘She and Marco are still in Italy. He does not have his passport with him, capisce?’

Tess pressed nervous hands to her bare midriff, feeling the quivering beat of her heart palpating between her ribs. ‘You said—she’d kidnapped him,’ she reminded him tensely. ‘That’s a ridiculous accusation. If—and it’s a big if—Ashley and your son are together, then surely that’s their affair, not yours?’ ‘Non credo. I do not think so.’ He was contemptuous. ‘My son is sixteen years of age, Miss Daniels. He belongs in school, with young people of his own age, not chasing around the country after your sister.’

Tess swallowed convulsively. Sixteen! She couldn’t believe it. Ashley wouldn’t—couldn’t—be involved with a boy of sixteen! The whole idea was laughable. Involved with him, perhaps. That Tess could believe. But not with his teenage son.

Besides, she told herself again, clinging to what she knew and not what he suspected, Ashley was in England. Dammit, she’d spoken to her just a couple of nights ago. That was why Tess was spending part of her Easter break filling in for her. Ashley couldn’t leave the gallery unattended and she’d promised it would only be for a few days.

‘If you’ve not met my sister, how can you be sure that she’s involved?’ she asked unwillingly, realising she couldn’t dismiss his claim out of hand. Ashley might not have been in England when she’d phoned her. She could have used her mobile. How could she be sure?

The man gave her an impatient look now. ‘I may have met her once, but that was some months ago and I have met many people since then. In any case, the person who has been watching her would not make a mistake. I have been out of the country, regrettably, but my assistant contacted your sister just a week ago. She swore then that she would speak to Marco, that she would tell him there was no future in their—association. She is what? Twenty-four? Twenty-five? Much too old for a boy of sixteen.’

Tess pressed her lips together. ‘She’s twenty-eight, actually,’ she said, as if that made any difference, and watched his scowl deepen as he absorbed her words. She didn’t know what to say; she hardly knew what to think. But if it was true, she agreed with him. Could Ashley have told her an outright lie?

She could, she reflected ruefully. And she had to admit that when Ashley had asked her to help her out while she took care of her mother, it had seemed a little out of character. Ashley’s mother, Andrea, had never been a particularly strong woman and since their father had died of a heart attack just over a year ago, she’d suffered from a series of minor complaints. Tess had suspected that that was why Ashley had taken this job in Italy. Looking after a fretful parent who was halfway to being a hypochondriac had never seemed her style.

All the same, this situation was no less incredible. Surely even Ashley would draw the line at getting involved with a boy of sixteen? There was only one way to find out and that was to ring Ashley’s mother. But Tess was loath to do it. If Ashley was there, it would look as if she didn’t trust her.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ she murmured now, her fingers threading anxiously through the wisps of pale blonde hair at her nape. She’d had her hair cut before she came away and she wasn’t totally convinced the gamine style suited her. She’d hoped it would give her some maturity, but she had the feeling it hadn’t succeeded. He was looking at her as if she were no older than one of her own pupils. Oh, Lord, what was she going to do?

‘You could tell me where they are,’ the man declared tersely. ‘I realise you must feel some loyalty towards your sister, but you must also see that this situation cannot be allowed to continue.’

‘I don’t know where they are,’ Tess insisted. ‘Honestly, I don’t.’ And then, realising what she’d said, she added hastily, ‘As far as I know, Ashley’s in England, as I said.’

‘Bene, then you can ring her,’ he said, voicing the thought Tess had had a few minutes before. ‘If she is with her mother, I will offer you my sincerest apologies for troubling you.’

‘And if she’s not?’

Tess looked up at him, unable to disguise her apprehension, and for a moment she thought he was going to relent. But then, with a tightening of his lips, he corrected her. ‘You are confident she will be there,’ he said, and she had the fanciful thought that this man would take no prisoners. She just hoped Ashley had taken that into consideration before she’d taken off with his son.

If she’d taken off with his son, she amended sharply. She only had his word for that. And that of his investigatore—his investigator, she assumed. But she was becoming far too willing to accept what this man said as if it was the truth.

‘If—if she is there, who shall I say is asking for her?’ she inquired abruptly, realising she had been staring at him for far too long. He probably thought she was a flake in her long skirt and combat boots, she reflected ruefully. After all this, it wouldn’t do for him to think that Ashley’s sister might be interested in him.

He hesitated a moment, evidently considering her question. Then, he said briefly, ‘Just tell her it is Castelli. The name will mean something to her, I am sure.’

Tess guessed it would, though what she didn’t dare to speculate. Oh, please, she begged, let Ashley be staying with her mother. Apart from anything else, Tess was going to look such a gullible fool if she wasn’t.

‘All right,’ she declared briskly. ‘I’ll ring her. If you’d like to give me a number where I can reach you, I’ll let you know what she says.’

‘If she says anything,’ murmured Castelli wryly, and then his dark brows drew together. ‘But perhaps you would ring her now, Miss Daniels? I will wait while you make the call.’

Tess caught her breath. He was certainly determined to have his way. But she’d been chivvied long enough. ‘I can’t ring her now,’ she said, not allowing him to intimidate her.

‘I’ll ring her later. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.’

His scepticism was evident. ‘You have?’ He glanced round the gallery. ‘You are not exactly overrun with customers, Miss Daniels.’

Tess stiffened her spine. ‘Look, I’ve said I’ll ring Ashley and I will. Isn’t that enough for you?’ The underlying words were almost audible. But not until you have gone!

His faint smile was sardonic. ‘You are afraid to make the call, Miss Daniels,’ he said impatiently. ‘Be careful, or I shall begin to think you have been lying to me all along.’

Tess’s anger was hot and unexpected. ‘Oh, please,’ she exclaimed fiercely. ‘I don’t have to listen to this. It’s not my fault if your son’s been foolish enough to get involved with an older woman. You’re his father. Don’t you have some responsibility here?’

For a moment, his stillness terrified her. He was like a predator, she thought unsteadily, and she waited in a panic for him to spring. But suddenly his lips twitched into a smile that was blatantly sensual. A look, almost of admiration, crossed his dark face and he appraised her small indignant figure with a rueful gaze.

‘Dio mio,’ he said, and her heart quickened instinctively. ‘The little cat has claws.’

His analogy was startling. It was so close to what she had been thinking about him. Though he was no domesticated feline, she acknowledged urgently. Those strange tawny eyes belonged to a different beast entirely.

And, despite her determination not to let him have his way, she found herself stammering an apology. ‘I’m—I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have spoken as I did. It—it’s nothing to do with me.’

‘No, mi scusi, signorina,’ he said. ‘You are right. This is not your problem. Regrettably, my son has always been a little—what is it you say?—headstrong? I should not have allowed my anger with him to spill over onto you.’

Tess quivered. His eyes were softer now, gentler, a mesmerising deepening of colour that turned them almost opaque. They were locked on hers and the breath seemed to leave her body. Oh, God, she shivered, the impact on her senses leaving her feeling absurdly vulnerable. What was wrong with her? She was behaving as if a man had never looked at her before.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she managed at last, but he wouldn’t let it go.

‘It does matter,’ he said. ‘I am an unfeeling moron, and I should not have called your honesty into question. If you will give me your sister’s number, I will make the call myself.’

Tess stifled a groan. Dear Lord, just as she was beginning to think the worst was over, he sprang this on her. Having reduced her to mush with his eyes, he was now moving in for the kill. He hadn’t given up. He’d only changed his tactics. And she couldn’t be absolutely sure that this hadn’t been his intention all along.

She moved her head in a helpless gesture. How could she give him the number? How could she allow him to speak to Ashley’s mother if Ashley wasn’t there? Andrea would have a fit if he told her that her daughter was missing. And if he added that he suspected she was with his sixteen-year-old son, heaven knew how Ashley’s mother would react.

Concentrating her gaze on the pearl-grey silk knot of his tie, Tess strove for a reason not to give the number to him. But it was hard enough to find excuses for her reaction to a stranger without the added burden of her own guilt. ‘I—don’t think that would be a very good idea,’ she said, wishing desperately that someone else would come into the gallery. But no one did, and she continued unevenly, ‘Ashley’s mother isn’t well. I wouldn’t want to upset her.’

Castelli heaved a sigh. ‘Signorina—’

‘Please: call me Tess.’

He expelled a breath. ‘Tess, then,’ he agreed, though she hardly recognised her name on his tongue. His faint accent gave it a foreign sibilance that was strange and melodic.

‘Why would my call upset her? I have no intention of intimidating anyone.’

But he did, thought Tess grimly, almost without his being aware of it. It was in his genes, an aristocratic arrogance that was dominant in his blood. Who was he? she wondered again. What was his background? And what did his wife think of the situation? Was she as opposed to the liaison as he was?

Of course she must be, Tess told herself severely, averting eyes that had strayed almost irresistibly back to his face. But if Marco was like his father, she could understand Ashley’s attraction. If she had been attracted to his son, she amended. She must not jump to conclusions here.

‘I—Mrs Daniels doesn’t know you,’ she said firmly, answering his question. ‘And—and if by chance Ashley is out and she answers the phone, she’s bound to be concerned.’

‘Why?’ Once again those disturbing eyes invaded her space. ‘Come, Tess, why not be honest? You are afraid that your sister is not at her mother’s house. Am I not correct?’

Tess’s defensive gaze betrayed her. ‘All right,’ she said unwillingly. ‘I admit, there is a possibility—a small possibility—that Ashley isn’t in England, after all. But—’ she put up a hand when he would have interrupted her and continued ‘—that doesn’t mean she’s with—with Marco. With your son.’ The boy’s name came far too easily. ‘She might just have decided she needed a break and, as it’s the Easter holidays, I was available.’

‘You do not believe that,’ he told her softly, running a questing hand down the silken length of his tie. The gesture was unconsciously sensual, though she doubted he was aware of it. Sensuality was part of his persona. Like his lean, intriguing face and the powerful body beneath his sleek Armani suit. ‘I also think you are far too understanding. I hope your sister realises what a loyal little friend she has in you.’

It was the ‘little’ that did it. Tess had spent her life insisting that people not judge her by her size. ‘All right,’ she said again, anger giving her a confidence she hadn’t been able to summon earlier. ‘I’ll phone her. Now. But if she is there—’

‘I will find some suitable means of recompense,’ he finished softly. ‘And if your sister is like you, then I can understand why Marco found her so—appealing.’

‘Don’t patronise me!’ Tess was incensed by his condescension. ‘As it happens, Ashley’s nothing like me. She’s tall and more—more—’ How could she say curvaceous to him? ‘Um—she’s dark and I’m fair.’

‘So…’ His tone was almost indulgent now. ‘Once again, I have offended you, cara. Forgive me. I suppose, being the younger sister—’

‘I’m not the younger sister,’ Tess broke in hotly, wondering why she’d ever thought that cutting her hair would make a difference. ‘I told you, my father married again after my mother died.’

‘Non posso crederci! I can’t believe it.’ He shook his head. ‘But you told me your sister was twenty-eight, no?’

‘And I’m thirty-two,’ said Tess shortly, struggling to hold on to her patience. She paused, and then in a more civil tone she added, ‘Don’t bother to tell me I don’t look it. I’ve spent the last ten years trying to convince people that I’m older than the kids I teach.’

Castelli’s mouth tilted at the corners and she was struck anew by his disturbing appeal. ‘Most women would envy you, Tess. My own mother spends a small fortune on retaining her youth.’

‘But I am not most women,’ she retorted, realising she was only putting off the inevitable. ‘And now, I suppose, I’d better make that call’

Chapter Two

PAFE DI CASTELLI paced tensely about the gallery. All his instincts were urging him to join her in the small office, to be present while she made the call. To make sure she actually called her sister, he conceded tersely. Despite her apparent innocence, he had no reason to trust Tess Daniels any more than her sister.

But courtesy—and an underlying belief that she wouldn’t lie to him—kept him out of earshot. He didn’t want to know how she phrased her question; he didn’t want to hear her distress if he was right. And he was right, he told himself grimly. Verdicci had been adamant. Two people had got aboard the plane to Milano, and one of them had been his son.

It seemed to take for ever. He was fairly sure her Italian wasn’t fluent and it might have been easier if he had placed the call for her. But any suggestion of involvement on his part would have seemed like interference. Besides, impatient as he was, he was prepared to give her the time to marshal her thoughts.

She emerged from the office a few moments later and he saw at once that she was upset. Her hair was rumpled, as if she’d been running agitated fingers through it as she spoke, and her winter-pale cheeks were bright with colour.

She looked delectable, he thought ruefully, despising the impulse that would put such a thought in his mind at this time. Was this how she looked when she left her bed? he wondered. All pale tangled hair and face flushed from sleep?

It was a curiously disturbing picture, and one that he chose to ignore. Engaging though she was, she could mean nothing to him. He was amused by her naivety, but that was all.

‘She’s not there,’ she burst out abruptly as he paused, expectantly, looking at her. ‘Andrea—that’s Ashley’s mother—she hasn’t seen her.’

Rafe felt a mixture of resignation and relief. Resignation that his information had been correct, and relief that there was not some unknown woman involved.

‘You knew that, of course,’ she went on, regarding him half resentfully. Green eyes, fringed by surprisingly dark lashes, surveyed him without liking. ‘So—you were right and I was wrong. What do we do now?’

‘We?’ Her use of the personal pronoun caused an automatic arching of his brows and she had the grace to look embarrassed at her presumption.

‘I mean, I—that is, me,’ she fumbled. ‘What am I going to do now? I can’t stay here indefinitely. I’m due back at school in ten days’ time.’

‘As is Marco,’ he observed drily, feeling a little of her frustration himself. ‘May I ask, what did your sister tell you when she handed the keys of the gallery to you? Did she give you any idea when she would return?’

Tess sighed. ‘I haven’t seen Ashley,’ she muttered, lifting both hands to cup her neck, and his eyes were unwillingly drawn to the widening gap of skin at her midriff. Such soft skin it looked, creamy and flawless. Such a contrast to the ugly boots she wore on her feet.

Dragging his thoughts out of the gutter, Rafe tried to absorb what she was saying. ‘You have not seen her,’ he echoed blankly. ‘I do not understand.’

‘Ashley phoned me,’ she explained. ‘She said her mother was ill and was there any chance that I could come here and look after the gallery for a few days while she went to England. She said she wanted to leave immediately. That she was worried about her mother and she’d leave the keys with the caretaker of her apartment.’

‘So you crossed in transit?’

‘In a manner of speaking. But Ashley’s mother and I live in different parts of the country.’

‘Ah.’ He nodded. ‘So your sister had every reason to believe that she would not be found out in her deception.’

‘I suppose so.’ Clearly she didn’t want to admit it, but Rafe could see the acknowledgement in her face. She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe she’d think she’d get away with it. I could have phoned Andrea. I could have found out she wasn’t ill for myself.’

‘But you did not?’

‘No.’ Tess shrugged her slim shoulders and her hands dropped to her sides. ‘Ashley knows I was unlikely to do that, in any case. Andrea and I have never been particularly close.’

‘Yet you must have been very young when your mother died,’ he probed, and then could have kicked himself for his insensitivity. But it was too late now and he was forced to explain himself. ‘I assumed this woman—your father’s second wife—would have cared for you, too.’

Tess shook her head. ‘Andrea has always been a—a delicate woman,’ she said. ‘Having two young children to look after would have been too much for her. I went to live with my mother’s sister. She’d never married and she was a teacher, too.’

Poor Tess. Rafe made no comment, but it sounded to him as if Andrea Daniels was as unfeeling and as selfish as her daughter. ‘It seems we have both been deceived,’ he said, softening his tone deliberately. ‘It is a pity your sister does not carry a mobile. Marco’s is switched off.’

‘But she does,’ exclaimed Tess excitedly, animation giving her porcelain-pale features a startling allure. Her smile appeared and Rafe had to warn himself of the dangers of responding to her femininity. ‘Why didn’t I think of it before? She gave me the number when she moved to Porto San Michele.’

Rafe expelled a harsh breath. ‘You have the number with you?’

‘Of course.’ She swung about and headed back into the office where she’d left her bag. She emerged a few seconds later, clutching a scrap of paper. ‘Here it is. Do you want to ring her, or shall I?’

Rafe realised suddenly that, almost without his volition, they had become co-conspirators. She was now as anxious to know where her sister had gone as he was. But once again he reminded himself not to get involved with her, however innocently. She was still his enemy’s sister. In any conflict of wills, she would choose Ashley every time.

‘If you wish that I should make the call, then I will,’ he told her politely, but he could hear the formal stiffness in his tone. ‘Even so, perhaps it would be wiser for you to phone her. If she hears my voice…’

‘Oh. Oh, yes.’

He didn’t elaborate but Tess understood at once what he was saying. The animation died out of her face and she averted her eyes. It was as if she’d just remembered that she owed him no favours either. That however justified he felt, she had only his word that Ashley was to blame for his son’s disappearance.

With an offhand little gesture, she returned to the office, only to emerge again a few minutes later, her expression revealing she had had no luck. ‘Ashley’s phone is switched off, too,’ she said, and Rafe could see she was losing faith in her sister. She heaved a sigh. ‘It looks as if you were right all along. What are you going to do now?’

Rafe wished he had an answer. There was hardly any point in saying what he’d like to do. ‘Continue searching, presumo,’ he replied at last, choosing the least aggressive option. ‘There are many holiday resorts between here and Genova. It is possible that your sister hired an automobile at the airport. They could be anywhere. It will not be an easy task.’

‘Mmm.’ Tess was thoughtful. A pink tongue circled her lower lip and Rafe realised she didn’t know how provocative that was. ‘Will you let me know if you find them?’ she asked ‘I mean—find Ashley.’ Becoming colour scored her cheeks. ‘You know what I mean.’

Rafe knew what she meant all right. What he didn’t know at that moment was whether he wanted to see her again. She was far too young for him, far too vulnerable. Despite her being the older, he’d stake his life that Ashley was far more worldly than she was.

The notion annoyed him however. What in the name of all the saints was he thinking? She wasn’t asking to see him again. She was asking if he’d keep her informed about her sister. Va bene, he could get his assistant to do that with a phone call. Providing he found out where her sister had gone…

‘Si,’ he said abruptly, buttoning his jacket in an unconsciously defensive gesture and heading for the door. He turned in the doorway, however, to bid her farewell and was surprised by a strangely disappointed look on her face. With her slim hands clasped at her waist, she looked lost and lonely, and before he could stop himself he added, ‘Perhaps you could do the same?’

Her green eyes widened. ‘I don’t know where to reach you,’ she said, as he’d known she would. Maledizione, he hadn’t intended to give her his phone number. How easily he’d fallen into the trap.

He would have to give her his card, he decided, reaching into his jacket pocket. That way Giulio could handle it and he needn’t be involved. To give her his mobile number would have been kinder, obviously, but why should he put himself out for the sister of the woman who had seduced his son?

He took a few paces back into the gallery and handed the card to her. Her fingers brushed his knuckles as she took it and he couldn’t deny the sudden frisson of desire that seared his flesh. He wanted her, he thought incredulously. Combat boots and all, she attracted him. Or maybe he was feeling his age and seducing her would give him some compensation for what her sister had done to Marco. What other reason could he have for the feelings she inspired?

Whatever, he dismissed the idea impatiently. He was obviously having some kind of midlife crisis because girls like Tess had never appealed to him before. He liked his women young—well, reasonably so, but far more sophisticated. They wore designer dresses and heels, and they’d never dream of going out without make-up on their faces.

Vigneto di Castelli, his card read, and he watched Tess’s expression as she looked at it. ‘You have a vineyard,’ she murmured. ‘How exciting! I’ve never met anyone who actually owned a vineyard before.’

Nor had her sister, thought Rafe drily. He was too cynical to believe that Marco’s background hadn’t figured in Ashley’s plans. He still had no idea what her ultimate intentions were, of course, but he suspected that a pay-off would be part of it. He’d encountered the ploy before with his daughter. But fortunately Maria had been eighteen, not sixteen at the time.

‘It is a small operation, signorina,’ he said now depre-catingly. ‘Many families in Italy have taken to growing grapes with the increase in wine drinking in recent years.’

‘All the same…’ Her lips curved beguilingly, and Rafe felt the familiar pull of awareness inside him. Time to go, he thought grimly, before he invited her to visit the villa. He could just imagine his mother’s horror if he returned home with someone like Tess in tow.

‘Ci vediamo, signorina,’ he said politely as he retraced his steps to the door but she wouldn’t let him have the last word.

‘My name’s Tess,’ she reminded him, following him out onto the esplanade and watching as he strode away towards his car.

And, although he didn’t answer her, he knew that was how he would think of her. Somehow the name suited her personality. It was as capricious and feminine as she was.

As he’d half expected, his mother was waiting for him when he returned to the Villa Castelli.

A tall, elegant woman in her mid-sixties, she’d moved back into the villa six years ago when he’d divorced his wife. Rafe’s father had died almost twenty years before and he was sure that looking after Maria and Marco had given the old lady a new lease of life. Of course, she’d never forgiven him for divorcing Gina. In the Castelli family marriages were made to last and her strict religious beliefs rebelled against such secular freedom. Nevertheless, she had proved a tower of strength on many occasions and it was only recently that she had decided that the time had come to move back into the small farmhouse she’d occupied on the estate since Raphael’s father’s death.

Rafe knew her decision had been partly influenced by his son’s behaviour. Although Maria had had her own period of rebellion, she had been fairly easy to control in comparison to her brother. Marco was self-willed and headstrong—much as he had been at the same age, Rafe acknowledged honestly—but without the sense of responsibility his father had instilled in him.

‘You’ve seen her?’

His mother’s first words reminded Rafe that, as far as Lucia di Castelli was concerned, Ashley Daniels was still running the Medici Gallery. His main reason for visiting the gallery had been to find out if Ashley knew where Marco was hiding. Instead of which he’d met her sister and discovered he was not too old to make a fool of himself, too.

‘She’s not at the gallery,’ he said with contrived carelessness, strolling onto the loggia where his mother was waiting enjoying a mid-morning cappuccino. It was very warm on the loggia and Rafe loosened his tie and pulled it a couple of inches away from his collar before approaching a glass-topped table and helping himself to one of the thin, honey-soaked biscotti Lucia loved. ‘Verdicci appears to have been correct. They have gone away together.’ He glanced round as a uniformed maid came to ask if there was anything he required. ‘Just coffee, Sophia,’ he replied pleasantly. ‘Black.’ Then to his mother. ‘Her sister is looking after the gallery while she’s away.’

‘Her sister?’

His mother was sceptical, and Rafe guessed she’d jumped to the same conclusion he had. ‘Her sister,’ he confirmed, flinging himself into a cane-backed chair and staring broodingly out across the gardens below the terrace. ‘Believe me, she is nothing like this woman Marco has got himself involved with.’

‘How do you know this?’ Lucia’s dark eyes narrowed. ‘I thought you said you wouldn’t recognise the woman if you saw her.’

‘I wouldn’t.’ Rafe realised he had been far too definite. ‘But Tess is a schoolteacher. And, believe me, she’s as much in the dark as we are. Ashley had given her some story about going home to care for her sick mother.’

‘Tess!’ Lucia scoffed. ‘What kind of a name is that?’

‘It’s Teresa,’ replied Rafe evenly, thanking the maid who had delivered his coffee. He turned back to his mother in some irritation. ‘We won’t get anywhere by picking fault with one of the few people who might be able to help us.’

‘How can this woman help us? You said yourself she doesn’t know where her sister is.’

‘Ashley may get in touch with her. If she wants Teresa to go on believing the story she’s given her, she may feel the need to embellish it in some way.’

Lucia’s mouth drew into a thin line. ‘It sounds to me as if this—this sister of the Daniels woman has made quite an impression on you, Raphael,’ she declared tersely. ‘Why do you believe her? What proof do you have that she’s telling you the truth?’

None at all! ‘Believe me, she was as shocked as we were,’ he responded stiffly. ‘You can’t blame her for what her sister’s done.’

‘And has she contacted her mother?’ Lucia was scathing.

‘Forgive me, I know I’m old-fashioned, but don’t English girls keep in touch with their own parents these days?’

‘Of course they do,’ retorted Rafe testily. ‘But Ashley’s mother isn’t her mother. Their father married twice. Teresa is the older sister.’

‘Che sorpresa!’ What a surprise! Lucia was sardonic. ‘People get married and divorced at the drop of a hat these days.’ She crossed herself before continuing. ‘Thank Jesu for the Holy Catholic church. At least most good Catholics take their vows seriously.’

Rafe knew that was directed at him but he chose not to rise to it. It wasn’t worth it. He contented himself with saying drily, ‘I understand Teresa’s mother is dead.’ Then, refusing to feel defensive, added, ‘In any case, as you’ll have guessed, Ashley wasn’t at her mother’s home. It seems she has told her sister a pack of lies.’

Lucia shook her head. ‘It sounds very suspicious to me.’

Rafe controlled his temper with an effort. ‘Well, I cannot help that,’ he said grimly.

‘But you must admit it is strange that this woman—this Teresa—doesn’t know where her sister is.’ She arched an aristocratic eyebrow. ‘Why on earth would she want to keep her whereabouts a secret from her?’

‘Because she knew her sister wouldn’t approve any more than we do?’ suggested Rafe tightly. ‘I don’t know, Mama. But I believe her and I think you should do the same.’

Lucia sniffed and Rafe thought how ridiculous this was, having to explain himself to his mother. Sometimes she behaved as if he were no older than Marco. He supposed it came of giving her free rein with the household after Gina walked out.

‘So what happens now?’ she inquired at last when it became obvious that Rafe was going to say no more. ‘Do I take it that unless the woman gets in touch with her sister, the information Verdicci gave you is our only lead?’

‘I will also speak to Maria,’ said Rafe. ‘She and Marco share most things and she may know where he’s gone. It’s a long shot and for the present we only know they disembarked in Genova. I suspect the Daniels woman guessed we might check the airlines and buying tickets to Milano was meant to throw us off the scent.’

‘And knowing they might be in Genova helps us how?’

‘Well, obviously she didn’t know we were watching her. She has no reason to believe that we might question whether they completed their journey. Ergo, she will expect us to make inquiries in Milano. Inquiries which, as we now know, would have gained us nothing.’

‘Very well’ Lucia accepted his reasoning. ‘But Genova is a big city. How do you propose to find them there?’

‘I’m hoping Ashley will have hired an automobile,’ replied Rafe, finishing his coffee and getting to his feet again. He paced somewhat restlessly across the terrazzo tiles, staring out at the distant vineyard, hazy in the morning sunshine. ‘Verdicci is checking the rental agencies at the airport. If she has used her own name, we will find them, never fear.’

‘And if she hasn’t?’

‘Car rental agencies need identification. If my guess is correct, she will have used her passport to confirm her identity. Either that or her work permit. In each case, she will have had to use her own name. She may even have had to give an address—a local address, I mean. Somewhere she plans to stay. Where they plan to stay.’

Lucia’s lips crumpled. ‘Oh, this is so terrible! Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is Marco and that woman, together. It’s—appalling! Disgusting!’

‘Don’t exaggerate, Mama.’ Rafe could see she was building up to another hysterical outburst. His lips twisted. ‘For all I know, Marco may be more experienced than we thought. He must have something to have attracted the interest of a woman of her age.’

‘Don’t be offensive!’ Lucia gazed at him with horrified eyes. ‘How can you even say such things? Marco is just a child—’

‘He’s nearly seventeen, Mama.’ Rafe was impatient now. ‘He’s not a child. He’s a young man.’ He paused. ‘With a young man’s needs and—desires.’

Lucia’s spine stiffened and she pushed herself rigidly to her feet. ‘Very well,’ she said coldly. ‘I can see you are not prepared to discuss this sensibly so I might as well go. I should have expected this of you, of course. You’ve never taken a strong enough hand with that boy and now we’re all suffering the consequences.’

Rafe blew out a breath. ‘You’re not suffering anything, Mama. Except perhaps from a little jealousy. I know you’ve always thought the sun shone out of Marco’s—well, you’ve always favoured him over Maria. Perhaps you ought to wonder if you are in any way responsible for his apparent rebellion against parental authority.’

Lucia’s jaw dropped. ‘You can’t blame me?’

‘I’m not blaming anyone,’ retorted Rafe wearily. ‘You are. All I’m doing is defending myself.’

‘As you did when Gina decided she’d had enough of your indifference?’ declared his mother tersely, making for the door. ‘You’ve always neglected your family, Raphael. First your wife and now your son. With you, your work must always come first.’

‘Gina slept with my estate manager,’ said Rafe through his teeth, but Lucia was not deterred.

‘She was lonely, Raphael. She needed love and you didn’t give it to her. What did you expect?’

Trust? Loyalty? Rafe didn’t attempt to dispute her words, however. This was an old argument and one he had no intention of rekindling. Gina hadn’t wanted love, she’d wanted sex. Her affair with Guido Marchetta might have been the reason he’d divorced her, but it hadn’t been the first. He had never told his mother that and now was not the time to do so.

‘Look,’ he said, his tone neutral. ‘Let’s not get into blaming ourselves. Marco’s somewhere out there and I’m going to find him.’

Lucia shrugged. ‘If you can,’ she said scornfully, determined to have the last word, and Rafe let her enjoy her small victory.

Chapter Three

As TESS had half expected, Ashley’s mother rang the gallery just after the man, Castelli, had left.

Tess didn’t blame her. She wouldn’t have been satisfied with the terse explanation she had given her. But once Tess had ascertained that Ashley wasn’t there, all she’d wanted to do was get off the phone. It had been bad enough having to relay the news to Castelli. Discussing Ashley’s whereabouts with her mother while he’d listened in just hadn’t been possible.

Even so, when the phone pealed in the small office she paused a moment to pray that it might be her sister instead. The gallery was still empty and she had no excuse for not answering it. And it could be anyone, she reminded herself, not looking forward to explaining the situation to Andrea.

‘Teresa?’ Clearly Ashley’s mother had no difficulty in distinguishing between their voices. ‘What’s going on? What are you doing at the gallery? Where’s Ashley?’

Tess sighed. When she’d spoken to Andrea earlier, she hadn’t mentioned the gallery. But it was only natural that Andrea would ring here when she got no reply from Tess’s flat. And this was where her daughter was supposed to be, after all.

‘Um—she’s taking a holiday,’ Tess managed at last, deciding that the best liars were those who stuck most closely to the truth. ‘It’s good to hear from you, Andrea. How are you?’

‘Never mind how I am, Teresa.’ There was no affection in the older woman’s voice. ‘Five minutes ago you rang here asking to speak to Ashley. You must have known how upsetting that would be for me. As far as I knew, she was still in Porto San Michele.’

‘You’ve heard from her?’

Tess couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice and her stepmother detected it. ‘Of course, I’ve heard from her,’ she said shortly. And then, more suspiciously, ‘Why shouldn’t I? She still cares about me, you know.’

‘Well, of course she does—’

‘Just because you encouraged her to leave home and live alone, as you do, doesn’t mean Ashley doesn’t have a conscience,’ continued Andrea preposterously. ‘I know you’ve always been jealous of our relationship, Teresa, but if this is some ploy to try and get me to think badly of—’

‘It’s not.’

Tess couldn’t even begin to unravel what Andrea was talking about. She hadn’t encouraged Ashley to leave home and work in Italy. She had certainly never been jealous of her relationship with her mother. Envious, perhaps, because her own mother wasn’t there to share her hopes and fears; her development. But Aunt Kate had been a wonderful substitute. And what she’d lacked in experience, she’d more than made up for in love.

‘Then why ring me?’ demanded Andrea accusingly. ‘Worrying me unnecessarily, making me wonder if something terrible had happened to her.’

‘It’s not like that.’

‘Then what is it like? You ask me if I’ve heard from her as if she’s gone missing. Don’t you have her mobile phone number? Why don’t you ring her on that?’

Tess hesitated. ‘Her phone’s not working,’ she admitted. ‘And—well, I just wondered if Ashley had gone to England after all. As you’ll have guessed, I’m looking after the gallery while she’s away.’ She paused, seeking inspiration, and then added unwillingly, ‘I—I had a customer of hers asking about—a painting.’ Liar! ‘I—I just thought it was worth seeing if she was staying with you.’

Andrea snorted disbelievingly, and Tess felt a growing sense of injustice at the impossible position Ashley had put her in. Not only had she left her to deal with her boyfriend’s irate father, but she must have known Tess might ring her mother when she believed that that was where Ashley was.

All the same, it wasn’t in Tess’s nature to upset anyone unnecessarily, and, taking a deep breath, she said, ‘I’m sure she’ll be in touch with me again in a few days.’ She’ll have to, Tess added to herself. Ashley knew she was due back at school in ten days as well. ‘But—um—if you hear from her in the meantime, could you ask her to ring me? The—er—the customer I was telling you about, he is pretty eager to speak to Ashley himself.’

Andrea was silent for so long that Tess began to hope that she’d pacified the woman. But just as she was about to excuse herself on the pretext that someone had come into the gallery Ashley’s mother spoke again.

‘And you have absolutely no idea where Ashley is?’ she asked again urgently, a worrying tremor in her voice. ‘If you do know anything, Teresa, I demand that you tell me. Do you think I should come out there? If Ashley’s missing, the police ought to be informed.’

‘Ashley’s not missing.’ Tess hurried to reassure her, cursing her sister anew for getting her into this mess. ‘Honestly, Andrea, there’s no need for you to concern yourself. Ashley’s taken a break, that’s all. She’s probably turned off her phone so she isn’t bothered with nuisance calls.’

‘I hope you’re not suggesting that if I ring my daughter she’d regard it as a nuisance call!’ exclaimed Andrea at once, but at least the disturbing tremor had left her voice.

‘Of course not,’ protested Tess, determining to find out exactly what Ashley had been telling her mother about their relationship. Andrea hadn’t always treated her kindly, but she hadn’t regarded Tess as an enemy before.

‘Oh, well…’ There was resignation in the woman’s voice now. ‘I suppose I have to take your word for it. But, remember, I expect you to keep me informed if there are any developments. And if you hear from Ashley, you can tell her that I expect her to ring me at once.’

‘Okay.’

Somehow, Tess found the right words to end the conversation, and with a feeling of immense relief she put the handset down. But her sense of indignation didn’t end when she severed the connection. She was beginning to feel distinctly put upon and she wished she’d never agreed to come here in the first place.

An image of Castelli flashed before her eyes, but she refused to acknowledge it. She had no intention of allowing her interview with the Italian to influence her mood. Besides which, he was just someone else who regarded her as unworthy of his respect.

She scowled. This was not the way Ashley had sold this trip to her. Her sister had asked her to babysit the gallery, true, but she’d also sweetened the request with promises of long sunny days and evenings spent exploring the bars and ristorantes of the popular resort. Not that Tess cared much for bars, but the idea of eating in real Italian restaurants had been appealing. And, like anyone else who held down a job, she’d looked forward to spending some time on the beach.

Now it was all spoilt. After spending the first couple of evenings tidying Ashley’s apartment and making sense of her bookkeeping, she was confronted by this situation. It was typical of Ashley, she thought flatly. Typical of her sister to trample over everyone’s feelings if it made her happy. And there was no doubt that Ashley had known how Tess would have reacted if she’d told her what she’d intended. That was why she’d made sure she’d been long gone before Tess had arrived.

It was so frustrating; so disappointing. She should have guessed there was more to it than Ashley had told her. She should have rung Andrea before she’d left England. It was her own fault for not expressing any interest in her stepmother’s health. But for now she was helpless. Until Ashley chose to contact her, there was nothing she could do.

She had planned on treating herself to an evening meal at the local pizzeria before returning to the apartment, but she changed her mind. After spending an uneasy day jumping every time someone came into the gallery, she was in no mood for company. She would buy herself some salad greens, she thought, toss them in a lemon vinaigrette, and grate some parmesan for flavour.

She was about to lock up when a man appeared in the doorway. He had his back to the light and for a ridiculous moment she thought Castelli had come back. Her heart skipped a beat and hot colour surged into her throat. But then the man moved and she realised her mistake.

It was Silvio Palmieri, she saw at once, the young man who ran the sports shop next door. Though perhaps calling the establishment he managed a sports shop was understating the obvious, Tess mused. With its windows full of endorsements from famous sports personalities and the exclusive designer gear it sold, it was definitely not just a sports shop.

Still, she acknowledged she had been foolish to mistake the younger man for Castelli. Silvio was dark, it was true, but that was where the resemblance ended. He didn’t move with the instinctive grace of a predator or regard her with tawny-eyed suspicion. Silvio was just a rather pleasant man who had taken it upon himself to look out for her.

‘Ciao,’ he said. Then he noticed her expression. ‘Mi scusi, I startle you, no?’

‘Oh—I was miles away,’ murmured Tess, gathering her composure. ‘You surprised me, that’s all’

Silvio frowned. ‘You have not had bad news?’ he asked, with surprising perception. ‘Ashley’s mama—she has not had a relapse, spero?’

‘Not as far as I know,’ said Tess drily, not at all sure how Andrea must be feeling at this moment. ‘Um—have you had a good day?’

Silvio shrugged. ‘What do you say? So-so? Si, it has been a so-so day. How about you?’

Tess felt an almost irresistible urge to laugh, but she doubted Silvio would appreciate her hysterics. She couldn’t involve him in her problems. Ashley wouldn’t like it and Castelli definitely wouldn’t approve.

‘It’s been—interesting,’ she said, moving to drop the blinds on the windows. ‘But I’m not sorry it’s over.’ And that was the truth.

‘I saw Raphael di Castelli come into the gallery earlier,’ Silvio ventured, his brows raised in inquiry, and Tess wondered if she was being absurdly suspicious in thinking that that was the real reason he had come. ‘He is quite a well-known person in San Michele. In the season, many people work at the villa. Picking the grapes, capisce?’

Tess stared at him. ‘You know him?’ she asked, absorbing the fact that his name was Raphael di Castelli. She moistened her lips. ‘Does he have a large vineyard, then?’

‘I think so.’ Silvio was regarding her curiously now. ‘And, no, I do not know him. Well, not personally, you understand?’

Tess hesitated. Ashley’s interest in Marco was beginning to make sense. ‘And Ashley?’ she asked, trying to sound casual. ‘I believe she knows his son?’

‘Ah, Marco.’ Silvio nodded. ‘Si. Marco is—how do you say?—the artist, no?’

‘Marco’s a painter?’

‘He would like to be.’ Silvio spread a hand towards the paintings lining the walls of the gallery. ‘He would like the exhibition, I think.’

Tess caught her breath. Castelli hadn’t mentioned that his son wanted to be a painter. But perhaps it explained how Ashley had come to know Marco, however.

Now she looked around. ‘Are any of these his paintings?’ she asked cautiously and Silvio laughed.

‘A mala pena.’ Hardly. ‘But he is ambitious, no?’

‘I see.’ Tess nodded. ‘Does his father approve?’

‘I think not,’ said Silvio, sobering. ‘Di Castellis do not waste their time with such pursuits. Besides, Marco is still at school’

‘Ah.’ Tess thought that explained a lot. ‘Well, thank you for your insight. It was certainly—um—interesting.’

‘And Marco’s father?’ prompted Silvio. ‘You didn’t say what he wanted.’

‘Oh.’ Tess had no intention of discussing the reasons for Castelli’s visit with him. ‘He—er—he was looking for Ashley.’ She crossed her fingers. ‘He didn’t say why.’

‘Mmm.’

Silvio didn’t sound convinced, but Tess decided she had said enough. ‘Now, I’ve got to go,’ she said. ‘I want to go to the supermarket before I go home.’

‘Or you could have dinner with me,’ Silvio suggested at once. ‘There is a favourite trattoria of mine just a short way from here.’

‘Oh, I don’t think—’

‘You are not going to turn me down?’

Silvio pulled a petulant face, but Tess had had enough. ‘I am sure there are plenty of women only too eager to dine with you, Silvio,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s been a long day and I’m tired. I wouldn’t be very good company tonight.’

‘But Ashley, she said you would be glad to go out with me,’ he protested. ‘She tell me you are not—attached, no?’

‘Did she?’ Tess wondered what else Ashley had told these people about her. ‘Well, she was wrong, Silvio. I do have a boyfriend.’ Boyfriends, anyway, she justified herself. There was no need to tell him there was no special man in her life.

Silvio shrugged. ‘But he is not here,’ he pointed out blandly, and she sighed.

‘Even so…’

‘Another evening, perhaps,’ he declared, evidently undeterred by her answer. Then to her relief he walked towards the door. ‘A domani, cara. Arrivederci.’

‘Arrivederci,’ she answered. ‘Goodnight.’

Tess waited only until he’d stepped out of the gallery before shutting and locking the door behind him. Then, leaning back against it, she blew out a relieved breath. What a day, she thought. First Castelli, and then Silvio. She would be glad to get back to the apartment. At least there she could be reasonably sure she wouldn’t be disturbed. Unless Ashley had some other secret she hadn’t bothered to share with her sister, that was.

She slept badly, having only picked at the salad she’d prepared for herself. She kept thinking she could hear a phone ringing, but it was only the wind chimes hanging on the balcony outside the bedroom window.

In the event, she dropped into a fitful slumber just before dawn and when she woke again it was daylight and the sun was filtering through the blinds.

After putting on a pot of coffee, she went and took a shower in the tiny bathroom. The water was never hot, but for once she appreciated its lukewarm spray. She even turned the tap to cold before stepping out and wrapping herself in one of the skimpy towels Ashley had provided.

After pouring herself a delicious mug of black coffee, she stepped out onto the tiny balcony. The world looked a little less hostile this morning, she thought. But that was ridiculous, really. It was people who were hostile, not the world in general. And if anyone was to blame for her present situation, it was Ashley.

Her sister’s apartment was on the top floor of a villa in the Via San Giovanni. The road was one of several that climbed the hill above the harbour, and, although the building was rather unprepossessing on the outside, at least its halls and stairways were clean and didn’t smell of the onions and garlic that so many old buildings did.

Ashley’s apartment was fairly spartan, but it was comfortable enough. She had added rugs and throws and pretty curtains at the narrow windows, and Tess had been pleasantly surprised to find it had a separate bedroom and bathroon as well as a living-room-cum-kitchen with modern appliances.

Now as she leaned on the balcony rail she amended the feelings of betrayal she had had the night before. Okay, Ashley had lied to her—had lied to all of them—but from Tess’s point of view nothing had really changed. She was still filling in at the gallery and she had only herself to blame if she didn’t enjoy the novelty of a break in such beautiful surroundings.

But it was hard not to wonder what Ashley was doing. Getting involved with a teenager seemed crazy, even by her sister’s standards. Yet Ashley had always been a law unto herself. Tess could remember her father grumbling about his younger daughter’s antics on one of his infrequent visits to Derbyshire to see her. He and his new family had still lived in London, but Tess had moved away when she’d become a teacher. It had been easier not to have to make excuses for not visiting her family as often as her father would have liked.

Realising her mug was empty now and that she was just wasting time, Tess turned back into the bedroom. Shedding the towel onto the rail in the bathroom, she walked naked into the bedroom again to find something suitable to wear.

Ignoring the suspicion that Raphael di Castelli’s visit the previous day was influencing her, she chose a cream chemise dress that was spotted with sprigs of lavender. It was long, as her skirt had been, but she chose canvas loafers instead of the boots she’d worn the day before.

Her hair had dried in the sunshine and she surveyed its wisps and curls with a resigned eye. Some women might appreciate its youthful ingenuousness, but she didn’t. She should have left it long, she thought gloomily. At least then she could have swept it up on top of her head.

Shrugging off these thoughts, she rinsed her coffee mug, left it on the drainer, and exited the apartment. Three flights of stone stairs led down to the ground floor and she emerged into the warm air with a growing feeling of well-being. She wasn’t going to let Ashley—or Castelli—spoil her holiday, she decided. She had a good mind to shut the gallery early and spend the latter half of the afternoon on the beach.

Ashley’s little Renault was parked a few metres down from the apartment building and it took some patience to extricate it from between a badly parked Fiat and a bulky van. It didn’t help that she had to keep control of the vehicle by using the handbrake, the steep slope of the road making any kind of manoeuvre an act of faith.

She managed to regain her composure driving down to the gallery. Tumbling blossoms on sun-baked walls, red-and ochre-tiled roofs dropping away towards the waterfront, buildings that seemed to be crammed so closely together, there didn’t seem to be room for anything between. But there were gardens lush with greenery, fruit trees espaliered against crumbling brickwork. And the sensual fragrance of lilies and roses and jasmine, mingling with the aromas from the bakery on the corner.

The phone was ringing when she let herself into the gallery. Ashley, she thought eagerly, hurriedly turning off the alarm as she went to answer it. ‘Hello?’

‘Teresa?’ Her spirits dropped. She should have known. It was Ashley’s mother again. ‘Teresa, where have you been? I’ve been trying the apartment but you weren’t there.’

‘I expect I was on my way down here,’ said Tess, adopting a pleasant tone even though she felt like screaming. Then, with sudden optimism, ‘Have you heard from Ashley?’

‘No.’ The clipped word conveyed it all, both distress and impatience. ‘Have you?’

‘If I had I’d have let you know,’ said Tess flatly, and heard Andrea inhale a sharp breath.

‘As would I, Teresa,’ she said. ‘And there is no need for you to take that tone with me. If you don’t know where your sister is, I consider that’s your mistake, not mine.’

Tess bit back the indignant retort that sprang to her lips. It was no use falling out with Ashley’s mother. She was upset, and who could blame her? Her daughter had gone missing and she was over a thousand miles away.

‘I suppose I assumed she’d keep in touch,’ she said at last, deciding she didn’t deserve to shoulder all the blame. ‘And I did speak to her a few days ago.’

Andrea snorted. ‘You didn’t tell me that yesterday.’

Tess sighed. ‘I forgot.’

‘Or you kept it from me, just to worry me,’ Ashley’s mother said accusingly. ‘Didn’t you ask her where she was?’

No. Why should she? But Tess kept that question to herself.

‘I never thought of it,’ she said, which was true enough. ‘Anyway, she’ll be in touch again, I know, when she finds the time.’

‘Well, I think it’s a very unsatisfactory state of affairs,’ declared Andrea tersely. ‘And if it wasn’t for this customer of Ashley’s wanting to speak to her, I’d have heard nothing about it.’

Nor would she, thought Tess ruefully. But that was another story.

There was an awkward silence then, and before Tess could think of anything to fill it Ashley’s mother spoke again. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘I’m getting the distinct impression that you know more about this than you’re letting on. And if Ashley was forced to ask you to stand in for her, she must have been desperate.’

Gee, thanks!

Tess refused to respond to that and Andrea continued doggedly, ‘Well, all I can do is leave it with you for the present. But if you haven’t heard from her by the end of the week, I intend to come out to Italy and see what’s going on for myself.’

Tess stifled an inward groan. ‘That’s your decision, of course.’

‘Yes, it is.’ Andrea had obviously expected an argument and Tess’s answer had left her with little more to say. ‘All right, then. So, the minute you hear from Ashley, you’ll ring me? You promise?’

‘Of course.’

Somehow Tess got off the phone without telling the other woman exactly what she really thought of Ashley’s behaviour. And then, after hanging up, she spent several minutes staring gloomily into space. She no longer felt like closing the gallery early and spending the rest of the day on the beach. This so-called holiday had suddenly become a trial of innocence and she was the accused.

It wasn’t fair, she thought bitterly. It wasn’t her fault Ashley had disappeared; it wasn’t her fault that she had taken Castelli’s son with her. So why was she beginning to feel that it was?

Chapter Four

SOMEHOW Tess got through the rest of the day. For once, she had several would-be customers in the gallery, and she spent some time talking to a couple from Manchester, England, who were visiting Italy for the first time.

Nevertheless, she was enormously relieved when it was time to close up. She returned to the apartment and another lonely evening feeling as if she were the only person in Porto San Michele who wasn’t having any fun.

The next morning she felt marginally brighter. She’d slept reasonably well and, refusing to consider what would happen if Ashley didn’t turn up, she dressed in pink cotton shorts and a sleeveless top that exposed her belly button. Why should she care what anyone thought of her appearance? she thought, slipping her feet into sandals that strapped around her ankle. This was her holiday and she meant to enjoy it.

With this in mind, she decided to give the car a miss this morning. A walk down to the gallery would enable her to pick up a warm, custard-filled pastry at the bakery, and the exercise would do her good. Italian food was delicious, but it was also very rich.

It was another beautiful morning. Outside the sun was shining, which couldn’t help but make her feel optimistic. Whatever else Ashley had done, she had introduced her to this almost untouched corner of Tuscany, and she had to remember that.

Several people called a greeting as she made her way down the steep slope into town. She didn’t always understand what they said, but she usually managed an adequate response. Her Italian was improving in leaps and bounds, and before all this business with Ashley had erupted she’d been happily planning a return to the country, maybe taking in Florence and Venice next time.

The pastry she’d bought at the small pasticceria was oozing custard onto her fingers as she let herself into the gallery. The alarm started its usual whine and she hurried to deactivate it before opening up the office and setting her backpack down on the desk. Then, before she had time to fill the coffee-pot, the telephone rang again.

Dammit, she thought, she couldn’t get through the door before someone wanted to speak to her. Depositing the sticky pastry onto the notepad beside the phone, she picked up the receiver. ‘Medici Galleria,’ she said, expecting the worst.

‘Miss Daniels?’

Tess swallowed. She would have recognised his distinctive voice anywhere. ‘Signor di Castelli,’ she said politely. ‘What can I do for you?’ Her heart skipped a beat. ‘Have you heard from your son?’

‘Ah, no.’ His sigh was audible. ‘I gather you have not heard from your sister either.’

‘No.’ Tess’s excitement subsided. ‘Nor has her mother.’

‘I see.’ He paused. ‘You have heard from her?’

‘Oh, yes. I’ve heard from Andrea.’

Tess couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice and Castelli picked up on it. ‘You sound depressed, cara,’ he murmured sympathetically. ‘Ashley’s mother—she blames you, si?’

‘How did you know?’ said Tess ruefully. ‘Yes, she blames me. I should have asked Ashley where she was going when I spoke to her before I left England.’

‘But you thought she was going to visit with her mama, no?’

‘Andrea doesn’t see it that way. In any case, I couldn’t tell her what Ashley had told me.’

‘Povero Tess,’ he said gently. ‘This has not been easy for you.’

‘No.’ Tess felt a momentary twinge of self-pity. ‘So—’ she tried to be practical ‘—was that the only reason you rang? To ask whether I’d heard from Ashley?’

‘Among other things,’ he said, rather enigmatically. Then, without explaining what he meant, ‘Ci vediamo, cara,’ and he rang off.

Tess replaced the receiver with a feeling of defeat. So much for his sympathy, she thought gloomily. For a moment there, she’d thought he was going to offer some other alternative to her dilemma, but like Andrea he had no easy solutions. And, unlike Andrea, he had more important things to concern him than her situation, even if the two things were linked.

The pastry had oozed all over the notepad and she regarded it resignedly. So much for her breakfast, she thought, pouring water into the coffee maker and switching it on. Pretty soon the sound of the water filtering through the grains filled the small office, and the delicious smell of coffee was a temporary antidote to her depression.

Realising she still hadn’t opened up the gallery, she went through into the studio and unlocked the door. Sunlight streamed into the gallery, causing her to wince at its brilliance, but everything looked brighter in the healing warmth of the sun.

Already the parade outside was quite busy. Cars and tourist buses surged past, looking for parking spaces along the popular esplanade. There were tourists and local fishermen leaning on the seawall across the street, and beyond the beach several yachts could be seen tacking across the bay.

They were heading for the small marina south of town and Tess envied them. There was something so exciting about being able to do whatever you liked on such a lovely day. With worrying about her sister, she’d almost forgotten what it was like to feel carefree, and her plan to loaf on the beach seemed far out of her reach today.

She stood for several minutes at the door of the gallery, watching the activities outside, trying not to feel too letdown. She didn’t want to think of what she’d do if Ashley hadn’t turned up by Friday. The prospect of her stepmother flying out here to join the search didn’t bear thinking about.

There was a windsurfer out on the water. He had seemed fairly competent at first, but now she revised her opinion. He was probably a holiday-maker, she decided, trying his hand at sailing the narrow surfboard across the bay. And when an errant breeze caught the craft, he wobbled violently before overbalancing and tumbling head-first into the water.

To her relief, his head bobbed up almost instantly beside the capsized craft, but he couldn’t seem to pull it upright again. She’d seen the experts do it, vaulting onto the board and pulling up the sail, but this poor man could only drift helplessly towards shallower water.

Tess couldn’t suppress a giggle. Everyone on the beach and leaning on the seawall was enjoying his predicament. It wasn’t kind to laugh, but she couldn’t help herself. It was such a relief after the pressures she’d endured.

‘You seem happier, signorina,’ mused a low voice, and Tess turned her head to find Raphael di Castelli propped against the wall beside the door. His dark-complexioned features seemed absurdly familiar to her and she chided herself for the flicker of awareness that accompanied the thought.

‘Signor di Castelli,’ she said, knowing she sounded stiff and unwelcoming, but she hadn’t expected to see him again so soon. ‘You didn’t say you were coming to the gallery today.’

‘It was a sudden impulse,’ he said, straightening away from the wall, and she was instantly intimidated by his compelling appearance. He was dressed less formally this morning, though his black trousers and matching silk jacket were no less exclusive in design. Still, he wasn’t wearing a tie, she noticed, even if the dark curls of hair nestling in the open neckline of his black shirt provided a disturbing focus. ‘And who told you my name was di Castelli? Have you spoken to Ashley, after all?’

‘No, I haven’t.’ Tess was defensive now, backing into the gallery behind her, allowing him to fill the doorway as he followed her inside. Married men shouldn’t be so attractive, she thought, wishing she could be more objective. She didn’t want to prove that she was no better than her sister, wanting something—or someone—she could never have. ‘Besides,’ she added, striving for indifference, ‘that is your name, isn’t it?’ She paused and then went on defiantly, ‘I’m told you’re quite a celebrity around here.’

His eyes narrowed. It was obvious he didn’t like the idea that she had been discussing him with someone else. ‘Is that what your informant told you?’ he asked. ‘I think he is mistaken. Or perhaps you misunderstood.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Tess moved hurriedly to open the blinds, anything to dispel the pull of attraction that being alone in a darkened room with him engendered. She moistened her lips. ‘Did you forget something?’

Castelli arched a mocking brow. It seemed obvious that, unlike her, he had had plenty of experience with the opposite sex. And, just because he was married, he couldn’t help amusing himself at her expense. He must know from her attitude that she didn’t want him there, yet he seemed to get some satisfaction from her unease.

‘As a matter of fact, I was on my way to Viareggio when I saw you standing in the doorway,’ he declared at last, tracking her with his eyes as she moved around the room. ‘You looked—triste.’ Sad.

Tess caught her breath. ‘You don’t need to feel sorry for me, Signor di Castelli,’ she said sharply, resenting his implication. ‘I was just wasting time, actually. While I waited for my coffee to heat.’

Castelli regarded her indulgently. ‘If you say so, cara,’ he said. ‘But I know what I saw in your face.’

Tess stiffened. ‘Actually, I was watching a windsurfer,’ she said. ‘He made me laugh. Perhaps you mistook my expression for your own.’

‘Do not be so defensive, cara. It is natural that you should feel this—excursion—has not been as you planned.’

‘You got that right,’ said Tess, heading towards the office. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me…’

If she’d hoped he would take the hint and go, she was wrong. As she was standing staring down at the unappetising remains of her breakfast a shadow fell across the desk.

‘Come with me,’ he said, startling her more by his words than by his appearance in the office. She looked up to see he had his hands bracing his weight at either side of the door.

His jacket had parted and she noticed his flat stomach and the way his belt was slung low over his hips. Taut muscles caused the buttons of his shirt to gape; tawny eyes, narrowed in sensual appraisal, caused heat to spread unchecked through every pore.

Realising she was gazing at him like some infatuated teenager, Tess dragged her eyes back to the congealing pastry on the desk. ‘I can’t,’ she said, without even giving herself time to consider the invitation. He must have known she’d refuse or he’d never have offered, she assured herself. ‘I’m sorry. But it was kind of you to ask.’

‘Why?’

‘Why—what?’ she countered, prevaricating.

‘Why can you not come with me?’ he explained, enunciating each word as if she were an infant. ‘It is a beautiful day, no?’

‘No. That is, yes—’ Tess knew she must seem stupid, but it wasn’t her fault. He had no right to put her in such a position. ‘It is a beautiful day, but I can’t leave the gallery.’

Castelli’s mouth flattened. ‘Because Ashley asked you to be here?’ he queried sardonically. ‘Si, I can see you would feel it necessary to be loyal to her.’

Tess stiffened. ‘There’s no need to be sarcastic’ She paused. ‘In any case, I have to be here in case she rings.’

Castelli straightened away from the door. ‘You think she will ring?’

Tess shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

‘And maybe not,’ said Castelli flatly. ‘I have the feeling your sister will not get in touch with you until she is ready to return.’

Tess had had the same feeling. She didn’t want to admit it but it would be counter-productive for Ashley to contact her, particularly if she’d taken pains to keep her whereabouts a secret.

‘Whatever,’ she said now, glancing round for the box of tissues Ashley kept on the filing cabinet. Pulling a couple out, she started to tackle the curdling pastry. ‘I promised to look after the gallery. That’s all there is to it.’

Castelli shook his head, and then moving forward he took the sticky tissues from her hand. ‘Let me,’ he said, glancing sideways at her as he gathered the crumbling remains of the pastry together, and her nerves spiked at the automatic association her senses made of his words.

She wanted to protest, to tell him she was perfectly capable of cleaning up her own mess, but she didn’t. Instead, she stood silently by while he tore several damaged pages from the notepad, wiped down the desk and dumped the lot into Ashley’s waste bin.

‘The domestic will empty it,’ he said, when Tess looked at it a little anxiously. Then, indicating his hands, ‘You have a bathroom, si?’

Tess moved aside, pointing to the door that led into the small washroom, and presently she heard the sound of him rinsing his hands. He came back, drying his hands on a paper towel that he also dropped into the waste bin. Then, he propped his hips against the desk, folded his arms and said, ‘Are you not going to offer me a cup of coffee for my trouble?’

Tess had forgotten all about the coffee simmering on the hob, but now she took a spare mug from the top of the filing cabinet and filled it carefully. Her hands weren’t entirely steady, but she managed not to spill any, offering the mug to him as she said tightly, ‘I don’t have any milk or sugar.’

‘Why spoil a good cup of coffee?’ he countered smoothly, though she guessed he regretted his words when he tasted the bitter brew. ‘Mmm.’ He managed a polite smile, but he put his cup down rather quickly, she noticed. ‘It has a—distinctive flavour, no?’

‘It’s stewed,’ said Tess shortly, tempted to remind him that she hadn’t asked him to join her in the first place. ‘I’m sure you’re used to much better.’

Castelli’s mouth twitched. ‘I am sure I am, too,’ he said without modesty. ‘If you will come out with me today I will prove it.’

She shook her head. ‘I’ve told you, I can’t.’

His strange, predator’s eyes flared with impatience. ‘Because you do not trust me, perhaps?’

‘Trust has nothing to do with it,’ she said, though he was right, she did know very little about him. Stepping back from the situation, she could see he might have a point.

‘What, then?’ He moved to the door and glanced into the gallery. ‘You have no customers. I doubt anyone will be too disappointed if you close. It is hardly an active concern. That is why Scottolino is thinking of moving his interest to Firenze—ah, Florence.’

Recognising the name she’d seen on the top of invoices Ashley had typed, Tess realised he was talking about the gallery’s owner. ‘Mr Scottolino is moving out of San Michele?’ she asked in surprise. ‘Does Ashley know that, do you think?’

‘I doubt it.’ Castelli was dismissive. ‘Augustin is not the kind of man to keep his employees appraised of his plans. Particularly when it will mean that your sister will be out of a job.’

Tess’s lips pursed. ‘And your enquiries—as you so politely put it—won’t have flattered her reputation, no?’

Her sarcasm was obvious and Castelli spread his hands, palms upward. ‘You do me an injustice, Tess. I am not your enemy.’

You’re not my friend either, thought Tess dourly, but his use of her name caused another unwanted frisson of excitement to feather her spine. She’d expected him to have forgotten it, she realised. It was Ashley he was interested in, Ashley who was his focus. Yet when he said her name in that low attractive voice that was as smooth and dark as molasses, her brain scrambled helplessly and she could have melted on the floor at his feet.

Fortunately, he didn’t know that, but she did and it annoyed her. In consequence, her tone was sharper than it might have been when she said, ‘You didn’t tell me how your son met Ashley. Considering the opinion you apparently have of the relationship, it seems an unlikely event.’

Castelli was silent for so long that she thought he wasn’t going to answer her. He doesn’t want to tell me that Marco has ambitions to be a painter, she thought smugly, feeling as if she’d got the upper hand for once.

But she was wrong.

‘They met last September,’ he conceded at last. ‘At the vendemmia, the grape harvest. There is always a celebration when the grapes are ready to press. Someone must have invited your sister to the gathering. For one evening of the year we keep open house.’

Tess frowned. ‘Then you must have met her, too.’

‘As I told you, I am informed I did.’ He shrugged. ‘There were many people. I do not remember.’

Tess absorbed this. ‘I assumed they’d met at the gallery. I understand Marco is interested in art.’

‘Now where did you hear that?’ Castelli’s eyes were once again focussed on her. ‘It seems you, too, have been making the enquiries, cara.’ His lips curled. ‘My son’s—interest in painting came after meeting your sister. It was an excuse to visit the gallery, nothing more.’

‘You sound very sure.’

Castelli shrugged. ‘Marco has never shown any aptitude for art before. He is a science student. He has always been more interested in the reality of life as opposed to the ideal.’

‘Ah, but wasn’t it Jean Cocteau who called art “science in the flesh”,’ Tess pointed out triumphantly. ‘And surely you can’t deny that Leonardo da Vinci was a scientist, as well as being one of the most influential painters of all time?’

Castelli pulled a wry face. ‘You are determined to win this argument, are you not?’ he remarked ruefully. ‘And when it comes to quotations from the classics, you obviously have the advantage. But, please, do not tell me that Marco’s infatuation for your sister is, as Ruskin said, “the expression of one soul talking to another’’, because I do not believe it.’

Tess was taken aback by his knowledge, but not really surprised. Raphael di Castelli struck her as being a very intelligent man and, contrary to his declaration, she doubted she had any advantage over him. But she understood his feelings, understood that it must be a source of frustration to him that Ashley had caused such a rift between him and his son.

‘I can’t imagine what Ashley thinks she’s doing,’ she murmured now, half wistfully. ‘Her mother thinks I should report her disappearance to the police.’

‘La polizia?’ He seemed taken aback. ‘But this is not a criminal matter.’

‘No.’ Tess didn’t know why but suddenly she wanted to reassure him. ‘I’ve managed to persuade her that there’s no need to involve the police at present.’

‘Grazie.’

He was obviously relieved and, taking advantage of his momentary weakness, she said, ‘I gather your investigator hasn’t turned up any clues.’

‘No.’ He was resigned. ‘He is still in Genova, checking the automobile rental agencies, as I believe I told you. So far, he has had no luck in tracing their whereabouts.’

Tess sighed. ‘I’m sorry.’ And she was. As much for him, she realised with some confusion, as for herself.

His expression softened. ‘You are not getting a very favourable picture of my country, are you, Tess? Or perhaps I should say, of my family. Despite his youth I accept Marco is also to blame.’

She managed a smile. ‘Thank you for saying that.’

‘My pleasure.’ His voice stroked her senses. Then, with gentle insistence, ‘You are not at all like your sister, are you, little one?’

Despite his reference to her size, the sudden intimacy of his words couldn’t be ignored and she seized on the first thing she could think of in response. ‘You’re sure they’re in Genoa, signore?’ she asked hurriedly. ‘Is it a big city?’

‘It is a very big city,’ he said drily, ‘and at this point I am not sure of anything.’ A trace of weariness entered his voice. ‘That is why I am going to Viareggio. Marco may have confided his plans to his sister.’

‘To his sister? I didn’t know he had a sister.’

And why should she? she thought foolishly. It wasn’t as if Castelli had confided his family connections to her. But somehow she’d got it into her head that Marco was an only child. Or perhaps, she’d only hoped he was. If Castelli had more children, he was even further out of reach.

He was regarding her with mild speculation now and she wondered what was going on behind his polite façade. What was he thinking? That she’d been presumptuous to say what she had? Or that she had no right to question his private affairs?

‘My daughter married at the end of last year,’ he replied at last, apparently deciding she deserved an answer. ‘Maria—that is her name—she and Carlo, her husband, own a small albergo in a village not far from the city.’ He paused. ‘If you come with me, you can meet her for yourself.’

Tess sucked in a breath. She hadn’t expected him to repeat his invitation and now that he had she was unsettled again. She knew she should still say no. Closing the gallery would be irresponsible and reckless. How would his daughter feel if her father turned up with a strange woman? Pretty peeved, Tess was sure.

No, she couldn’t do it. Even if the idea of taking off for the day was almost irresistible, she had to keep her head.

Italian men had a reputation for liking women and Castelli was a married man besides. She’d be mad to put herself into his hands.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last, feeling real regret as she voiced the words. ‘I don’t think your wife would approve.’

‘My wife?’ He gazed at her strangely. ‘What does my wife have to do with my asking you to accompany me on this trip?’

‘Well…’ Tess’s face felt as if it were burning. Put like that it did sound as if she was attributing motives to him he clearly didn’t have. ‘I just thought—that is, I’m sure the rest of your family will think it odd if you turn up with—with a strange woman.’

His mouth flattened. ‘Ah, a beautiful woman, cost intendi?’ he remarked softly, and Tess felt as if she couldn’t get enough air. A faint smile lightened his expression. ‘You think my wife and my daughter would not approve of my friendship with the attractive sister of my son’s innamorata, no?’

Tess had never felt more embarrassed in her life. ‘We’re hardly—friends, signore. I just meant—’

‘I know what you meant, Tess,’ he assured her smugly, and she felt as if she wanted to scream with frustration. ‘Relax, cara. There is no conflict of interest. There is only my daughter. My wife and I live separate lives.’

Tess wasn’t convinced. ‘But she still lives in your house, yes?’

‘She lives in my house, no,’ he teased her mockingly. ‘Sono divorziato, Tess. We are divorced. Gina makes her home in New York.’

Chapter Five

SHE didn’t look as if she believed him and Rafe acknowledged that divorce was still not a common thing in his country. Indeed, hadn’t his own mother been horrified that he should consider such a thing? Catholics did not get divorced, she’d told him severely. Marriage vows were meant to last.

But Rafe couldn’t believe that anyone should be condemned to spend their lives with someone who flouted their vows so freely. Who, he suspected, had only married him to escape the rigorous dictates of her elderly father.

‘I’m sorry,’ Tess said now, cupping the back of her neck with her hands and drawing his eyes to the rounded breasts pressing against her sleeveless top. ‘It’s really none of my business.’

‘No.’ He conceded the point because he realised he was behaving totally out of character for him. Dio mio, he was too old to be—what?—flirting with a girl who was almost young enough to be his daughter. Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration, he conceded. But he was forty-three. More than old enough to have more sense.

‘Anyway,’ she continued, evidently taking his response at face value, ‘I mustn’t keep you.’ She forced a polite smile. ‘Will you let me know if—if your daughter does know where they are?’

And Rafe felt his resolve faltering. Dammit, what was wrong with inviting her to go to Viareggio with him? It wasn’t as if he had any ulterior motive for doing so. She was Ashley’s sister. She deserved to know what was going on.

Yeah, right.

‘I had thought you might like to question Maria yourself,’ he said, ignoring his conscience. ‘Can I not persuade you to change your mind?’

Her hands dropped to her sides then and the colour that had ebbed and flowed from her cheeks all the time she had been speaking to him deepened again. ‘Oh—really,’ she said, making a distracted gesture towards her outfit. ‘I couldn’t go out dressed like this.’

‘Why not?’ She looked perfectly fine to him, bare legs and all. And when had he noticed them ? ‘This is not a formal visit, cara. You must have considered that what you are wearing was good enough to come to work, no?’

Tess lifted her shoulders, once again attracting his attention, this time to the gap of creamy flesh that widened between her top and her shorts. ‘I don’t know,’ she murmured uncertainly, but he could tell she was weakening. ‘How long would I be away from the gallery.’

‘Um—two hours.’ Or three! Rafe was not altogether truthful. ‘Does it matter? Which is more important, pleasing your sister’s employer or finding Ashley?’

‘Well—finding Ashley, of course.’

Rafe inclined his head. ‘Then shall we go?’ he said, knowing he was giving her no option, and with a nervous little shrug she obediently picked up her bag.

He’d parked the Ferrari in a no-waiting zone and he noticed how her eyes widened at his audacity. Or perhaps she was just impressed with the automobile, though he doubted it. He didn’t know why, but he had the feeling that possessions didn’t matter much to Tess Daniels. Which was a novelty.

‘I suppose it would be worth more than a parking attendant’s job to tow your car,’ she remarked as she folded her legs into the front passenger seat and Rafe felt a momentary spurt of indignation. He didn’t need her to remind him that the authorities often turned a blind eye to his indiscretions. But he doubted that any defence he made would enhance his reputation in her eyes, so he chose not to comment on it.

‘Are you comfortable?’ he asked instead, getting behind the wheel, and he was gratified to see that she looked embarrassed now.

‘How could I not be?’ she remarked at last as he started the powerful engine. ‘This is a Ferrari, isn’t it? I saw the horse on the bonnet.’

Rafe winced. ‘It’s a stallion,’ he said drily, and then wished he’d kept his mouth shut when she said,

‘Oh, yes. An Italian stallion. I’d forgotten.’

Rafe glanced in his mirror and then took his chance to pull out into the stream of traffic. But her mocking words still rankled and, ignoring the safer path, he said, with a definite edge to his voice, ‘I hope that was not meant as a criticism.’

Her lips parted then, and she turned her head to look at him, wisps of white-blonde hair blowing about her face. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, lifting a hand to tuck several strands behind her ear. And, although he was fairly sure she knew exactly what he’d meant, he chose not to argue with her.

‘Non importa. It does not matter,’ he declared, but he was intensely aware of her beside him. Aware of her bare arms only inches from his sleeve, aware of the way her shorts rode up her thighs, exposing a smooth length of slim leg. He took a breath. ‘Do you know Viareggio, signorina?’

She hesitated and he wondered if she intended to pursue what he had said earlier. But eventually all she said was, ‘I’ve never been to Italy before so all I know is Porto San Michele, I’m afraid. And my name is Tess. I know you haven’t forgotten it. Or have I offended you and that’s why you’ve suddenly become so—so formal?’

They were leaving the small town behind them now, the hilly environs above the harbour giving way to a coast road that wound its way south. But it wasn’t of the elegant little seaport of Viareggio that Rafe was thinking. He was wontering how to answer her without compromising his fear that he was getting in too deep.

‘You have not offended me,’ he told her neutrally. ‘I do not offend that easily. But perhaps you are right. We do not know one another very well.’

The look she cast his way now was wary. ‘So why did you invite me to come with you?’ she asked, and Rafe’s fingers tightened on the wheel.

Good question, he thought drily. But…

‘You know why I invited you to come with me,’ he said firmly. ‘So you could talk to Maria yourself.’

‘Mmm.’ She didn’t sound convinced. ‘You think my presence will encourage her to talk? If she knows anything, that is?’

‘I do not know.’ He didn’t like the feeling of being on the spot. ‘But as this is your first visit to Italy, perhaps you will enjoy seeing a little more of my country.’

Tess gave him an undisguisedly disbelieving stare. ‘But you didn’t know it was my first visit to Italy until I said so,’ she pointed out mildly, and Rafe expelled an impatient breath.

‘No,’ he conceded flatly. ‘You win. I wanted your company.’ His lips twisted. ‘So sue me.’

Tess’s jaw dropped. ‘You wanted my company?’ she echoed. ‘Why?’

Were it anyone else, he might have been tempted to wonder if she was fishing for compliments. But not with Tess. There was such a look of perplexity on her face that he couldn’t hide the humour that was surely evident in his eyes.

‘I don’t know any more about Ashley’s whereabouts than I’ve already told you,’ she continued, misinterpreting his expression. ‘I want to find her just as much as you do. And if you think—’

‘I believe you, cara,’ he interrupted her gently. ‘I know you have not been lying to me.’ And then, because he wanted to wipe the suspicious look off her face, he added, ‘Why should I not enjoy being with a younger woman? Just because I am over forty does not mean I am—what is it you say?—over the hill, no?’

Her eyes widened for a moment. Then she shook her head. ‘I think you’re teasing me, signore. It’s kind of you, but I wish you wouldn’t. I know my own limitations better than anyone.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘And they are?’

Her colour deepened. With her face free of any obvious make-up and her hair blowing wildly about her head, she looked little more than a teenager, and he marvelled anew that she was older than her sister. From Verdicci’s description, he knew Ashley Daniels was far more sophisticated—and comparably more worldly. She knew what she wanted and went after it, no matter who got hurt in the process. Including her own sister, he acknowledged as Tess moved a little uneasily in her seat.

‘They’re too many to mention,’ she said at last, shifting her attention to the view. ‘Oh, is that a monastery over there?’

Rafe decided to let her divert him, taking his eyes briefly from the twisting road ahead of them. A green rolling landscape, dotted with pine and olive groves, rose steadily inland. There were isolated farms, some of them with their own vineyards, and small villages visible among the trees. Some farmers grew vines between the olive trees, providing a much-needed boost to their economy in years when the grape harvest was poor.

Each village sported its own spire or campanile, and, hearing the distant sound of bells, Rafe guessed that was what Tess had heard, too. ‘I think it is a church,’ he said, returning his attention to the road. ‘There are few monasteries surviving in this area. There are ruins, naturalmente, if you are interested. But I fear the thought of the noble priests does not inspire any enthusiasm in me.’

Tess frowned. ‘Because you are divorced?’ she asked innocently, and he smiled.

‘No.’ He cast a fleeting glance her way, once again amused by her refreshing candour. ‘I do not think I can blame them for that.’

‘Then why—?’

‘I was taught by the Jesuits,’ he said. ‘Who as you may know are not known for their misericordia—their mercy, no?’ He paused reminiscently. ‘It is a long time ago, but I have not forgotten.’

Tess seemed interested. ‘You went to school here, in Tuscany?’

‘No.’ Rafe shook his head. ‘I went to school in Rome.’ He grimaced. ‘My mother’s greatest wish was that I should enter the priesthood.’

Her lips parted. ‘The priesthood?’

‘Unlikely, is it not? Is that what you are thinking? That this man who has been married and divorced should have been considered worthy of such an office?’

‘No.’ She spread her hands. ‘I was surprised, that’s all. I’ve never met a would-be priest before.’

‘And I was never a would-be priest,’ he assured her drily. ‘That was my mother’s dream, not mine. Fortunately my father was of a more practical persuasion. While he indulged her to the extent of allowing her to choose my source of education, I was his only son. It was necessary that I should inherit the vineyard, that I was able to take over from him when his health began to fail’

‘Is your father still alive?’

‘No.’ He spoke regretfully. ‘He died almost twenty years ago.’

‘He must have been very young.’

‘He was fifty,’ acknowledged Rafe ruefully. ‘But he had always been a heavy smoker, cara. He knew the risks he was taking, but he could not shake the habit.’

Tess nodded. ‘My father’s dead, too,’ she said, confirming something he had already suspected. ‘He died of a heart attack last year.’

‘Ah.’ Rafe was silent for a moment and then he said, ‘Do you miss him?’

‘Not as much as I would have done if we’d lived together,’ she admitted honestly. ‘As I believe I told you before, I was brought up by my aunt when my mother died. Then, after college when I started teaching, I moved to another part of the country. Dad and I used to see each other from time to time, but it was never the same.’

‘I get the feeling that your stepmother has a lot to answer for,’ said Rafe drily. ‘I suspect she is more like her daughter than you thought.’

‘Oh, Andrea’s all right.’ Tess was instantly defensive of her family and he had to admire her for it. ‘She only ever wanted one child. She hadn’t bargained for two.’

‘But she must have known your father was a single parent before she married him,’ Rafe pointed out reasonably as Tess made a play of examining an insect that had landed on her bare leg.

‘Is this a mosquito?’ she asked, deliberately creating a diversion, and Rafe had stretched across and flicked it away before he gave himself time to think.

It wasn’t until his hand was safely back on the steering wheel and his fingertips were registering the soft brush of her flesh that he realised what he had done. This wasn’t his daughter, he reminded himself. She wasn’t even his cousin. Tess was a virtual stranger and he was treating her like a friend. Or more than a friend, he conceded, his skin burning where he had touched her. And he wanted to touch her again, he thought, in places that were hot and wet and definitely forbidden.

As if she sensed his guilty attraction, Tess turned away from him now, pressing against the door beside her, keeping her eyes on the view. But only after they’d exchanged one searing look of raw intimacy that left Rafe at least stunned by the strength of his own response.

They were silent then, each of them occupied with their own thoughts, pretending an interest in their surroundings that Rafe was sure neither of them really felt. Or perhaps he was only imagining it, he thought irritably. Whatever, he was much too old to play these childish games.

Only there was nothing childish about the way he was feeling and, realising he had to normalise the situation, he was relieved when a cluster of villas strung out along the coastline came into view. ‘This is Viali,’ he said, trying to recover his earlier optimism. ‘It is really just an extension of Viareggio these days. The port has expanded so much. But Viali is pretty. It has its own personality. And, although it cannot boast the art nouveau architecture for which Viareggio is famous, many people prefer it to the larger resort.’

‘Is this where your daughter lives?’ asked Tess, apparently prepared to meet him halfway, and he agreed that it was.

‘Their albergo is situated just outside Viali on the way to Viareggio. They will not have too many guests at this time of the year. Maria should have plenty of time to speak with us.’

The Villa Puccini looked chic and elegant dreaming in the noonday sun. Lush vegetation provided a colourful backdrop to the warm cream walls of the villa, and the blue waters of a kidney-shaped swimming pool vied with the vast expanse of the Gulf of Genoa that lapped at the sandy shore below the gardens. Glancing at Tess’s face, Rafe suspected it was far more attractive than she had expected, and he felt his own spirits lifting at more than the prospect of seeing his daughter again.

‘Is this it?’ Tess asked as he drove between the stone gateposts that marked the entrance to the drive, and Rafe blew out a breath. ‘Do you like it?’ he asked, slowing to avoid a group of holiday-makers who were heading into town. ‘Carlo’s family is heavily involved in the leisure industry. This is one of their smaller properties and the first one Carlo has managed alone.’

‘One of the smaller properties,’ echoed Tess disbelievingly. ‘It’s much larger than I expected. I thought an albergo was something like a bed-and-breakfast back home.’

Rafe gave her a brief smile. ‘I think you are thinking of a French auberge, Tess,’ he said, his use of her name coming far too easily. ‘An albergo is a hotel. Sometimes large, sometimes small. The Villa Puccini falls some way between the two.’

Tess shook her head as they rounded a flowering trellis and a cluster of orange-tiled buildings came into view. It was obvious that the villa had been added to over the years. Some extensions were taller than others. But the overall effect was charming, set as it was beside the breathtaking beauty of the bay.

‘It looks very impressive to me,’ she said doubtfully, and he saw her give another anxious glance towards her bare legs.

‘It is a holiday hotel,’ he assured her gently. ‘And you look exactly like one of the visitors.’ He switched off the engine of the Ferrari and unfastened his seat belt. ‘I intend to get rid of this jacket as soon as I am out of the car.’

She didn’t look entirely convinced and, now they were here, Rafe had to admit to feeling a little apprehensive himself. It was the first time he had brought a young woman to his daughter’s home, and, no matter how often he assured himself that his motives were innocent, the fact remained there had been no need for him to bring Tess along.

She unfastened her own seat belt now, and before he could forestall her she had pushed open her door and got out of the car. With the sunlight blazing down on her bare head and the flush of heat in her cheeks, she looked absurdly young and beautiful. As he shed his jacket and hooked it over his shoulder, he had to accept that Maria would be suspicious. It was not that she hadn’t been urging him to find someone else for the past six years. It was just that this gamine slip of an English girl was unlikely to have been what she meant.

But, before he could marshal any arguments in his own defence, he heard his daughter calling to him. She was coming from the direction of the gardens, a flat basket containing long stems of white and yellow blossoms draped across her arm. Maria’s hair, which was as dark as his own but much longer, was confined in a single braid, and her chemise dress of simple white organza complemented the warm tan of her bare arms.

She looked as elegant as her surroundings, he thought, with a rueful sigh. A product of his mother’s policy that a woman should always look her best, whatever the circumstances. Even if she’d been gardening, which was highly unlikely in Maria’s case. His daughter might enjoy arranging flowers, but she left the planting and the picking of them to someone else.

The contrast between her and Tess was marked. And it was obvious that neither of them appreciated the comparison. As she drew nearer he saw Maria’s dark brows arch in polite inquiry, but Rafe could tell from her expression that, however pleased she might be to see him, she didn’t care for him bringing a strange woman here without forewarning.

‘Papa,’ she greeted him warmly as he stepped forward to meet her, reaching up and bestowing light air kisses beside each of his cheeks in turn. But then, with a lightening turn of mood, she began reprovingly, ‘Avresti dovuto dirmelo che—’

‘Inglese, Maria, per favore,’ he interrupted her smoothly, turning to beckon Tess to join them. His eyes met hers briefly, and then he turned back to his daughter. ‘Tess, this is my daughter, Maria. Maria, this is Tess Daniels. You may recall, her sister is at present looking after the Galleria Medici in San Michele.’

There was a moment when he thought Maria looked almost guilty. She obviously recognised the name, though she tried to hide her reaction from him. ‘Buongiorno, signorina,’ she said, forgetting in her confusion that he had asked her to speak English. And then, rescuing herself, ‘Scusi, Papa. Non ricordo. How do you do, Miss Daniels? Are you enjoying your holiday?’

‘Tess is not on holiday,’ Rafe asserted, before Tess could explain herself. After Maria’s telling little response to his question, the last thing he wanted was for Tess to warn her of why they were here. ‘She is standing in at the gallery while her sister is away,’ he continued smoothly. He put a cautioning hand on Tess’s shoulder, trying to ignore how aware of her he was. ‘I hope you don’t mind, cara. I invited her to come see a little more of the area.’

Maria’s lips definitely tightened. ‘You should have told us you were coming, Papa,’ she declared, offering Tess a limp hand. She regarded the other woman warily now as she added, ‘Is this your first visit to Italy, Miss Daniels?’

‘I’m afraid so.’ Tess was not without perception and Rafe knew she must be blaming him for bringing her here. ‘And, please, call me Tess.’ She glanced about her, her gaze flicking over Rafe’s as she did so. And over his hand on her shoulder. ‘This is a beautiful spot. Your father didn’t tell me how delightful it would be.’

Maria softened, but she was watching them closely and Rafe was reluctantly obliged to remove his hand. ‘SI, it is beautiful,’ she agreed, with a momentary air of satisfaction. Then she looked at her father again. ‘Are you staying for lunch, Papa, or is this just a brief visit?’

Rafe shrugged. ‘We are not in any hurry, cara,’ he said. ‘But we are both hot and thirsty and a cool soda would be welcome. We can decide about lunch later, no?’

Maria looked as if she would have preferred some kind of explanation as to why they were here before she offered them any refreshment. He doubted she had bought his story about giving Tess a guided tour of the area. But courtesy demanded that she play the generous hostess and a thin smile appeared as she said, ‘Ma certo, Papa. Please, come with me. We can have drinks on the patio.’

Chapter Six

CASTELLI’S daughter led them along a path between a clump of oak and cypress trees. There was the scent of pine and the unmistakable tang of the sea. And when they emerged onto a private sun terrace, Tess could see a handful of guests basking on the beach below the hotel. There were striped chairs and tilted awnings, pedalos lying dormant in the noonday heat. Some children were paddling in the shallows, searching for shells, while their parents stretched out on towels on the sand.

She hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d told Maria it was a beautiful place. The small town of Viali occupied a curving headland and the cliffs that rose above it were thick with pine and spruce. The beach was deep, stretching out some distance towards the water, with gently rising dunes studded with flowering cactus and prickly pear.

The terrace Maria took them to was separated from the public areas by a trellis totally covered with flowering vines. A teak table and chairs were set beneath a pale green umbrella, and as they approached a girl of perhaps eighteen, dressed in the uniform of a maid, bustled out to see if there was anything she could get them.

Maria ordered refreshments, consulting her father before adding a bottle of Chianti to her request. Then, after handing the basket of flowers to the girl, she gestured to Tess to take a seat.

It was all very polite, very civilised, but Tess knew that Castelli’s daughter had not been pleased to see her. Oh, she’d hid it well, due no doubt to her father’s influence, but Maria obviously considered Tess’s presence an intrusion.

And it was, thought Tess unhappily. She should never have agreed to come with him. It wasn’t as if this trip was going to achieve anything except highlight the immense gulf between his—and Marco’s—lifestyle and that of herself and Ashley.

Unless that was what he had intended to do, she reflected, resting her elbows on the table and cupping her chin in her hands. Though what influence he thought she might have on her sister, she couldn’t imagine. The whole situation just got more and more bizarre and this had to be the last time she let him make her decisions for her.

He had seated himself beside her now, dropping his jacket over the back of his chair and rolling back the sleeves of his shirt over his forearms. A lean brown-skinned arm, liberally sprinkled with dark hair, rested on the table only inches from her elbow and she quickly withdrew back into her chair.

She hadn’t forgotten the brush of his fingers against her thigh or the disturbing weight of the hand that had rested so briefly on her shoulder moments before. It was stupid to think it, she knew, but there’d been something almost possessive about the way he’d gripped her bones. He’d probably only done it to stop her from blurting out why they were really here, but that hadn’t prevented the unsettling feeling it had given her in her stomach.

Had Maria noticed? She had certainly observed Castelli’s hand resting on her shoulder and she was bound to be speculating about the kind of relationship they had. No relationship, Tess tried to communicate silently. This visit was far more innocent than it appeared. Maria didn’t have to worry that her father was having a midlife crisis over her.

The maid returned wheeling a trolley. From within its chilled cabinet she took a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice, another of what looked like lemonade, and a squat jug of fresh cream. Riding on top of the trolley was a pot of coffee and some hand-painted cups and saucers, as well as a dish of almond biscuits and the bottle of wine Castelli had requested.

There were glasses, too, and a cut-glass vase containing a newly picked red rose still not fully in bloom. The girl placed everything on the table along with a handful of scarlet napkins, taking the trouble to set everything out so that her mistress could have no complaint, Tess was sure.

‘Grazie.’

It was Castelli who thanked her, his infrequent smile causing her to blush with obvious pleasure. But then, he had that ability, thought Tess ruefully, to make any woman feel as if she was important. She had to remember that, too. It wouldn’t do for her to think that his interest in her was anything more than self-serving.

Yet there had been that moment in the car when they’d talked more easily. He’d told her a little about his childhood and she’d explained how she’d felt when her father had died. He was easy to talk to and for a little while she’d forgotten what she was doing there and where they were going. However when his questions had become too personal she’d made the mistake of using the insect that had settled on her leg as a distraction, and suddenly she’d been painfully aware of how naive she was.

The way he’d looked at her then had been far from impersonal. There’d been that stillness in his gaze that she’d seen once before and a frankly sensual curve to his mouth. He’d looked at her as if he was assessing what kind of partner she’d make in bed, she thought uneasily. It had been a devastating assault on her senses that had left her feeling confused and shivery and distinctly weak.

Of course moments later she’d been sure she’d imagined it. He hadn’t repeated the look. In fact, he’d spent the rest of the journey in virtual silence. It hadn’t helped that she hadn’t been able to think of anything to say either. All she’d done was withdraw into her corner as if having a man stare at her had scared her to death.

But it was foolish to be thinking about such things here with his daughter regarding her with obvious suspicion and Castelli himself near enough to touch. Oh, God, she thought, this was getting far too complicated. She didn’t want any kind of involvement, with him or anyone else.

‘So, Papa,’ said Maria, when the maid had departed again. ‘How did you get to know Miss—er—Tess?’

‘Teresa,’ Castelli corrected her shortly, and Tess could only imagine the warning look he cast his daughter and which caused Maria’s face to darken with colour. ‘We met at the Medici Gallery, naturalmente. I was looking for her sister and she was not there.’

‘No?’ Was that a slightly uncertain note she could hear in the younger girl’s voice now? Tess wondered. Whatever, Maria evidently tried to appear only casually interested. ‘I did not know you were acquainted with the gallery, Papa.’

‘I am not.’ Castelli was sharp and to the point. ‘But your brother is, capisce?’

Maria’s jaw dropped. ‘Marco?’ she echoed, and Tess wondered if she was only imagining the consternation in the girl’s voice now. ‘Ma perché? Prego—but why?’

‘You do not know, cara?’ There was no mistaking the censure in Castelli’s tone. ‘Do not lie to me, Maria. You knew of Marco’s sudden interest in painting. I have heard him discussing his aspirations with you.’

‘Well, yes.’ Maria lifted her shoulders defensively. ‘But why should I associate his interest in painting with the Medici Gallery?’

Castelli’s eyes narrowed. ‘You tell me.’

Maria cast a malevolent look at Tess, clearly resenting her observance of this embarrassing scene. If she could, Tess would have left the table then, just as unhappy with the situation as Maria. But she was a stranger here. She didn’t even know where the restrooms were. And she was supposed to be monitoring the girl’s reactions too. Did she know where her brother was or didn’t she?

‘I do not know what you are talking about, Papa,’ Maria said at last, reaching for the jug of fruit juice and pouring some rather jerkily into an ice-filled glass. Her hand was shaking, however, and she spilled some of the orange juice onto the table. She only just managed to stifle her irritation as she snatched at a napkin to mop it up. Then, turning to Tess, she arched her brows. ‘Juice or coffee?

‘Juice is fine,’ said Tess, not wanting to risk the chance of getting hot coffee spilled over her, deliberately or otherwise. ‘Thanks.’

‘Papa?’

Castelli shifted in his seat and, although she was supposed to be concentrating on their exchange, Tess flinched at the bump of his thigh against her hip. Despite her determination not to get involved with him, she couldn’t help her instinctive reaction to the contact. His thigh was hard and warm and masculine, and she felt the heat his body generated spread across her abdomen and down into the moistening cleft between her legs.

She doubted he’d noticed what had happened. After all, what had happened? Just a careless brush of his leg against hers. If she was absurdly sensitive, that was her problem. Castelli was totally focussed on his daughter. She might as well not have been there.

He made an eloquent gesture now, as if having to decide what he wanted to drink was an annoying distraction. ‘Chi-anti,’ he said after a moment, nodding towards the bottle of wine the maid had left uncorked in the middle of the table. ‘But you will not divert me, Maria. Marco is missing. If I find out you know where he is, I shall not forgive you.’

Maria gasped. ‘What do you mean, Papa? Marco is missing? Has he run away?’

‘Do not be melodramatic, Maria. I suspect you know perfectly well what is going on. But in case you have any doubts, let me enlighten you, cara. Your brother has gone away with Ashley Daniels, Tess’s sister.’

Tess wasn’t sure what Maria’s reaction meant then. She was shocked, certainly, but whether that shock was the result of Marco’s behaviour or because her father had found her out, it was impossible to judge.

‘But—that cannot be,’ she said at last, her voice a little unsteady. ‘You are saying that Marco has some interest in the woman who runs the Medici Gallery? That is ludicrous. She is far too old for him.’

Tess decided not to take offence at Maria’s words. After all, she was right. Ashley was too old for Marco. They were all agreed on that. Of course, hearing the scorn in Maria’s voice did make her feel ancient. But what of it? It didn’t matter what Maria thought of her.

‘You knew he was seeing her, no?’

Castelli was relentless, and Maria sighed. ‘I knew he visited the gallery,’ she admitted. ‘But he visited a lot of galleries, Papa. He told me he was interested in art. Why should I suspect his visits to this woman’s gallery meant anything more than the rest?’

‘Because he told you?’ suggested her father grimly. ‘Vene, Maria, I am not a fool. Marco tells you everything. If he was interested in this woman, he could not have kept it a secret from you.’

Maria looked tearful now. ‘You have to believe me, Papa. Do you think I would have encouraged him to do something like this?’

‘I am not saying you encouraged him,’ retorted Castelli. ‘I believe you are far too sensible for that. But I do think he mentioned his interest in this woman to you. To—what shall we say?—to brag about it, force! Did he tell you the kind of relationship they had?’

Maria sniffed. ‘I do not believe it.’

‘What do you not believe? That Marco could be infatuated with an older woman? Or that he would hide his true feelings from you?’

‘That he could be so—so stupid!’ exclaimed Maria, looking at Tess as if she were in some way to blame for this fiasco. ‘Bene, Papa, I knew that he admired this woman. But she is old. I assumed she would have more sense than to take his advances seriously.’

‘Basta!’ Castelli threw himself back in his chair, his frustration evident, and Tess shifted uncertainly as he cast an impatient glance in her direction. ‘At last we have the truth. You knew of Marco’s affair and you chose not to tell me.’

Maria stifled a sob. ‘There was no affair, Papa. Solo—just a silly infatuation. If Marco has gone away, you have no reason to believe he has taken this woman with him.’

Castelli shook his head. ‘We know they went together, Maria. They boarded a plane to Milano several days ago—’

‘A plane!’

‘But when the plane landed in Milano, they were not on board,’ he continued. ‘We suspect they disembarked at Genova. I am still hoping you can tell us why.’

Maria’s lips parted. ‘Me, Papa?’

Castelli nodded. ‘If you have any information, any information at all, I advise you give it to me now.’

‘But I do not.’ Groping for one of the napkins, Maria broke down completely. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she exclaimed, ‘I have told you all I know, Papa. I am as unhappy with the situation as you are.’

‘Veramente ?’

Her father did not sound sympathetic and Tess wished again that she’d passed on this trip. This was a family matter and her involvement was an intrusion. All right, she wanted to know where Ashley was, but it wasn’t the matter of life and death it seemed to the Castellis.

With Rafe di Castelli seething beside her, she felt as if she couldn’t get enough air and, picking up her glass, she gently eased away from the table. Crossing to the low wall that marked the boundary of the patio, she took a sip of the fruit juice, wishing she possessed the sense of well-being that had seemed so attainable before she’d left England. Now she was on edge, embarrassed, conscious that she was in some small part responsible. If she hadn’t agreed to stand in for her, Ashley could never have planned this escapade.

The sound of footsteps caused her to turn in time to see another man come out of the building behind them. Not as tall as Castelli and obviously much younger, the man went straight to Maria’s side and pulled her up into his arms.

‘Amatissima,’ he exclaimed, gathering her close and gazing accusingly at her father. ‘Che c’e, car a. Si sente male?’

‘There is nothing wrong with her, Carlo,’ declared Castelli in English, rising impatiently to his feet to face the other man. ‘She is upset because her brother has disappeared and she might have been able to stop him.’

Carlo. Tess remembered the name. This obviously was Maria’s husband. But his father-in-law’s words had brought a frown to his fair handsome features and, despite his concern, he drew back to regard his wife’s tear-stained face.

‘E vero?’

He asked her if it was true and Maria nodded unhappily. But before she could say anything in her own defence her father intervened.

‘Let me introduce you to my companion, Carlo,’ he said, indicating Tess. ‘Her grasp of our language is not so great. That is why we are speaking in English. Tess, this is my son-in-law, Carlo Sholti. Carlo, this is Tess Daniels. Her sister is the woman Marco has become infatuated with.’

Tess remained by the low wall, offering the young man a polite smile in greeting. She had the feeling Carlo was as curious about her presence as his wife had been earlier. But, at this point in time, Tess considered that as immaterial as her participation in this trip.

‘Marco has disappeared,’ put in Maria, regaining her husband’s attention. ‘Papa says he has gone with that woman who runs the gallery in San Michele. He thinks I should have told him they were friendly. But I had no idea Marco would do something like this.’

Carlo pressed Maria back into her chair and then turned to face Castelli. ‘What is this woman’s sister doing here?’ he demanded, in English this time. ‘Does she not know where they have gone?’

‘Obviously not,’ said Castelli curtly, as if he resented the implication of complicity. ‘And I invited Tess to accompany me. Do you have a problem with that, Carlo, or is this the usual way you treat unexpected guests?’

Now it was Carlo’s turn to look embarrassed. ‘Perdone, signorina,’ he said stiffly. ‘I did not mean to be rude.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ mumbled Tess, wishing she could just leave them to it. ‘I’m sorry we’ve upset your wife. We’re just trying to find out where my sister and your brother-in-law have gone.’

‘Neatly put,’ remarked Castelli drily, and meeting his eyes Tess was again reminded of how disturbingly attractive he was. Even here, with his daughter and his son-in-law watching their every move, she was supremely conscious of his maleness. And the dark colours he wore accentuated it; gave him an energy and a feline power that couldn’t help but stir her blood.

‘No problem,’ she said at last, when it became obvious everyone was waiting for her answer. She moistened her lips. ‘I think we should be going now. I—well, I’ve got to get back to the gallery.’

She’d half expected an argument; half hoped for one, she acknowledged uneasily, not looking forward to the journey back to San Michele. Castelli, sociable, Castelli friendly, she could handle. But Castelli impatient, Castelli angry, even, was something else.

‘I think you are right, car a’ He chose to agree with her and she wondered if he used the endearment deliberately. He must know his daughter would resent the apparent familiarity between them. He swallowed the wine in his glass and set it carelessly back on the table. ‘Much as we would have liked to join you for lunch, Maria, I agree with Tess. We should be getting back.’

‘But, Papa—’

‘Not now, Maria.’ He was polite, but firm. ‘If you think of anything else, I am just at the other end of the phone, no?’

‘You will let us know, as soon as you have any news?’

That was Carlo, and Castelli’s lips flattened against his teeth. ‘If I can return the request,’ he said. ‘Maria may remember something she has presently forgotten.’

Both Carlo and Maria came to see them off. Maria had dried her eyes now and looked more resentful than upset. She looked on sulkily as Castelli swung open Tess’s door and waited for her to seat herself before closing it again. Once again, Tess was intensely conscious of her bare legs and of how provocative her appearance must seem to the younger woman.

But she couldn’t do anything about it. She just hoped Maria didn’t think she had designs on her father. However attracted she might be to him, she thought she was sensible enough to know he was far beyond her reach.

As they drove away Castelli seemed absorbed in his thoughts, and Tess was glad to relax after the tensions of the last hour. Nevertheless, she found herself replaying all that had been said and she wondered if Maria was doing the same.

‘Do you think I was cruel?’ he asked abruptly, and Tess marvelled that he should have guessed her thoughts so exactly. ‘I can see you are troubled,’ he went on wryly. ‘I was not very sympathetic, was I?’

Tess hesitated a moment, then she said, ‘No,’ in a noncommittal voice. His relationship with his daughter was nothing to do with her and she wished he wouldn’t behave as if it were.

‘And how would you have handled it?’ he inquired, his fingers flexing on the wheel. He had very masculine hands, broad yet long-fingered. She had a momentary image of those hands brown against her white body. Of how the blunt tips of his fingers would feel caressing her quivering flesh.

Dear God!

She was still fighting to dispel those feelings when he looked at her again and she realised he was waiting for her reply. ‘Um—I don’t know,’ she muttered. ‘It’s nothing to do with me.’ She tried to think positively to prevent the inevitable rejoinder. ‘I—er—I think she was genuinely shocked about what had happened.’

‘Oh, so do I,’ he concurred drily. ‘I am sure Maria is upset because Marco did not confide his plans to her. But she is also jealous of your sister.’ His tawny eyes swept over her appraisingly. ‘She finds it hard to accept that her brother might have needs she cannot satisfy.’

Tess felt the insidious warmth spreading up from her throat and struggled to divert the conversation. She couldn’t discuss his son’s sexual needs with him! ‘The—er—the albergo was very nice,’ she said, smoothing her damp palms over the hem of her shorts. Then, realising he had noticed what she was doing, she tucked her hot hands between her knees. And because the adjective she’d used was so insipid, she added, ‘It must be wonderful to live in such a lovely spot.’

‘I am glad you liked it,’ he said at last, and she wondered if the delay was a deliberate attempt to disconcert her. If so, it had worked. ‘It is a pity you did not get the chance to see more.’

‘I don’t think your daughter would agree with you,’ murmured Tess, almost without thinking, and Castelli’s brows drew together as he absorbed her words. ‘I mean, I don’t think she was in the mood for visitors,’ she added hastily. ‘She hasn’t been married very long. And she does seem very young.’

‘Maria is nineteen,’ he told her evenly. ‘And I know exactly what you meant. You think my daughter did not approve of my bringing you with me.’ He shifted in his seat. ‘But like my son, I too have my own life to lead.’

Tess had no answer for that. Turning her head, she stared out blankly at the fields of waving poppies that stretched inland in a colourful swath. She saw a village clinging to the hillside, and tried to be objective. But how was she supposed to deal with him? The experiences she’d had in England, infrequent as they’d been, had not prepared her for his magnetism.

Pursing her lips, she decided not to let him faze her. She was a grown woman, for heaven’s sake. Not some impressionable girl who was overawed because a man had paid some attention to her. ‘I expect there are many women in your life, signore,’ she said, with amazing nonchalance. ‘Someone of your experience must be very much in demand.’

The breath he expelled then conveyed a mixture of admiration and humour. ‘You think?’ he murmured faintly. ‘And call me Rafe, if you will. Not signore.’ He paused. ‘And now you have surprised me, cara. I am not sure whether that was a compliment or not.’

Call him Rafe! Tess swallowed. She could just imagine how Maria would feel about that. ‘I was merely stating the obvious,’ she said, managing to avoid calling him anything. ‘If Maria objected to your companion today, it was not because she’d never seen you with a woman before.’

‘No?’

‘No.’ Now she’d started, she had to finish, and Tess inhaled a deep breath. ‘I’m just different from the usual women you have dealings with. Maria was resentful because—well, because of who I am.’

‘Ashley’s sister,’ he said mildly and she sighed.

‘That’s the least of it and you know it.’ She paused. ‘I don’t fit the image of the kind of woman you obviously prefer.’

He glanced her way then, and Tess was intensely conscious of the intimacy of his gaze. ‘And that image would be?’ he said, causing her no small measure of uneasiness. ‘Come, Tess, you cannot say something like that without elaborating. So tell me. What kind of woman do you think I like?’

She bent her head in confusion. As usual, he was determined to have the last word. ‘Someone more sophisticated; someone more elegant,’ she muttered at last, lifting her hands and cupping the back of her neck almost defensively. Then, exasperated, ‘How do I know? I’m just guessing that your companions don’t usually wear shorts.’

The car slowed then and for a moment she thought he was stopping so that he could continue the argument more forcefully. But, instead, he pulled onto a gravelled headland overlooking the beach below. There was a van parked there, too, the kind that supplied snacks and sandwiches to weary travellers, and, after turning off the engine, he said, ‘I think it is time for lunch, no?’

Chapter Seven

RAFE could see she was surprised by his choice of venue. It made him wish he had asked his housekeeper for a packed lunch that they could have eaten in more salubrious surroundings than this. But then, he hadn’t known he was going to ask Tess to join him when he’d left the villa that morning, he reflected drily. That impulse, like the impulse he had now to comb his fingers through the silky tangle of her hair, was not something he should consider repeating.

Now, however, she looked at him out of the corners of those limpid green eyes of hers and he realised she had misread his intentions. ‘Do you usually patronise sandwich bars, signore?’ she asked tightly. ‘Or do you gauge your eating habits according to the sophistication of your companion?’

Rafe pulled a wry face. ‘You are offended because I have not taken you to an expensive restaurant?’ he queried innocently, and saw the familiar colour darken her cheeks.

‘You know that’s not what I meant,’ she declared hotly, pushing her back against her seat. ‘But if you’re only stopping because of me, don’t bother. I rarely eat lunch anyway. I can wait until we get back to San Michele.’

‘Well, I cannot,’ he retorted, pushing open his door and getting out of the car. ‘And contrary to popular supposition, plenty of good food can be found at roadside kiosks, no?’

‘I can’t see you eating a burger, signore,’ said Tess, pushing open her own door and joining him. The brilliant noonday sun immediately burned on her uncovered head and shoulders, and she caught her breath. ‘Goodness, it’s hot!’

Rafe studied her bare arms with some concern. ‘Perhaps you should stay in the car,’ he said, resisting the desire to smooth his fingers over her soft skin. ‘It is cooler there.’

‘What? And miss the chance to see what the chef has on offer?’ she asked lightly, and his pulse quickened at the unexpected humour in her face.

‘Okay.’ He saw her looking at the curving line of the shoreline that fell away below the promontory. ‘Let us get something to eat and drink and find somewhere more private to enjoy it, no?’

Tess caught her breath. ‘You mean, go down to the beach?’ she asked, viewing the precipitate descent with some concern. ‘Isn’t it too steep?’

‘Do not tell me you are afraid of heights, cara.’ He teased her mercilessly. ‘Where is your sense of adventure?’

Tess shook her head. ‘I don’t think I have one, signore,’ she murmured unhappily. ‘But—if you can do it—’

‘An old man like me, you mean?’ he queried wryly, and she turned to give him an impatient look.

‘You’re not old, signore,’ she protested, and he sighed at her continued use of the formal means of address.

‘Then why do you persist in calling me signore?’ he countered, his eyes intent on her flushed face. ‘You know my name, Tess. Use it.’

‘I—I don’t think I should call you Rafe,’ she exclaimed, and he had the impression that she found it difficult to drag her gaze away from his.

‘Why not?’

He couldn’t prevent himself from pursuing it and this time she succeeded in breaking the connection. ‘Because—well, just because,’ she mumbled lamely. Then, in an effort to divert him, she added, ‘Oughtn’t we to choose a sandwich or something? The owner will think we’ve just stopped here for the view.’

‘Works for me,’ murmured Rafe before he could stop himself, and she cast one astonished look in his direction before moving away towards the van.

Rafe was pleased to see that the man who ran the booth was offering cheese-filled panini and steaming slices of pizza as well as the more common tramezzini or sandwiches. There were ready-made salads, too, in foil-wrapped containers, and spicy bruschetta, spread with olive or tomato paste.

It was obvious Tess didn’t know what to choose, so he took it upon himself to place two orders for pizza and salad, and a slice each of tiramisu for dessert. Sealed cups of black coffee completed the meal and he was aware that Tess looked at him rather doubtfully as he carried his purchases back to the car.

‘I—how do you propose to carry all that?’ she asked, and he remembered that she still thought he intended to scale the cliff to reach the beach.

‘You will see,’ he said, opening the boot of the Ferrari and putting the bags and containers inside. He smiled to himself at the thought of what his mother would think of him—as she would put it—abusing the automobile in this way. Tess hadn’t been far wrong. He wasn’t in the habit of eating the food from roadside kiosks. But that was not to say he wasn’t going to enjoy it this time.

Tess was frowning now, and circling the car, he swung open her door. ‘Get in, per favore.’

Tess hesitated. ‘I thought you said—’

‘Just get in,’ he urged her softly, and, although he could see the uncertainty in her face, she was too polite to refuse.

He watched as she swung her legs inside, assuring himself he was only waiting to close the door when in his heart of hearts he knew he had a more personal reason. He enjoyed watching her, enjoyed disconcerting her. However much he might regret his impetuosity tomorrow, for today he intended to live each minute as it came.

A moment later, he slid in beside her, instantly aware of the feminine aroma of her heated skin. It was a disturbing scent, unfamiliar and definitely sensual. It aroused him as nothing had that he could remember, and the urge to touch her was almost overwhelming.

But he controlled himself, consigning the insistent pull of attraction to the back of his mind. All right, he sensed she was aware of him, too, but she’d probably run a mile if he acted on it. Apart from anything else, they hardly knew one another. So why did he feel as if he’d known her for half his life?

Casting her a brief half-smile, he started the car and drove away from the headland. But not far. Just a few yards further on, a winding track almost overhung with wild bramble and juniper dipped away from the coastal road. Anyone who didn’t know it was there would never have noticed it, particularly at this time of the year when the blossom was out.

He was aware that Tess had turned to stare at him now and he guessed what she was thinking before she spoke. ‘You never had any intention of climbing down the cliff, did you?’ she exclaimed, but her tone was more relieved than accusing. Then as the car swung round a hairpin bend she groped for the edge of her seat. ‘Is this road going somewhere or are we likely to get stuck halfway down?’

‘Relax, cara,’ he said, taking a hand from the wheel to briefly touch her knee. ‘I know what I am doing.’

But did he? he wondered as he withdrew from that strangely intimate connection. Once again, he had acted on impulse and now her gaze was decidedly uncertain as it darted away from his.

‘I hope so,’ she mumbled almost under her breath, but he heard her and chided himself for causing more tension between them. He’d intended this to be a light-hearted interlude before he returned her to Porto San Michele, but he was in danger of creating problems that might be far harder to deal with than Marco’s boyish infatuation for her sister.

The track narrowed as it neared the bottom of the cliffs and he winced as the untamed bushes scraped along the sides of the car. A mistake in more ways than one, he thought ruefully, but that didn’t stop him from feeling an ungovernable sense of anticipation at spending a little longer in Tess’s company.

As he’d hoped, the shallow plateau above the beach was deserted. There was just room enough to turn the car and his satisfaction at their seclusion was only equalled by his relief that his memory of the place hadn’t been faulty.

And it was just as beautiful as he remembered. The untouched stretch of beach was enclosed on either side by a rocky promontory, and the sand was as pure and untouched as when the cove was formed. At the shoreline, waves broke into rivulets of foam, and beyond the dazzling brilliance of the sea the sky rose, a cloudless arc of blue above. They could have been alone on some desert island were it not for the sails of a yacht heading far out towards the horizon.

Tess thrust open her door as soon as he stopped the car. Getting out, she walked to the edge of the turning area and lifted both hands to protect the top of her head. He wondered what she was thinking as she stared out to sea. He hoped she wasn’t regretting coming with him. For the first time in more years than he cared to calculate, he was enjoying himself and he didn’t want anything to spoil it.

But he had been sitting there too long watching her, and when she glanced back over her shoulder he saw the doubt in her eyes. He at once opened his door and, pushing his feet out onto the sun-baked earth, he crossed the space that divided them.

‘I suppose you knew this was here,’ she said as he joined her. Then, turning back to the view, she added somewhat wistfully, ‘It is a marvellous place.’

‘You like it?’ He was pleased. ‘Thankfully, it has not yet been discovered by the tourists.’

‘Down that track?’ A smile was in her voice. ‘I dread to think what you’ve done to your car.’

‘It is only a car,’ he assured her mildly. ‘If it needs a paint job, then so be it.’

Tess shook her head. ‘You say that so casually. Most people have to take care of their possessions.’

Rafe sighed, realising he had been careless. ‘Perhaps I measure my possessions differently, cara,’ he said softly.

‘People are more important to me than—what shall I say?—pretty toys, no?’

She shrugged and as she did so he noticed how the sun had already tinged the skin of her upper arms with a rosy glow. She would burn easily, he thought, the knowledge increasing the sense of protection he already felt towards her. He wanted to—

But, no. He was already getting ahead of himself and, turning back to the car, he collected the bags containing their lunch from the boot. ‘Come,’ he said, stepping into the tangle of reeds and grasses that bordered the plateau. ‘We can have lunch in the shade of the cliffs, yes?’

‘Okay.’

He saw her give another glance back towards the car before she followed him down onto the sand. Then, kicking off her shoes, she seemed to relax, and by the time he had spread his jacket for them to sit on she was right behind him.

‘I know,’ he said as she dropped her shoes beside her. ‘This will not do my jacket any good either. But in this instance, it can be cleaned.’

‘If you say so.’

Apparently deciding she had no choice than to trust him, she seated herself at the edge of the jacket, drawing up her knees and wrapping her arms about them. Rafe dropped down beside her, trying not to stare at the smooth flesh disappearing into the cuffs of her shorts. Imagining what lay beneath the pink cotton was not only unforgivable, it was stupid, and he distracted himself by opening the bags and containers and setting them out between them.

‘What would you like to eat?’ he asked, when Tess seemed to be more interested in the tiny shells that dotted the sand at her feet than the food. ‘Salad? Pizza?’

‘What? Oh—’ He was suddenly sure she was only pretending not to have noticed what he’d been doing. ‘Um—salad sounds good.’

He met her wary gaze with a deliberately neutral stare. ‘Only salad?’

She shifted a little awkwardly. ‘Well—maybe a slice of pizza, too,’ she agreed, accepting the salad container from his hand. ‘Thanks. This looks good.’

‘I hope so.’ He helped himself to a slice of the pizza and bit into it with feigned enthusiasm. The tomato juice oozed onto his chin and he grabbed a napkin to wipe it away. ‘Hmm. Molto bene.’

‘I’m sure you’re only saying that,’ she murmured, forking a curl of radicchio into her mouth. ‘But it was kind of you to do this. I appreciate it.’

‘I did not do it out of kindness.’ Rafe was stung by the implication that there could be no other reason for him to want her company. He swallowed another mouthful of pizza, licking the melted cheese from his lips before continuing tersely, ‘It is I who should thank you for accompanying me to Viali.’

Tess hesitated. ‘I don’t know why,’ she said at last. ‘It would have been easier for everyone if I hadn’t been there.’

‘I think we covered that some miles back.’ Rafe was impatient. ‘Can we not forget the reasons why we started out on this expedition and concentrate on the here and now? Are you not enjoying yourself, is that what all this is about?’

Tess cast a brief glance his way. ‘All what?’ she queried tensely and he blew out a weary breath.

‘You know,’ he told her flatly. ‘Ever since we left the albergo, you have been as—as jumpy as a cat. What did I do? What have I said to upset you?’

‘Nothing.’

The answer came far too quickly and Rafe thrust his pizza aside and got abruptly to his feet. ‘If you would care to finish your salad in the car, we can leave immediately.’

‘No.’ That answer came quickly, too, but this time it was accompanied by an embarrassed glance at his face. ‘Please, I didn’t mean to annoy you. It’s just—well, I’m sure there are places you’d much rather be than here.’

‘And if there are not?’

Her tongue appeared between her teeth and he felt the sudden tightness in his loins as she wet her lips. ‘You’re sure you’re not just saying that?’

‘No.’ He hunkered down beside her, one hand moving of its own accord to cup her cheek. He tilted her face to his. ‘Believe me, cara, at this moment there is no place I would rather be than here.’ His eyes darkened as they rested on her mouth. But only for a second. He was on dangerous ground, he realised, aware of what he really wanted to do. Withdrawing his hand abruptly, he got to his feet again, looking down at her. ‘Bene,’ he said tensely. ‘Enjoy the rest of your meal. I will not be long.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Where are you going?’

Rafe stifled a groan. He wondered how she would react if he told her the truth. That he was desperate to put some space between them before he did something unforgivable. He didn’t just want to stroke her cheek or make casual conversation as they’d done in the car. He wanted to put his tongue where hers had been a few moments ago, to cover her mouth with his and find a partial release of his frustration in a kiss.

‘I thought I might take a walk,’ he offered at last. ‘I need to stretch my legs.’ And cool my libido.

Tess’s eyes moved from his constrained features to the undulating water and he glimpsed the wistful look that crossed her face. But, ‘Okay,’ was all she said and it was left to Rafe to feel a heel for behaving so callowly. He’d brought her here, per amor di Dio. It wasn’t her fault that he couldn’t control his rampant desires.

‘Io—come with me. If you wish,’ he said, before he could stop himself, and she sprang eagerly to her feet.

‘You don’t mind?’ she asked, dropping the carton containing the remains of her salad onto the sand. He gave a faint smile of acquiescence. It seemed the decision had been made and he would have to live with it. It wasn’t as if he wanted to leave her alone.

Tess left her shoes with the rest of their belongings, practically skipping across the sand to dip her toes in the cooler waters of the gulf. She shivered dramatically, laughing as the incoming tide swirled about her ankles. She was like a child, he thought ruefully. As natural and uninhibited as his own children had been before adolescence, and their mother’s desertion, had had such an impact on all their lives.

‘Oh, this is heavenly,’ Tess said, linking her fingers together and stretching her arms above her head in obvious delight. ‘Thank you so much for bringing me.’

‘I am happy you are enjoying yourself,’ he said politely, forcing himself not to linger. He was quite sure she was unaware of the effect she had on him but it was far too easy to imagine his hands circling that deliriously bare midriff as he tumbled her onto the sand.

Unknowingly, he had quickened his step and by the time he realised it and glanced over his shoulder Tess was some distance behind him. She was following much more slowly, splashing through the shallows, her delight in her surroundings apparently dissipated by his indifference. Once again he felt the familiar pangs of guilt. It wasn’t fair of him to spoil the day for her.

Despite his reluctance, he waited for her to catch up with him, but now she wouldn’t meet his gaze. She halted beside him, her eyes seemingly glued to the yacht that was now disappearing over the horizon. She had obviously sensed his ambivalence and misread the reasons for it.

‘What is wrong?’ he asked, as if he genuinely didn’t know. ‘It is very hot, is it not? Have you had enough?’

‘Have you?’

Her retort caught him unawares and he didn’t have an answer for her. ‘It is—getting late,’ he said lamely, although it was barely three o’clock. ‘I would not want you to get burned.’

She lifted first one arm and then the other, looking at them as if she hadn’t considered them before. But she didn’t look convinced. Despite the fact that the skin of her shoulders looked slightly sore, she gave a careless shrug. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she said without conviction. ‘If it’s what you want.’

Rafe stiffened. ‘What I want does not signify.’

‘Oh, I think it does.’ He caught a glimpse of indignant green eyes, quickly averted. ‘I should have realised before. When you said you were going for a walk. You didn’t really want me to come with you, did you?’

‘Io—’ Rafe was nonplussed. He hadn’t realised he had been so transparent. ‘That is not true.’

‘I don’t believe you, signore.’ She used the term deliberately, he was sure, and it infuriated him. ‘All this—buying the food, bringing me down here—was just a way of appeasing your conscience.’

Rafe’s jaw dropped. ‘Appeasing my conscience?’ he echoed, stung by the accusation. ‘Why should I feel the need to appease my conscience? I have not done anything wrong.’

Yet.

‘You feel as if you have,’ said Tess doggedly, and for a moment he wondered if she’d read what he was thinking. He hoped not. And, to his relief, she seemed to confirm it. ‘You think you’ve upset both your daughter and me,’ she continued. ‘So you decided to pacify one of us with a peace-offering. In this case, an hour of your precious time, right?’

‘Wrong.’ He was annoyed by the objectivity of her reasoning. Not least, because it was so far removed from the truth. ‘When I invited you to have lunch with me, it was because I wanted to. Not for any other reason.’

‘So why do you want to cut the afternoon short?’ she asked impulsively. ‘Am I keeping you from some important previous engagement?’

‘No.’ His breath gushed out in a rush. ‘I am sorry if I have given you that impression.’

‘Well, what else can I think when you seem determined to avoid me?’ she countered, looking up at him now with a wary, uncertain gaze. ‘You seem to—to blow hot and cold in equal measures. I—well, I don’t know how you really feel’

Rafe’s good sense deserted him. ‘I was not trying to avoid you,’ he said huskily. ‘If it seemed that I was—and I am admitting nothing, you understand?—perhaps it was because I find you far too—appealing, no?’

He’d shocked her now. He could see it in the face that she turned up to him. But, what the hell, he’d shocked himself, and that was far more disturbing.

‘You don’t mean that,’ she said, and he knew that this was his last opportunity to escape the consequences of his outburst. He had only to tell her he was teasing and he might be able to get out of this unscathed.

But he didn’t do it.

‘I do mean it,’ he said, the words coming even though his brain was trying desperately to silence him. ‘You are—enchanting. And beautiful. And I would not be a man if I did not find you desirable, mi amore.’

Her lips parted then, and, although he sensed she was as uncertain of the good sense of what they were doing as he was, she didn’t move away. Instead, she came a little nearer, her toes brushing the front of his loafers, those clear green eyes keenly searching his face. Almost involuntarily, it seemed, she lifted her hand and stroked the roughening skin of his jawline, and Rafe could no longer control the instinctive hardening between his legs.

‘So—do you want to kiss me?’ she breathed barely audibly, and the quicksands of passion moved beneath his feet.

‘Tess—’ he said hoarsely, and even then he thought he might have found the will to resist her. Yet when her hand dropped to the open neckline of his shirt and he felt those tentative fingers against his bare skin, he totally lost it. The groan he uttered was purely anguished, and his hands found her shoulders to haul her into his arms.

Her lips were already parted, inviting the hungry invasion of his tongue. He didn’t disappoint her. One hand moved to grip her nape, angling her face towards him as his mouth fastened greedily over hers. His kiss both enticed and seduced, drawing a response from her that sent his head spinning. He felt his own gnawing hunger controlling his actions as his senses whirled out of control.

Her arms wound around him, her palms spreading against the damp curve of his spine. She must have been able to feel the heavy weight of his erection throbbing against her stomach but she didn’t recoil from him. When his hand cupped her buttocks, bringing her into intimate contact with his arousal, she arched against him, letting him feel how responsive she also was to his touch.

A sexy little moan emerged from lips that were already wet and swollen from his kisses and his conscience resurfaced. Dio mio, he thought, if he didn’t stop this soon he would go all the way. He was in real danger of acting out the images that had been taunting him all morning, and while he couldn’t deny he wanted her, she was simply not for him.

She was too young, for one thing, and she probably saw this as just a pleasant adjunct to her holiday. She’d had a tough time of it so far, what with Ashley’s disappearance and her stepmother breathing down her neck. Not to mention his own less-than-subtle hints about what he thought of her family. He wasn’t conceited, but he could quite see that having him lusting after her might offer some compensation. Particularly if, as seemed likely, she had little experience with older men.

His own feelings were less straightforward. And however tempting making love with her might be, he still had enough sense to step back from the ultimate betrayal. He could do without any more complications in his life, he thought cynically. From his point of view, it would be a recipe for disaster.

Which was why, when he lifted his mouth from hers, he didn’t succumb to the urge to slide his hands beneath the hem of her tank top and let his thumbs caress the undersides of her breasts. He wanted to. Dio, he wanted to feel her pert nipples taut against his palms and to take those firm mounds of flesh into his hands. Instead, stifling a groan, he gripped her forearms and put her gently away from him, feeling every kind of a heel for having led her on in the first place.

Her confusion was obvious and he couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t been able to hide his body’s reaction to her and in her book there was probably only one conclusion to this affair. But when he met her troubled gaze with eyes that were deliberately regretful, she soon got the message. She took a stumbling backward step before turning and hurrying away along the beach.

‘Cara!’ He couldn’t use her name, that would be too familiar. ‘Cara,’ he called again. ‘I am sorry. I do not know what came over me.’

She muttered something then, but she was too far away for him to hear it. But he could imagine it wouldn’t be complimentary and who could blame her? He had behaved abominably and she deserved so much better. She was bound to think he had as little respect for her as he had for her sister.

Chapter Eight

THE wind chimes woke her.

Tess had thought that she wouldn’t sleep, but surprisingly enough she’d fallen into a deep slumber as soon as her head touched the pillow. Perhaps it had been the heat or the tiring quality of the journey, she mused, rolling onto her back and staring up at the dust motes dancing in the rays of sun seeping through the blinds into the bedroom. Or more likely it had been the stress, she thought bitterly, as the remembrance of the previous day’s events hit her. Oh, God, she had behaved so stupidly. And that after the embarrassment she’d suffered at Maria Sholti’s hands.

Pushing herself up into a sitting position, Tess rested her elbows on her knees and pushed frustrated hands into her hair. The whole outing had been a mistake, from start to finish. Castelli should never have taken her with him, and, just because he had, she shouldn’t have run away with the idea that he was attracted to her.

How had that happened? All right, he’d given her some pretty smouldering looks, but he was an Italian, for God’s sake. Italians were supposed to be the most romantic race in the world, weren’t they? She’d obviously read more into it than he could possibly have meant. She should have been on her guard. After that scene at the Sholtis’ hotel, she should have been wary of any uncharacteristic behaviour on his part. A man who could treat his daughter so coldly was surely not to be trusted.

Yet what had happened on the beach hadn’t been entirely her fault, she consoled herself. She’d provoked him, yes, and he’d responded. It had been as simple—and as complicated—as that. She should have let him take his walk alone.

She should never have tagged along. If she’d stayed and finished her salad she wouldn’t be berating herself now.

And she wouldn’t be facing the ignominy of further humiliation when she saw him again.

If she saw him again, she amended, though she really had little expectation that she wouldn’t. Ashley was still missing; Marco was still missing. And until that particular problem was solved, she was going to have to live with it. And with him.

She threw back the sheet and slid her legs off the bed. Sitting here brooding about it wasn’t going to achieve anything. The gallery wouldn’t open itself, and, despite her anger with Ashley, she had promised to look after the place in her absence.

All the same, as she stood in the shower she couldn’t help reliving the agony of the ride home. Although Castelli had attempted to restore their earlier camaraderie, he had been fighting a losing battle where she was concerned. Her own responses had been monosyllabic, she remembered, cringing at the way she’d blocked his every overture. She’d let him see exactly how hurt she’d been, and he must have been so relieved when they’d reached San Michele and he’d been able to drop her at the gallery. She’d probably convinced him she was no better than Ashley, after all. He no doubt considered he had had a lucky escape.

With thoughts like these for company, Tess didn’t spend long in the shower. Towelling herself dry, she contented herself with running a comb through her hair before dressing in a lemon chemise top and a green and blue Indian cotton skirt. Canvas boots completed her outfit and, after viewing herself without enthusiasm in the mirror of the carved ar-moire where Ashley kept her clothes, Tess left the apartment.

The morning passed, thankfully without incident. The only visitor she had who wasn’t a would-be customer was Silvio and he seemed to find nothing amiss with her appearance.

‘Cara,’ he exclaimed, his use of the familiar endearment reminding her painfully of Castelli, ‘how are you today? You are feeling better, spero?’

‘Better?’ Tess frowned. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’

‘Mas, ieri,’ said Silvio, wide eyed. ‘Yesterday. You close the gallery early, no? Naturalmente, I think you are not well’

‘Oh.’ Tess felt her face heat. ‘Um—yes. I did close early. You’re right. But—’ she couldn’t tell an outright lie ‘—it wasn’t because I was ill.’

‘No?’ Silvio gave her an inquiring look and she knew she had to elaborate.

‘No.’ She paused. ‘I—it was such a lovely day, I decided to—to take a little time off.’

‘Ah.’ Silvio regarded her with narrowed eyes. ‘And you enjoyed this—this time off?’

No.

‘Very much,’ she said, deciding one white lie was in order. And then, to distract him, ‘Isn’t it hot today? I’ve got the fan going but it just seems to be moving the air around.’

‘It is warm air,’ he pointed out drily, and she wondered if he was entirely satisfied with her reply. ‘So, do you have any plans for lunch?’

‘Lunch?’ Tess had the feeling she would never want to eat lunch again. ‘Oh—no.’ Then, realising what was coming next, ‘I’m too busy to think about lunch. Taking time off is all very well, but it just means the work piles up in your absence.’

Silvio glanced about him at the empty gallery. ‘It does not seem so busy to me.’

‘Oh, it’s paperwork,’ said Tess, realising she was having to lie again. ‘Honestly, you’d be surprised at the number of enquiries Ashley gets about this or that artist. And then there are the bills…’

‘In other words you do not wish to have lunch with me,’ remarked Silvio flatly. ‘You do not have to—if you will forgive the pun—draw me a picture, Tess. It is obvious some other man has—what do you say?—beaten me to it, no? Who is he, eh? Do I know him?’

‘No!’ Tess spoke impulsively and then, realising her words could easily be misconstrued, she hastily amended her answer. ‘That is, there is no other man, Silvio. Um—not here, anyway,’ she added, her face burning with embarrassment. ‘I just can’t keep taking time off, that’s all. It wouldn’t be fair to—to Signor Scottolino.’

Silvio shrugged. ‘As you say.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Si. Anch’io, cara.’ Me, too. He gave her a small, strangely knowing smile. ‘Do not work too hard, ragazza. All work and no play is not good, no? Ciao!’

Tess breathed a sigh of relief as he disappeared through the open doorway and, deciding she’d earned a strong cup of black coffee, she went to put water into the pot. But she couldn’t help wondering if Silvio’s visit had been as innocent as he’d pretended. Could he possibly have seen her leaving with Castelli the day before?

Of course he could, but if he had there was nothing she could do about it now. And, besides, she had a perfectly legitimate excuse for the outing if she was asked. But she wouldn’t be. Silvio had said his piece and no one else was interested. Except Maria and her husband, she amended. And they knew nothing about what had happened after she and Castelli had left the albergo.

Thank goodness!

By midday Tess was feeling a little more relaxed. Her fears that Castelli might decide to pay her another unexpected visit had not been realised, and, with her stomach reminding her that she’d not had any breakfast that morning, she decided to slip out to the bakery to buy a sandwich for her lunch.

She’d only closed the gallery for a few minutes. The bakery wasn’t far. But when she came hurrying back along the parade of shops she saw a woman trying the door with obvious impatience. With the blinds pulled up, it appeared that the gallery was open, and Tess thought it was just her luck that a customer had arrived in the short time she’d been away.

‘Mi scusi,’ she called, reaching the woman just as she was turning away. The woman turned back and Tess saw she was older than she’d thought. ‘Eccomi, signora. Posso aiutare?’ Can I help you?

Dark brows arched aristocratically over equally dark eyes. The woman was tall and exquisitely dressed in a taupe silk suit and high heels. Because of her height, she towered over Tess, her whole manner one of undisguised condescension.

Yet for all that, there was something familiar about her. Tess knew she’d never seen the woman before but the annoying sense of familiarity remained. Tess had barely registered the fact that she reminded her of Maria Castelli when the woman spoke, and her words gave substance to the thought.

‘Miss Daniels, e?’ she inquired coldly, looking down her long nose at Tess in a manner intended to intimidate. ‘Ah, si. You recognise the name. Let us go inside, Miss Daniels. I desire to speak to you.’

‘All right.’ Tess was too taken aback by this turn of events to offer any resistance and she unlocked the door and allowed the older woman to precede her into the gallery. Then, gathering herself, she said, a little less submissively, ‘Do we know one another, signora?’

The woman didn’t immediately proffer a reply. Instead, she stood in the centre of the floor surveying the paintings that lined the walls with evident dislike. They were not all good paintings, Tess acknowledged, but some of them weren’t at all bad. They didn’t deserve the contempt with which they were being regarded. Her visitor was acting as if they were little better than trash.

Or perhaps she’d got it wrong, she mused suddenly. Perhaps it was she whom the woman considered to be trash. That would fit if she was some relation of Maria Castelli—or rather Maria Sholti. And despite the relief she’d felt at Castelli’s non-appearance, now she felt a growing sense of resentment that he should have sent this woman in his place.

The woman swung round at last. ‘I know of you, Miss Daniels,’ she said, and Tess had to remind herself of what she’d asked moments before. ‘My son has spoken of you to me. I am Lucia di Castelli.’ She said the name arrogantly. ‘The boy your sister has corrupted is my grandson.’

Tess caught her breath. So this was Castelli’s mother. She should have guessed. The similarity wasn’t totally confined to his daughter.

But Castelli wasn’t going to help her now and, holding up her head, she said stiffly, ‘We don’t know that Ashley has done anything of the kind.’

‘Oh, I think we do, signorina.’ Lucia was scornful. ‘I cannot think of any other reason why a woman approaching thirty should encourage the attentions of an impressionable child, can you?’

‘Marco’s hardly a child,’ protested Tess indignantly. ‘In England, boys of sixteen can be quite—mature.’

‘And there you have it, Miss Daniels.’ Lucia’s lips curled. ‘As you say, in England things are very different indeed. Young single women think nothing of having a child—children—with several different partners. Marriage is considered an outdated institution and the church’s teachings are ignored. That is not how things are done in Italy, Miss Daniels. Here we respect our institutions, we respect our elders. And we expect visitors to our country to do the same.’

Tess licked her dry lips. ‘You paint a very unattractive picture of my country, signora,’ she said, keeping her voice calm with a definite effort. ‘But I can assure you that we are not a totally godless society. As with everything, the truth lies somewhere in between.’

Lucia snorted. ‘You would say that, naturalmente.’

‘Yes, I would.’ Tess gained a little confidence from the fact that the woman didn’t immediately contradict her. ‘We are not heathens, signora. And how honest is it for a woman to marry one man and have an affair with another? Is that considered acceptable in Italy?’

A faint trace of colour entered Lucia’s cheeks at her words. ‘You have been speaking to Rafe, have you not?’ she demanded harshly, shocking Tess by the vehemence of her tone. ‘Of course you have. That is why he is so—so sensibile to your feelings. He sees in you a justification for his own actions.’

‘No!’ Tess was horrified. She’d spoken impulsively, never thinking that Castelli’s mother might associate her words with her son’s divorce. ‘I mean, yes, I’ve spoken to your son, signora. You know that. He thought I might know where Ashley was.’

‘But you do not?’

‘No.’ Tess was polite, but firm.

‘Did my son tell you that he has spoken with his daughter, also?’ Lucia continued. ‘Maria is married and lives in Viali, some distance from here.’

The query seemed innocent enough at face value, but Tess was wary. Was it possible that Lucia di Castelli knew she had accompanied her son the day before? Had he told her? Had Maria? And if not, how was she supposed to answer that?

‘He—I—yes, I knew,’ she mumbled at last, unwilling to venture further. Besides, why shouldn’t Castelli have mentioned that she’d gone to Viali with him? With certain abstentions in his narrative, of course.

She took a deep breath and then was relieved when a young couple came into the gallery. They were obviously holiday-makers and she doubted they intended to buy anything. But her visitor didn’t know that.

‘Was there a reason for your visit, signora?’ she asked, indicating the newcomers. ‘Because if not, I have customers. If you hoped I might have any more information than I’ve given your son, then I’m afraid I must disappoint you.’

Lucia’s lips tightened. ‘I think you know more than you are saying, Miss Daniels. Unlike my son, I am not beguiled by a sympathetic manner and a pretty face!’

Tess was taken aback by her rudeness and she glanced awkwardly about her wondering if their exchange could be heard by anyone else. But to her relief the young couple had moved to the farthest side of the gallery and she thought it was unlikely that they’d noticed anything amiss.

‘I think you’d better go, signora,’ she said in a low voice, refusing to humour her any longer. ‘I’m working and I’m sure you have better things to do than stand here wasting my time. I’m sorry about your grandson, I really am. But there’s nothing I can do about it. Ashley didn’t confide in me before she took off.’

Lucia’s nostrils flared, and for a moment Tess expected another rebuke. But then, amazingly, the woman’s haughty arrogance crumbled, and with a gesture of defeat she pulled a handkerchief out of her purse.

Tess didn’t know which was worse, having Castelli’s mother berating her as an accomplice or breaking down in front of her. Tears were streaming down the woman’s face now and she was obviously distressed. Any moment Tess’s customers were going to notice and, despite herself, she couldn’t allow that to happen.

With a feeling of resignation, she took Lucia by the arm and led her back into the office. Then, after seating her at Ashley’s desk, she indicated the small bathroom. ‘You can rest here,’ she said. ‘Come out when you’re feeling better. No one will disturb you. I’ll see to that.’

As she’d suspected, the young couple had no intention of buying anything, and she had to acknowledge that Signor Scottolino had a point. Since she’d been looking after the gallery, she’d sold a grand total of three paintings, which was clearly not enough profit to pay the bills.

It was another fifteen minutes before she remembered her sandwich. She’d put it down as she was talking to Signora di Castelli and now she saw it wilting in the noonday heat. She would have liked to have gone into the office and made herself some fresh coffee. Signora di Castelli might even like one. Although, remembering her son’s reaction when he’d tried the filtered brew, she couldn’t guarantee it.

However, she’d told the woman she wouldn’t be disturbed and she kept her promises. It was obviously going to take a little time for Lucia to compose herself again. Until then, Tess contented herself with straightening the pictures, picking up a leaf that had blown through the open doorway, and adjusting the blinds to limit the sunlight.

After half an hour had gone by, however, she was beginning to get anxious. All sorts of thoughts ran through her head, not least the worry that Lucia might do something desperate in her grief. Which was silly, she knew. The situation was not that serious. They might not know exactly where Marco was, but if he was with Ashley, he could hardly come to any harm.

Or could he? Tess supposed it depended what your interpretation of harm was. As far as Lucia was concerned, Ashley was little better than a baby-snatcher. The fact that Marco sounded like a precocious teenager seemed to mean nothing to her.

At the end of forty-five minutes, Tess was desperate. All right, she’d promised not to disturb the woman, but that was ages ago now. Squaring her shoulders, she picked up her sandwich and went to the half-open door of the office. ‘Signora di Castelli,’ she said, pushing it wider. ‘Are you feeling better?’

She needn’t have bothered with the softly-softly approach. The office was empty. While she’d been fretting in the gallery, Lucia must have let herself out of the back exit. So much for Tess worrying about her. She had evidently dried her eyes and made herself scarce.

Tess didn’t know whether she felt relieved or resentful. She was glad the woman had gone, of course, but she might have asked her permission to use the back door. As it was, it was standing ajar and Tess went to close it. It would have been all the same if she’d had valuable paintings on the premises. With the alarm turned off, a thief could have had a field-day.

A check of her bag assured her that there’d been no intruders in her absence. Her passport was still there and the several hundred Euros she’d brought for the trip. She frowned suddenly. She could have sworn her passport had been in the side pocket of her backpack as it had been when Castelli had asked to see it. But now it resided in the main compartment alongside her wallet-purse.

She shrugged. She must have made a mistake when she’d put it away. She hadn’t needed it for the last couple of days so she couldn’t be absolutely sure which compartment she’d put it in. Castelli had got her so flustered, she might have put it anywhere. In any case, so long as she had it, that was the important thing.

She spent a couple of minutes emptying the coffee-pot and refilling the reservoir. Then, after putting several spoonfuls of ready-ground coffee into the filter, she sat down at the desk to have her sandwich.

It wasn’t very appetising. Having waited for almost an hour, it was definitely dry. Thankfully it was cheese. She was afraid any meat would have proved inedible. Even so, if she hadn’t been so hungry, she might have put it into the bin.

As she drank her coffee she idly opened the drawers of the desk. She was not really looking for anything, but she was still conscious of the doubts she’d had before. Once again, she was fairly sure nothing was missing, and as she’d riffled through the drawers herself days ago, looking for any clues to Ashley’s whereabouts, she wasn’t really surprised when she found nothing useful now.

The niggling doubts remained, though, and she wondered if Lucia di Castelli had searched the office before she’d left. It would explain the discrepancy about her passport. And perhaps explain the reason why she’d left without saying goodbye. Though, remembering Castelli’s mother, Tess doubted whether she’d care if she offended her. Until her emotions had got the better of her, she’d been doing a fairly good job of making Tess feel she was equally to blame.

It was a long afternoon. She had a couple more customers, one of whom actually bought a painting of the pretty resort of Portofino further up the coast. The other was a young Frenchman, who was evidently on holiday. His main interest was in flirting with Tess, and she guessed Ashley had enjoyed this aspect of her job.

But she didn’t. She was in no mood to be flattered and she became impatient when he refused to go. She eventually resorted to blackmail, picking up the phone and threatening to call la polizia. She wouldn’t have, of course, but thankfully her ploy was successful.

She closed the gallery early, not wanting to risk Silvio coming round to offer her dinner. She couldn’t help thinking she’d never been so popular in her life. Of course, at home her work kept her busy and the men with whom she worked were not her type. Those that weren’t married were often too boyish. Her friend, Maggie, always said they were like overgrown school kids themselves.

Tess had only had one real relationship and that had been with a boy she’d met at college. They’d kept in touch for a couple of years afterwards, but Tess’s moving to Derbyshire had put paid to their affair. He’d eventually written that he’d found someone else, and Tess remembered she had been more relieved than sorry. Maybe she just wasn’t cut out to find a partner, she thought as she drove back to Ashley’s apartment. The quintessential schoolmistress, that was her.

An image of herself and Castelli on the beach flashed into her mind, but she quickly pushed it away. Apart from the fact that she’d initiated that encounter, it was obvious he’d only been humouring her. He was a virile man and perhaps he’d been flattered at a younger woman coming on to him. Even if he’d felt sorry for her, and that was not an alternative she wanted to consider, it hadn’t been hard for him to fake a convincing response.

He’d certainly convinced her, she thought bitterly. Her stomach still quivered at the memory of the feelings he had aroused inside her. She could still taste his kiss, still feel the heat of his tongue in her mouth. She knew he’d been physically aroused. That was something he hadn’t been able to hide. Yet even so, he’d found it easy to pull away.

And that hurt. She couldn’t understand how he’d been able to turn off his emotions like a switch. Or perhaps his emotions hadn’t been involved. She’d obviously been wrong to think he’d been as eager as she had. While she’d been anticipating how exciting making love with him would be, he’d had an entirely different agenda.

But what agenda? If he hadn’t avoided the subject of Ashley all the way back to San Michele, she’d have suspected that finding her sister had still been his principal concern. He could have thought that seducing her might produce some hitherto unspoken confession. That she’d be so bemused by his lovemaking, she’d betray any confidence she’d been given.

But she’d been wrong about that, too. While she’d been aching with longings now suppressed, Castelli had spoken of his interest in wine, and the grape harvest, and how lots of people were leaving the towns to start a new life in the country. He’d behaved as if nothing untoward had happened, as if he was totally unaware of how she was feeling.

She was sure she’d never forgive him for that. Being rejected was one thing; being ignored was something else. But, with Ashley’s example to follow, what had she expected? Castelli didn’t want anything more from her than information. He didn’t care about her. He only cared about his son.

Chapter Nine

TESS bought some chicken and vegetables on her way home and stir-fried them for her supper. She wasn’t particularly hungry, but there was no point in starving because she’d made a fool of herself over a man. She wasn’t the first woman to do that and she wouldn’t be the last. And she at least had the satisfaction of knowing that Castelli hadn’t been totally indifferent to her.

She’d bought some wine, too, but, although she left it on the counter, she didn’t open the bottle. It was one thing making herself a decent meal for once. Drinking a whole bottle of Lambrusco on her own was something else. Instead, after making a gallant effort to enjoy the food, she made herself a cup of instant coffee and carried it out onto the balcony adjoining the bedroom to drink.

It was almost dark and already a string of lights had sprung up along the waterfront. She could smell the aromas of food cooking, of garlic and other herbs, and hear the sound of voices from the street below. Somewhere a saxophone was playing a haunting melody, bringing the unwilling brush of tears to her eyes. This should have been such a simple visit, she thought miserably. When had it all started to go wrong?

She knew the answer, of course. It had been wrong from the beginning. Andrea wasn’t ill; Ashley hadn’t been called home to look after her. Instead, she’d taken off with a boy who was far too young for her, causing embarrassment to her sister and distress to his family.

Tess caught her breath as another thought struck her. It was Friday tomorrow, and, remembering what Ashley’s mother had said, she was surprised she hadn’t heard from her again. She prayed it wasn’t because Andrea had decided to make good on her threat and come to Italy herself.

Oh, God, that was all she needed, for her stepmother to show up unannounced. Where would she stay? The apartment wasn’t really big enough for two people and Tess could well imagine that she’d be the one expected to find alternative accommodation.

A burst of laughter from the courtyard below was reassuring. Obviously some of her neighbours were having a party and she envied them their careless enjoyment. She thought if she’d lived here, like Ashley, she’d have made an effort to make friends with the other tenants. She’d noticed a couple of younger people going in and out of the building and they’d looked friendly enough. It would have been fun to brush up on her Italian, too. Fun, also, to invite someone in to share her supper. Someone who, unlike Silvio, would not expect anything more than good food and casual conversation.

She was considering opening the wine, after all, as a compensation for standing here all alone, when everyone else seemed to be having such a good time, when there was a knock on her door.

Tess froze for a moment and then took a swift look at her watch. It was after nine o’clock. Far too late for a casual caller. It had to be Andrea, she thought in dismay. Who else could it be?

She was tempted to pretend she wasn’t in. Ashley’s mother didn’t have a key, obviously, and she doubted the old caretaker would let a complete stranger into the apartment. But she would have to face her sooner or later and she didn’t have the heart to send her away. Depositing her empty coffee-cup in the sink, she composed herself and went to open the door.

It wasn’t Andrea. The man standing outside was probably the person she’d least expected to see, and she stared at him in total disbelief.

‘You should have checked who your caller was before you opened the door,’ Castelli said roughly, by way of a greeting. ‘Who were you expecting?’

‘No one.’ Tess was too shocked to lie to him. ‘I wasn’t expecting anyone.’ Then, in an attempt to regain the initiative, she added defiantly, ‘What are you doing here, signore? Slumming?’

Castelli’s mouth compressed. ‘I will not dignify that remark with a response,’ he declared harshly. Then, with a glance beyond her into the apartment, ‘Are you alone?’

Tess caught her breath. ‘What’s that to you?’ she retorted, in no mood to respect his feelings. The image of his regretful—no, pitying—expression when he’d pushed her away from him on the beach was still painfully acute. How dared he come here and behave as if he had any right to question her behaviour? Unless this visit was to get her to apologise for what she’d said to his mother. If it was, he was wasting his time.

He sighed now. ‘May I come in?’

‘Why?’

‘Because I wish to speak with you,’ he said patiently. ‘And I would prefer it if we could speak privately.’

Tess felt mutinous. ‘I don’t think I want to speak to you tonight, signore,’ she said, squashing the little spark of hope that he might have come to apologise himself. Besides which, it was better if she didn’t spend any time alone with him. Crazy as it was, she didn’t trust herself where he was concerned. She waited a beat and then added defensively, ‘I was just going to bed.’

His expression was sceptical. ‘At nine-fifteen? I do not think so, cara.’

‘Don’t call me that.’ Tess was angry. ‘And it’s really none of your business what I do, signore. I’ll be at the gallery in the morning. If you have anything to say to me, perhaps you could save it until then?’

‘Tess!’

His use of her name was almost her undoing. His voice had softened, deepened to a dark, persuasive drawl. It caused a quiver in her stomach, an aching need that spread to every part of her body. Despite herself, emotions stirred inside her, and she had to lift a hand to the frame of the door to support her shaking legs.

But somehow, she found the words to say, ‘If this is your way of getting me to apologise for what I said to your mother, you’re going to be unlucky.’ She straightened her spine. ‘I meant what I said, and you can tell her from me that I don’t think much of the way she left without even closing the door behind her.’

Castelli’s brows drew together. Then, before she realised what he intended to do, he swept her hand aside and stepped across the threshold. She was forced to move out of his way to avoid coming into contact with his hard body and he used the opportunity it gave him to slam the door.

The sound reverberated round the apartment and she was gearing herself to demand that he get out of there, at once, when he said, ‘What the hell are you talking about? I did not even know you had met my mother.’

Tess’s lips parted. She didn’t want to believe him but there was something so convincing in his gaze that she couldn’t help herself. ‘I—she came to the gallery,’ she said stiffly. She lifted her shoulders. ‘I thought you knew.’

‘Well, obviously, I did not.’

‘No.’ Tess conceded the point. ‘I’m sorry. I naturally assumed that was why you were here.’

Castelli made a strangely defeated gesture. ‘Naturally,’ he said flatly, walking across the living room to stand staring down at the lights of the harbour below. ‘What other reason could there be?’

Tess caught her lower lip between her teeth. She would not feel sorry for him, she thought. That way lay danger. And, as she didn’t have a satisfactory answer for him, she indulged herself for a moment by pretending he really had come here to see her.

With his back to her, she was able to look at him unobserved and her eyes lingered on broad shoulders, shown to advantage in a close-fitting black polo shirt. His black drawstring trousers were tight over his buttocks but only hinted at the powerful muscles of his legs. Taken as a whole, his outfit didn’t look like something he would wear to a social gathering. Which meant what? That he had come here to see her, after all?

The breath she was about to take caught in her throat and all her bones seemed to melt beneath her. A purely visceral surge of longing gripped her, but before she could say something foolish, comprehension dawned.

‘Ashley,’ she said quickly before her panicked breathing could betray her. ‘You’re here about Ashley.’ She paused to take another calming gulp of air. ‘Have you found out where they are?’

He turned then, pushing his hands into the pockets of his pants as he did so, tautening the soft cotton across his thighs. In spite of herself, Tess’s eyes were drawn there. She dragged them away again as he said, ‘No,’ in a flat, expressionless voice. Then, as if he too was finding it hard to speak casually, he continued, ‘Verdicci has had no luck in Genova. If your sister has hired a car, she has hired it under another name.’

‘Oh.’ Tess swallowed. ‘Could she do that?’

‘If she had an accomplice,’ replied Castelli carelessly. ‘Do you know if she has any friends here in San Michele?’

Tess shook her head. ‘Not as far as I know,’ she replied, sure that Ashley had never mentioned any particular friend to her. Certainly no one who might be willing to assist her in doing something that sounded vaguely illegal. ‘She’s only lived here for nine months. Hardly long enough to get that close to anyone.’

‘Except Marco,’ Castelli observed softly, and Tess felt his frustration. Then, his eyes intent, ‘Tell me about my mother. I assume she came to ask you about your sister. What did she say to upset you?’

Tess shrugged. ‘Why do you think she upset me?’ she argued defensively, and a faint smile tugged at his lean, attractive mouth.

‘You said that if I had come for an apology, I would be unlucky, no?’ he responded drily. ‘Please, humour me. I would like to know her reasons for speaking with you.’

Tess sighed. ‘Oh—you know. She thought I might know more than I’d said.’

‘That you might know more than you had told me?’ he suggested shrewdly, and she nodded.

‘Something like that.’

‘Mmm.’ He withdrew his hands from his pockets and crossed them over his chest, tucking his fingers beneath his arms. ‘I guess she was unhappy with the results I had achieved. Did she tell you what a disappointment I had been to her as both a husband and a father?’

‘No!’ Tess was shocked. ‘She didn’t say anything like that.’

‘But she did imply that I was to blame for allowing Marco to become involved with your sister?’

‘No.’ Tess shook her head. ‘It was Ashley she vilified, not you. Or Marco. She said that Ashley had corrupted her grandson. That he was just a child. And when I said that boys of sixteen were not considered children in England, she criticised that, as well.’ She paused. ‘You—you were hardly mentioned.’

Castelli was sardonic. ‘You disappoint me.’

‘Well, I’m sure she didn’t approve of you associating with me,’ Tess appended swiftly. She pressed her hands together at her midriff, aware that she’d changed into an old pair of denim cut-offs when she’d got home from the gallery and they were hardly flattering. ‘She probably thinks that I’ll corrupt you, too.’

Castelli regarded her with mild amusement. ‘Do you think that is possible, cara? I am not an impressionable boy to be dazzled by a woman’s looks. In my experience, a pretty face has a limited appeal. If I had to choose, I would pick brains over beauty every time.’

‘How noble of you.’ Tess couldn’t hide her bitterness. ‘Is that why your wife left you? Because she couldn’t live up to such high ideals?’

It was an unforgivable thing to say, but Tess refused to feel any remorse. She resented the fact that he’d come here, that he’d felt he had the right to force his way into the apartment on some pretext she had yet to discover. All right, the way she’d behaved on the beach had probably given him the notion that she’d be willing to do just about anything he asked of her. But that had been a moment of madness that she had no intention of repeating. Ever.

Castelli moved then and she had to steel herself not to put the bar that divided the kitchenette from the rest of the room between them. But all he did was rub his palms over his spread thighs. He seemed to be more thoughtful than angry. It was as if he was considering her words and deciding how to answer her. Perhaps she’d been a little too close for comfort, she thought eagerly, feeling a momentary surge of revenge.

When he said, ‘I do not wish to discuss my wife with you,’ she felt almost euphoric. And when he continued, ‘Her reasons for leaving me are not part of this equation,’ she was sure she had bloodied a nerve.

‘So I was right,’ she said, amazed at her own temerity. ‘You’re just like your mother and Maria. You Castellis think you’re never wrong!’

‘No!’ The word was harsh and angry and for the first time Tess was aware that they were alone. ‘You are not right,’ he said, coming towards her. ‘Gina and I did not separate because of any high ideals on my part. Not unless you consider the fact that she preferred to sleep in other beds than mine no justification.’

Tess did retreat behind the bar then.

She felt mortified and ashamed. She’d been so intent on scoring points, she hadn’t considered the wounds she might have been inflicting.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said unhappily. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’ She spread her hands along the bar, nails digging into the plastic rim. She licked her lips and when he didn’t speak she added, with a weak attempt at humour, ‘Blame your mother. I got used to defending myself with her.’

Castelli’s lips tightened. ‘You do it very well,’ he said, facing her across the narrow divide. ‘But you are wrong about me. My opinion of my own character is very poor.’

‘Is it?’

Tess couldn’t prevent the rejoinder and, because it seemed as if she couldn’t speak to him without being provoking, she picked up the bottle of wine she’d left on the counter earlier. The label meant nothing to her but she pretended to examine it anyway. Anything to avoid looking at him, from responding to that dangerous sexuality that he wore as naturally as his skin.

‘It seems you had the last word. As far as my mother was concerned,’ he said after a moment, and she wondered if he was trying to defuse the situation, too. It made it even harder to remember why she’d been so angry with him. But at least talking about his mother seemed harmless enough.

‘It was only because she got upset,’ she admitted now, putting down the bottle and opening a drawer. Rummaging around for the corkscrew gave her another excuse not to look at him. ‘I suggested she went into the office to compose herself. Then she let herself out the back without even closing the door behind her.’

Castelli snorted. ‘She got upset,’ he echoed disbelievingly. ‘That does not sound like the woman I know. Cara, Lucia does not get upset. Not unless it is for some purpose of her own.’

‘Well, perhaps she wanted to spend some time alone in the office,’ offered Tess, finding the corkscrew and pulling a rueful face. ‘I—well, I’m not absolutely sure about this, but I think she might have searched Ashley’s desk.’

‘Non credo!’ Castelli was shocked, she could tell. ‘No. Lucia may be many things, cara, but she is not a thief!’

‘I believe you.’ Tess sighed. ‘But I think she was looking for something all the same.’

‘Cosa?’ What?

Tess shrugged, and then, because she’d succeeded in finding the corkscrew, she felt obliged to use it. She was fitting the screw into the cork when Castelli came round the bar and took the implement from her. ‘Let me do that,’ he said, with obvious impatience. ‘Then perhaps you will explain what you are talking about.’

Tess didn’t argue with him. Stepping back, she let him have his way. But the kitchenette was tiny and he was now much too close for comfort. She couldn’t get past him. Not without rubbing up against him. And that was the last thing she wanted to do in her present state of emotional upheaval.

Instead, she kept her gaze riveted on his hands in an effort to distract herself. But she was uncomfortably aware of the strength in his chest and arms, the way his tight shirt outlined the taut muscles of his stomach.

He was all male, all man, and she wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t responded to it. Particularly after what had happened between them before. Her breasts puckered in anticipation of a caress they were not going to receive, and she crossed her arms across her body in an effort to hide her reaction from him.

Her mouth was dry and, realising he was waiting for an explanation, she said quickly, ‘I think your mother was looking for information about Ashley. Perhaps she thought I’d missed something when I looked through the desk myself.’

Castelli pulled out the cork before replying. Then, setting the bottle down on the counter, he said, ‘So did she find anything?’

‘Not as far as I know.’ Tess was wary. ‘Why? Do you think she did?’

Castelli made a dismissive gesture. ‘Until this moment, I did not even know she had visited the gallery,’ he said drily. He frowned. ‘But I have not seen her today, so who knows?’

Tess’s lips parted. ‘I hope you don’t still think I’ve been keeping Ashley’s whereabouts a secret from you,’ she exclaimed indignantly, and Castelli gave her a speaking look. ‘You needn’t deny it,’ she continued hotly. ‘That’s why you’ve come here, isn’t it? Because your mother’s disappeared and you think I might know where she’s gone?’

‘Do not be so ridiculous,’ he told her impatiently. ‘I have just told you, I did not even know Lucia had been to the gallery when I came here.’

‘So you said.’

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘Well, I only have your word that you didn’t know about her visit,’ said Tess challengingly. ‘And you must admit, you haven’t given me a good reason for coming here yet.’

Castelli leaned back against the counter, resting his hands on the worn plastic at either side of him. Then, with gentle irony, he said, ‘Well, obviously I am not here at your invitation. Let us be honest with one another. Do you want me to go?’

Yes!

But she couldn’t say it. Didn’t want to say it, if she was completely truthful with herself.

‘I’m sure you know exactly what I want,’ she said at last, turning away to open the cupboard door above her. But as he’d opened the wine, it would be churlish not to offer him a glass. ‘I think there are some glasses in here somewhere. Why don’t you have some wine before you go?’

‘Do I have a choice?’

She started, almost dropping the two glasses she’d found in the cupboard. The words had been spoken immediately behind her, his warm breath fanning the damp curls that nestled at her nape.

Looking down, she saw he had placed a hand on the unit at either side of her now and she was successfully trapped within the barrier of his arms. If she turned around, her face would only be inches from his. Goodness knew if there’d be room enough to take a breath and she didn’t feel confident enough to try.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked instead, amazed her voice sounded almost normal. ‘Do you want some wine or don’t you?’

‘If it is anything like your coffee, perhaps I will pass,’ he chided lightly. And then, with sudden passion, ‘Dio, Tess, are you ever going to forgive me for what happened yesterday? I know I hurt you. Do not bother to deny it. And I want you to know I have suffered for it ever since.’

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