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Stalking past a pile of discarded masonry and rusting iron railings, he felt a quiver of excitement as he stepped through a crumbling stone archway into a walled garden. In contrast to the front of the building, all the shutters and the windows at the back of the building were open, and then, turning towards the palazzo, he noticed a half-empty glass of water and the remains of an apple on a marble-topped table. So she was here! But where, exactly?
Blinking in the sunlight, his spine stiffened as he got his answer. Somewhere in the gardens, a woman was singing.
He stared fiercely around the terrazza, but it was empty except for a handful of sunbathing salamanders. For a moment he was rooted to the spot, the pounding of his heart drowning out the song, and then, forcing himself to breathe more slowly, he lifted his head. But it was too late. She’d stopped singing.
Damn it! He turned slowly on the spot, his eyes narrow slits of frustration. Where the hell was she? And then he heard it—the same husky voice—and he felt another flicker of excitement. With light, determined steps, he ducked under an archway festooned with roses—and then stopped almost immediately. It was just another empty terrace. His disappointment aching like a blow to the stomach, he glanced through a fringing of leaves at a large sunken ornamental pond and a collection of marble nymphs.
What the hell was wrong with him? Chasing after a singing girl like some foolhardy sailor bewitched by a siren...
And then his breath stopped his throat and his heart seemed to miss a beat as across the garden he saw one of the nymphs reach out to touch a cluster of pale pink oleanders.
Dry-mouthed, he watched her bend and twist in silence, his breath still trapped somewhere between his throat and his stomach. With the sunlight gleaming on her wet body she looked like a goddess fresh from her morning bath. Her beauty was luminous, dazzling. Beside her the exquisite marble nymphs looked dull and blandly pretty.
Staring hungrily at the slender curl of her waist, the small upturned breasts, he felt the blood start to pulse in his neck. His eyes followed the soft curve of her backbone down to the firm, rounded bottom. The vertebrae looked both defenceless and dangerous and he watched, silently mesmerized as she lifted her arms, and stretching languidly, began to hum. And then his breath almost choked him as he saw that she wasn’t completely naked but was wearing a tiny flesh-coloured thong.
The scrap of damp fabric tugged at his gaze.
His chest tightening, he stared at her hungrily, his blood pulsing thickly as she dipped her feet into the pond and then began to sing again in the same sweet, light voice.
Massimo smiled. He recognised the song, and with the breath spinning out of him like sugar turning to candyfloss he started to whistle the tune.
The girl froze, her head jerking upwards. Taking a step forwards, she frowned. ‘Who’s there?’
Moving out from under the archway, Massimo held his hands out in front of him. ‘Sorry. I couldn’t resist. I hope I didn’t scare you.’
She stared at him fiercely, and he realised with surprise that she didn’t seem scared. Nor had she made any attempt to cover her nakedness. But then given the beauty of that body, why should she? His own body hardened painfully as she looked up at him defiantly.
‘Then perhaps you shouldn’t creep about in the bushes. This is private property and you’re trespassing. I suggest you leave now before I call the police.’
Her Italian was fluent, and bore no trace of an English accent, and he felt another stab of surprise and admiration too. But neither showed on his face as he smiled at her coolly.
‘The police! That might be a little premature.’ His English was perfect and, watching her eyes widen with surprise, he smiled grimly, gratified to see that he had got under that delectable skin. ‘Don’t you want to know who I am first?’
‘I know who you are, Mr Sforza.’ Her voice was clear and calm. She lifted her chin. ‘And I know what you want. But you’re not going to get it. This is my home, and I’m not about to let you turn it into some ghastly boutique hotel for loud, sweaty tourists, so you might as well leave.’
‘Or what?’ His eyes drifted casually over her naked breasts. ‘If you’re concealing a weapon, I’d really like to know where.’ He stared at her mockingly. ‘This is my property and my land and you are my tenant. As your landlord, I’m entitled to inspect what’s mine. Although, to be fair, I think you’ve pretty much shown me everything there is to see.’
Flora glared at him, her eyes flashing with anger. So this was the famous Massimo Sforza—or was that infamous? The man whose arrogant swirling signature had dominated her days and dreams for so many weeks. He was everything she had imagined him to be: slickly clever, charming yet ruthless. But now, with that glittering blue gaze locked onto hers, it was clear she had underestimated the ratio of charm to ruthlessness. Meeting his eyes, she felt a shiver of fury run through her body. He clearly believed that his presence was dazzling enough to overpower her objections to his stupid hotel. If so, he was sadly mistaken. She’d had her fill of men simply assuming that she would fit in with their plans. Particularly one as smug as Massimo Sforza.
Her heartbeat began to quicken. He was completely, irredeemably loathsome. So why then was her pulse fluttering like a moth near a candle? Heat burned her cheeks and she shook her head in denial—but there could be no denying her body’s treacherous, quivering response to his. Nor the fact that he was the most wickedly attractive man she’d ever met.
And the most dangerous.
She gritted her teeth, confused and angered by her body’s response. It was so inappropriate and shallow and given who she knew him to be, frankly wrong. So what if he was handsome? Hadn’t she seen his photo in enough newspapers and magazines to have grown sick of that sculpted head? Her body felt hot and taut beneath the intensely blue focus of his gaze, but she shivered. It was crazy: he hadn’t even touched her. But nothing could truly have prepared her for the reality of his beauty or that air of power and self-assurance. With that sleek black hair, the flawless bone structure just visible beneath the stubble and that imperious gaze he might easily have been one of the bandits that used to roam the island’s hills.
She scowled. Only now, instead of robbing rich travellers of their money and jewellery, he robbed ordinary people of their homes and livelihoods. He might be wearing the trappings of respectability and wealth—his suit and shoes were clearly handmade and expensive—but he had the morals of a common thief.
Her gaze skipped swiftly over the breadth of his chest. It might be broad—but not because he was big-hearted. This man didn’t have a heart, and she would do well to remember that the next time she got dewy-eyed about his blatant masculine perfection.
‘I didn’t have you down as a prude, Mr Sforza,’ she snapped back. ‘Not given your well-documented fondness for scantily clad women. But then it doesn’t surprise me in the least that you’re a hypocrite. After all, you are the head of a multinational corporation—so it’s sort of a prerequisite, isn’t it?’
Massimo shrugged casually, but the intensity of his gaze made her breathing jerk. ‘I’m not a prude. You caught me off guard. You see I don’t generally discuss business with naked women. But then I don’t tend to frequent strip joints.’
Her eyes glittered brighter than the Sardinian sun. ‘I’m not a stripper,’ she said frostily. ‘And we are not doing business. This is my home and I can walk around in it any damn way I want.’ She paused, her face twisting with scorn. ‘Besides, unlike some people, I don’t have anything to hide.’
Her pulse leaped as his face darkened with anger.
‘Oh, you think nudity equates to honesty, do you? Interesting. In that case, I’ve got nothing to hide either.’ Eyes glittering, he slid off his jacket and tossed it disdainfully onto a nearby rose bush, showering petals in every direction.
‘Hey!’ Flora took an angry step towards him. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
He glanced at her and instinctively she tensed as she saw the hostility in their cobalt depths. ‘Me? I’m showing you the purity of my soul.’ Holding her gaze, he slowly began undoing the buttons on his shirt.
She gritted her teeth. ‘Really? You’re really going to do this?’
Flora stared at him helplessly. This couldn’t be happening. Surely he wasn’t going to take all his clothes off in front of her just to prove a point? She watched in silence, a knot forming in her stomach, her heart beating frantically as he tugged his shirt off and threw it on top of his jacket. Meeting her gaze, he pushed his belt through the buckle and undid the top button of his trousers.
‘No!’ Turning round, she grabbed a faded sundress from the stone slabs and pulled it over her head in one swift moment.
‘And I thought I was the prude!’
She heard the note of triumph in his voice and turned to face him with wide, scornful eyes. ‘Not wanting to see you naked doesn’t make me a prude. It’s just a matter of taste. I know you must find it hard to believe, but I don’t actually find you attractive enough to want to see you naked.’
‘Oh, I can believe that. I’m clearly a little young for your taste. Perhaps I should come back in thirty years.’
Flora frowned. ‘Thirty years?’ she repeated stupidly. ‘Why would that make any difference?’
Massimo shook his head. ‘Don’t play the innocent with me, cara. We both know I’m rich enough for you. But you like your men old and rich, don’t you, Miss Golding? Or should that be Miss Gold-Digger?
Her eyes blazed with fury. ‘How dare you?’ She stepped towards him, her hands bunching at her sides. ‘You know nothing about my relationship with Umberto.’
Her stomach muscles clenched, the knots inside pulling tighter. He was disgusting! A monster. Coarse, cold-blooded and corrupted. How could she have thought he was attractive? And he was such a hypocrite! Barging into her life and her home and judging her like that. Her breath felt sharp in her throat. Not just judging, but destroying something good and pure—sullying the memory of what had been innocent with his vile insinuations.
Scowling, she lifted her chin. Let him think what he wanted. She knew the truth. That she and Umberto had shared not passion but friendship, and a mutual desire to hide: she from her family’s claustrophobic love and he from the knowledge that his artistic powers were fading.
‘Just for the record, I don’t have a problem with your age. Just your character! Umberto was twice the man you could ever hope to be, and you will never be capable of understanding what we shared. But it certainly wasn’t his bank account.’
He smiled coldly. It was the smile of someone to whom such an outburst was a sign of weakness and imminent surrender. ‘The lady doth protest too much. Although in your case...’ he raised his eyebrow mockingly ‘... I think “lady” might be pushing it somewhat, don’t you?’
Leaning over, he picked up his jacket and reached into the inside pocket. He pulled out an envelope and held it out to Flora.
‘Save your self-justification for someone who cares.’ His face hardened. ‘“Just for the record”, I don’t care who you sleep with or why. I just want you out of here—and, despite your damning little speech about my character, I think if you look inside that envelope you’ll find that I understand pretty much everything about you, Miss Golding.’
His icy, knowing smile made her stomach flip over. She glared at him but he held her gaze.
‘I like playing games as much as the next man, cara, but you don’t have to play games with me anymore. And this is a game, isn’t it? You holding out for more and me giving you what you really want?’
She stared at him in silence. His blue eyes were as deep and tempting as the Tyrrhenian Sea.
‘Come on, cara,’ he said softly. ‘Umberto was a rich man, but accept my offer and you’ll be a far richer woman.’
Flora stared at the envelope in silence. A rich woman! She could almost picture the cheque: could see that authoritative swirling signature.
He watched with grim satisfaction as she hesitated momentarily and then took it from him. ‘Aren’t you going to open it?’
She looked up at him, hating the note of triumph in his voice. ‘No,’ she said quietly, her eyes fixed on his face. And then with slow deliberation she tore the envelope in two and threw it at him. ‘I don’t need to. You see, there’s nothing you can offer me that I will ever want. Except never to see your vile, arrogant face again!’
And before he even had a chance to reply she turned and darted through an archway and vanished as a light breeze blew the pieces of envelope and cheque across the flagstones.
CHAPTER TWO
MASSIMO STARED AFTER her in confusion. What the hell had just happened? Had she really just taken his cheque and ripped it up? Without even looking at it?
His stomach contracted. Everything he’d wanted had been almost in his grasp and now he felt stupid and out of place—almost as though she’d left him standing at the altar, with the pieces of envelope fluttering around his feet like discarded confetti. His breathing quickened. Damn her!
‘Mr Sforza?’ At the sound of Giorgio’s voice he turned sharply. Looking pale and flustered, his lawyer hurried across the flagstones. ‘I’m sorry I took so long. This place is like a maze. But I heard voices.’ His eyes popped slightly as finally he seemed to register his shirtless boss, and then he looked quickly away. ‘Er...is everything okay? I mean—’
Massimo’s face darkened. He was well aware of how he must look, standing there half-naked and alone like some spurned suitor. His confusion was gone, replaced by a rage so pure, so absolute, that it seemed to fill his entire body.
‘Everything is fine,’ he snapped. ‘I just thought I’d have a quick sunbathe.’
The lawyer gazed at him uncertainly. ‘Really...?’
Massimo shook his head in exasperation, his body seething with a frustration that took him straight back to his childhood. ‘No, Giorgio. Of course not. I was—’ Grimacing, he shook his head again. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Breathing out slowly, he picked up his shirt and slid his arms into it. ‘You can tell Lisi she was right, though. She is volatile.’
‘That’s the impression I was given, sir.’ Giorgio nodded, a look of relief sliding over his face. ‘That’s why I think we should cut our losses and walk away before...’ He glanced furtively across at his boss, who was buttoning up his shirt with swift precision. ‘Before this gets any more out of hand.’
Massimo whirled towards him. ‘Walk away?’ Snatching up his jacket, he shrugged it on carelessly, his voice colder than marble. ‘Oh, I’ve got no intention of walking away, Giorgio. Not before I’ve taught Miss Golding a long and clearly overdue lesson in manners. Come with me.’
He turned and began to walk swiftly in the direction that Flora had just taken. Ducking under the archway, both men came to an abrupt stop as they emerged onto a neatly trimmed grass lawn. Across the lawn a high yew hedge rose out of the ground, in the centre of which was another archway. There was no sign of Flora—
‘This is getting ridiculous,’ Massimo muttered. ‘How many gardens does one palazzo need?’
They crossed the lawn and stopped in front of the archway. It wasn’t a garden.
‘It’s a maze!’ Giorgio gazed uncertainly at a small rusting sign. He looked up at his boss, his expression a mixture of astonishment and dismay. ‘Do you think she’s in there?’
Massimo scowled. Of course she was in there. No doubt laughing her pretty little head off at their expense.
He sighed. ‘I should have ripped the damned house down with her in it. I know I said this before, but I’m going to sort this out once and for all and then I’ll be back. And this time I really won’t be long. After all, how difficult can it be to find her?’
The answer to that question was really difficult, he decided some twenty minutes later, after he’d turned yet another corner to find yet another dead end. With a groan of frustration, he ran his hands through his hair and cursed Flora loudly.
‘I may not be a lady, but even I wouldn’t use words like that!’
His body froze as her voice, fizzing with malice, cut sharply through his tirade.
‘What’s the matter, Mr Sforza? Don’t you like hide and seek? I thought you liked playing games “as much as the next man”.’
He spun round, his gaze boring into the thick, dark leaves. ‘Oh, very funny. This is very amusing, I’m sure. But you can’t hide from me for ever!’
‘Probably not! But I’ve got a funny feeling that after an hour...’ she paused, and sighed elaborately ‘...or four spent wandering around in here, you might just want to go home. If a bullying, greedy monster like you actually has a home.’
He gritted his teeth and then his pupils flared as from somewhere behind the high green hedge, he heard a twig snap. Gotcha! Slowly, with delicate steps, his heart hammering with excitement, he crept towards the end of the path and stepped swiftly around the corner. But there was no one there.
‘You might as well give up and go home.’
Her voice floated through the foliage, the crisp, cool words acting like salt on his wounded pride. And yet despite his irritation part of him was enjoying this game they were playing.
His mouth curved into an almost-smile. ‘If you knew me better, cara, you’d know that I never give up or give in.’
‘Thankfully I will never know you at all. Anyway, carry on looking if you want, but I should warn you there’s over a thousand metres of paths and only one of them will take you to the centre. Still...happy hunting!’
Massimo glanced up at the sky, and his breathing slowed. She was going to pay for this. And a lot sooner than she thought. Reaching into his trouser pocket, he pulled out his mobile phone and punched in a number.
Flora stared up at the thick, yew bushes and felt a surge of satisfaction. The maze had been designed by Umberto and had a particularly fiendish layout. Massimo Sforza would be stuck wandering around between its high, impenetrable hedges hopefully until the sun set. She smiled happily. Which should give him ample time to ponder the ethics of harassment and bribery.
Her smile faded. His casual, unfounded assumption that her reason for staying at the palazzo was to squeeze more money out of him and his stupid company made her skin tighten with anger.
If only there was some way to get rid of him for good. But like most rich, powerful men, he was used to getting his own way.
She felt suddenly tired. Was it so much to ask to keep her home? But it was always the same. Even reasonable, well-adjusted men seemed to assume that a woman could and should change her life to fit in with their plans.
Remembering James’s angry disbelief when she’d refused to upend her life for his, she felt an ache spread inside of her. And it had been the same with Thomas too. He’d been bewildered and then furious with her for pursuing her own goals instead of supporting him.
Her lip trembled. Then of course there was her dad and her brother, Freddie. They’d always been protective but since her mother’s death, they’d treated her like she was a child; an adorable but foolish child who needed protecting from herself.
Still, at least they loved her and cared about her. Massimo Sforza, on the other hand, only cared about himself. But just because he was rich and used to getting his own way didn’t mean she should give up her home so he could turn it into a stupid hotel.
She shivered. The stone bench on which she’d taken refuge was cold, and even though the sun was gleaming like a huge pearl in the flawless blue sky the seven-foot hedges meant that little of its heat was reaching her.
Damn Gianni! It was all his fault. If only Umberto hadn’t left him the estate. And if only his feckless, greedy brother hadn’t sold it on as soon as the deeds were in his hands, she wouldn’t be here, hiding like a criminal on the run.
A twig cracked nearby, and she froze momentarily—then relaxed. It was probably just a lizard or a bird. Massimo Sforza might be rich and powerful but he’d need x-ray vision or wings to find her in here.
Her head jerked up abruptly. Above her, a Marsh harrier gave a shrill screech and, frowning, she slid off the bench, a shiver of apprehension scuttling down her spine. It might have been muted by the hedges, but it had definitely been a warning call. But before she could even ponder as to what might have caused the bird’s alarm she heard a faint droning noise, and then a shadow fell across her upturned face and the droning become a loud rhythmic ‘whumping’.
Open-mouthed, Flora stared up in astonishment at a large, sleek white helicopter. Where had it come from? And then she gave a sudden cry of rage. Sforza! It had to be. She’d assumed he’d driven to the palazzo, but who else would have such a showy boy’s toy? She must have been swimming under the water in the pond when he’d flown over—
There was a crunch of footsteps on gravel behind her, and her heart leaping in her chest, she turned, knowing before she did so that it would be him.
‘Thanks, Paolo. Yeah, I think I can find my way out. But I’ll call you if I need your help.’ Massimo clicked off his phone and examined her face, his eyes glittering with malice. ‘So. We meet again.’ He glanced at his watch and frowned. ‘Not quite fifteen minutes!’
‘Only because you cheated!’ Hands curling into fists, Flora stepped backwards. Her calves collided painfully with the stone bench, but it was nothing compared to the injuries she would inflict on Massimo if she stood too close to him.
He shook his head. ‘You’re not going to have a tantrum about losing, are you, cara? I told you—I don’t give up and I don’t give in. And, besides, I hate waiting.’
She shivered as his face shifted, grew harder and colder than the marble bench pressing against her legs.
‘And I never, ever lose.’
Flora stared at him stonily. ‘What a wonderful mantra for life. Your parents must be so proud of you.’
His eyes flared, and nervously she realised that his broad body was blocking her only way of escape.
There was a short, tense silence and then he shrugged. ‘And what about your parents, cara? Were they proud that their daughter was shacked up with a man old enough to be her grandfather?’ He paused, his lip curling, his teeth bared so that for a moment he seemed to resemble a large, dangerous animal more than a man.
She lifted her chin and met his gaze. ‘We can stand here all day and trade insults, if you want,’ she said stiffly. ‘But it won’t alter the fact that I have a legal right to stay here as a tenant for as long as I wish. Nothing you can do or say will change that fact.’
For a long moment he stared at her steadily and then, to her astonishment, he smiled without rancour. ‘That’s true.’
She waited tensely as he continued to study her, his abrupt change of mood almost as unsettling as the growing realisation that they were only inches apart, alone, separated from the rest of the world by seven-foot hedges. Goosebumps tiptoed over her skin, and she swallowed uneasily. Why was he looking at her like that? It reminded her of the way buyers used to look at Umberto’s paintings: cool, assessing, critical.
She shivered again, and he frowned slightly. ‘You’re cold! Of course, you must be.’
Before she could reply, he had pulled off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. His hand grazed her skin, and she shivered once more, this time from the heat of his touch.
Feeling somehow disloyal—although to what or to whom, she wasn’t sure—she tried to shrug it off, but he shook his head.
‘It’s just a jacket, cara. Not a white flag.’
Blushing, wondering how or when her thoughts became so transparent, she nodded mutely. She felt hot. Impatient. Restless. But where had all her anger and outrage gone? Wrapping her arms tightly across her chest, she stared mutinously past his head. He was making her feel like this. His tantalising nearness seemed to have driven all rational thought from her mind. And now, wearing his jacket, with the warmth of his body still clinging to the fabric, she felt even more confused.