Will she resist his scandalous proposition...

Or succumb to mindless pleasure?

Softhearted Gracie James is mortified when Rafael Vitale finds her accidentally trespassing on his luxurious Italian estate! She can’t refuse Rafe’s teasing demand that she attend an exclusive party with him. From the dangerous intensity in his eyes, virgin Gracie knows she’s playing with fire—after all, outrageous playboy Rafe is only promising a temporary liaison. Can she resist the power of his raw sensuality?

Be seduced by this spellbinding Cinderella story!

NATALIE ANDERSON adores a happy ending—which is why she always reads the back of a book first. Just to be sure. So you can be certain you’ve got a happy ending in your hands right now—because she promises nothing less. Along with happy endings she loves peppermint-filled dark chocolate, pineapple juice and extremely long showers. Not to mention spending hours teasing her imaginary friends with dating dilemmas. She tends to torment them before eventually relenting and offering—you guessed it—a happy ending. She lives in Christchurch, New Zealand, with her gorgeous husband and four fabulous children. If, like her, you love a happy ending, be sure to say hi at Facebook.com/authornataliea, follow @authornataliea on Twitter or visit her website/blog, natalie-anderson.com.

Also by Natalie Anderson

The Forgotten Gallo Bride

Claiming His Convenient Fiancée

Princess’s Pregnancy Secret

The King’s Captive Virgin

The Throne of San Felipe miniseries

The Secret That Shocked De Santis

The Mistress That Tamed De Santis

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Awakening His Innocent Cinderella

Natalie Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08729-2

AWAKENING HIS INNOCENT CINDERELLA

© 2018 Natalie Anderson

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Bridge and Kat—

thank you so much for the coffee catch-ups,

giggles and goss.

Thursdays are the best!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

BRUSHING BACK A lock of hair, Gracie James entered the last three digits into the discreet keypad and paused expectantly. An electronic beep sounded and the heavy iron gates smoothly swung back. She wheeled her bike through the opening and leaned it against the nearest of the tall trees that formed a guard of honour the length of the driveway. She walked the rest of the way, making the most of her opportunity to see one of Lake Como’s luxury hideaways and cooling down from her ride at the same time. The grounds were stunning enough, but she still gasped when the building came into view.

Oh...yes.

In the gorgeous Italian village of Bellezzo, where she’d been living for the last four months, Gracie had thought she’d become immune to the stunning architecture Italy had to offer. So wrong. Villa Rosetta was an eighteenth-century masterpiece of symmetry and style with its precisely spaced archways, three floors of warm-coloured stone with large, gleaming windows and that perfectly placed turret on top. The luxury looked all the more magical thanks to the golden hue from the setting sun.

‘Amazing,’ she whispered as she walked to the edge of the marble patio to get a better look. ‘Amazing, amazing, amazing.’

The villa had long been an exclusive holiday home for wealthy families seeking privacy and luxury during the Italian summer, but for the last month it had been closed. Apparently the new owner had undertaken refurbishment work—upsetting the locals by shutting off access and shipping in city contractors.

No one in Bellezzo knew what he had planned now the work had been completed. But Gracie had heard whispers that he might not lease it out any more, which worried the villagers—the spending power of the beautiful people was of huge benefit to the community. Now, according to one gossip, Rafael Vitale, billionaire broker and reckless playboy, planned to have orgies there. Gracie inwardly giggled at the ridiculous thought—though the villa was certainly armed with all the privacy required for decadence and sinful delight.

Not that she knew much about either. But it didn’t seem right to her that just one person would enjoy this. She’d feel like a peanut rattling around in a shoebox if she lived here alone. So, yes, bring on the nymphs and satyrs.

She glanced along the villa’s private beach and saw the narrow hidden channel behind the wall through which boats could reach the lavish boat shed. She turned to the gardens—the reason for her visit. On the first terrace a swimming pool and a spa were set into crisply manicured lawns, with a half-dozen sun loungers evenly placed along the side. The azure water was another temptation—no one would ever know if she had a quick, secret dip. She glanced at her watch and reluctantly walked past to that springy, lush lawn.

Hidden beyond the trimmed hedges up on the next terrace was the famous tangled rose garden—dozens of heirloom roses planted in a deceptively ‘careless’ manner that formed a sweet-scented lover’s knot—entrancing and romantic and utterly gorgeous. No wonder her elderly neighbour Alex Peterson had been desperate for her to check on them.

She’d met the widower on her first day in Bellezzo. He lived on the ground floor of the small apartment building in which she’d rented a small unit. She’d stopped to enjoy the roses growing in the container garden by the gate. They’d started talking—in English—a heavenly treat given her appalling Italian.

Like her, Alex was an import. He’d married an Italian woman and had lived lakeside with her for fifty years until her death eleven months ago. His son lived in Milan, while his daughter and grandchildren lived in London. His life now was all about his hybrid roses as he aimed to create delicately scented flowers with masses of petals, while at the same time avoiding the matchmaking attempts of half the village.

It had become Gracie’s habit to bring him a pastry in her afternoon break from the café where she worked—Bar Pasticceria Zullo. But he’d been knocked down with the flu in the height of summer, which was unfair, and given his age she was worried. In turn, he was overly agitated about the precious flowers that he’d been tending for decades.

Despite the villa’s sale, Alex had refused to relinquish responsibility for the rose garden. Seeing it in full bloom now, she wasn’t surprised. With the amount of work that he’d put in, she knew he wanted them perfect for the new owner. He’d been desperate for her to ensure they weren’t wilting in the intense heat. Even now, at nightfall, the temperature was a touch too hot.

Tucking that loose strand of hair back again, Gracie fossicked for the hose and spent five minutes figuring out how to attach the thing to the tap. Natural gardener she was not. But finally she got it sorted. Then she phoned her friend because she’d already taken longer than planned.

‘Alex, it’s me, Gracie. I’m at the villa. The roses are beautiful. I’ll just water them and come back.’

‘How are they looking?’

‘Amazing. I’ll take a picture for you.’

‘Don’t worry about bringing me a picture. You just go into the village.’

She smiled at his bossiness. ‘I’m not leaving you alone for any longer than necessary. You’re not well.’

‘I’m not alone. Sofia arrived ten minutes ago with six pints of minestrone and won’t leave until I’ve eaten it all. I don’t know why she’s fussing. I’m not that sick.’

Sofia was the cousin of Francesca, Gracie’s boss at the pasticceria, and she was formidable. ‘Hide some in the roses.’ Gracie laughed.

Her stomach rumbled in outrage, reminding her she’d not eaten since grabbing a small roll before the rush had begun. Six pints of Sofia’s minestrone sounded fantastic to her.

‘Are you crazy?’ Alex muttered.

Gracie laughed again. ‘I’ll still—’

‘Go into the village,’ he interrupted. ‘Enjoy the festival. It’s your first. The fireworks are good.’

Gracie hesitated. She would like to go to the festival, especially seeing she’d spent all day baking a million pastries to be sold at the pasticceria’s stall, and Francesca had insisted she not work the evening shift in return. But Gracie was conscious of how horrible it was to be alone—especially when sick. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure.’ He sighed. ‘Sofia has settled in. I won’t get rid of her for ages.’

‘Well, I’ll check on you in the morning.’

‘Not too early,’ he said gruffly. ‘You get up even earlier than I do.’

Gracie winced. Such were the perils of working both the early morning and the evening shifts at Bar Pasticceria Zullo, but working this hard to gain respect and a foothold was worth it, and she was happier than she’d ever been. ‘I’ll see you after my first shift, then.’

‘I look forward to it. Thank you, Gracie.’

‘My pleasure, Alex.’

Happy that he sounded so much better, she quickly snapped a picture to show him in the morning anyway. As soon as she got to the village she would be visiting the pasticceria for some sustenance. Tonight was Bellezzo’s annual festival—featuring lanterns on the lake, music and dancing. Fireworks. Food. Families. Fun. All the things she’d never experienced.

There’d be tourists, of course, plenty of tourists, but Gracie refused to consider herself one. She was a local with a home and she was determined to remain. After a childhood of upheaval and constantly having to rebuild, her spirits soared at the pleasure of now having a place to call hers. And while she might not have family here, she had a friend who needed her. She loved that.

Finally she flicked on the hose. The power of it caught her unawares. With a laugh she gripped it more tightly, giving each rose bush a big drink.

A hand suddenly slammed on her shoulder from behind—hard and heavy and so unexpected she screamed and whirled, brandishing the hose like a machine gun. All she could make out in the blurry spray was a massively large masculine frame and that simply made her aim all the more accurate.

‘What are you doing?’ she shrieked at him.

‘What are you doing?’ he shouted back—matching her English—but his accent had an American tang.

He wrenched the hose from her but it twisted as he grabbed it, spraying a shockingly cold streak across her stomach before he flung it to the ground, the water gushing harmlessly across the lawn. Gasping, Gracie stared at her assailant.

He was stunning. Wet. Angry. Soaked to the skin, the tuxedo he was wearing was now ruined. Tuxedo. Her stunned feeble brain attempted some computations.

‘Why the water cannon?’ He wiped one hand over his face, the other down his front. Droplets of water splattered from his fingers.

That tux was saturated and this was no intruder. Instinctively—unthinkingly—she reached out to help sweep the streaming rivers of water from his suit. She brushed frantically, her hands sopping, until she realised that he was no longer attempting to do the same thing. He was standing utterly still. She froze too, mortification finally sinking in.

Slowly—reluctantly—she glanced up. She encountered glittering eyes so brown they were almost black and they were fringed with unfairly long lashes. Of course he had lashes like those. Superlative, to match the rest of him. As for the cheekbones? You could slice steak on them they were so high and sharp and, oh, goodness...

‘Sorry.’ She whipped her hands behind her back and wished for another cold shock of water from that hose, because now she was so hot it was amazing her blouse wasn’t steaming. She stared up at the masculine magnificence towering several inches above her. She knew who this was. Francesca had flashed her a picture printed in the local newsletter when she’d told her about the sale of the villa. Gracie hadn’t understood a word of the accompanying text but that quick glimpse of those cheekbones had been unforgettable. Rafael Vitale. The billionaire orgy man himself.

‘You’re not supposed to be here,’ she said shakily.

‘I think that’s my line. Again.’ He watched her coolly, decidedly unimpressed. ‘This is my house. You’re the invader.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ She pulled on a smile and hoped he’d forgive her. ‘Wasn’t expecting you to be home.’

‘Clearly not.’ He didn’t smile back. Definitely not seeing the funny side yet.

She was dying...and was...uh...stunned.

Rafael Vitale was so much more than anyone she’d ever met—more tall, more good looking, more well dressed, aside from—

‘You’re very wet. I’m so sorry.’ She glanced at the water still streaming from his muscular frame and died all over again. ‘Will it be...okay?’

‘No,’ he answered bluntly, and peeled off the sodden jacket.

Paralysed, Gracie stared, slack-jawed. His shirt was glued to his skin. Glued. She could see the ridges of his muscles—of which there were many. Hot, hard muscles. He was the most strapping man. Panty-dropping gorgeous but so intimidating that she actually giggled. He looked up from shaking out the jacket and shot her another less than impressed look.

She covered her mouth with her hand. She really needed to stop staring at him. But she couldn’t. Was this what instant attraction felt like? Lust at first sight? She inwardly squirmed at her unruly overheated reaction. No wonder he was a rake if all women had this reaction to his appearance. He’d have his pick of bedmates. Clearly he thought she was a complete fool. But, then, he must be completely used to getting this kind of reaction, which meant she was as much of a fool as any of them. Hell, she needed to pull herself together!

Quickly she moved to get away from him but she slipped on the wet grass. Her feet slithered out from under her and she went down awkwardly, smashing her knee hard.

This time he slammed his strong hand beneath her elbow. Without any apparent effort he hauled her to her feet. Only, she slipped in her stupid wet sandals again. She heard a muttered curse and the next thing she knew she was pressed against his body as he formed a literal pillar of support. His arm was firmly about her waist, holding her far, far too close. Those muscles were even harder than they’d looked. And hotter.

Blistering with embarrassment, she couldn’t bear to look up at him. Dimly she realised her knee was killing her, but her proximity to his physical perfection was providing the most amazing anaesthetic. The thought idly crossed her mind that his woodsy scent ought to be bottled and used in operations in every hospital theatre.

Another ferociously muttered curse made her blink.

‘Are you all right?’ he snapped.

He probably thought she was simple. Most definitely useless. She tried putting her weight on her foot and winced. A second later she was flying through the air into his arms. His arms, as she’d suspected, were very strong. And the chest she was now pressed against was very solid. Fortunately the contact kick-started her rational thinking processes.

‘Put me down,’ she said stiffly.

‘And have you slip again and break your neck?’ he snarled, stalking back towards the beautiful villa. ‘You’re a liability. Not just to yourself. The sooner you’re off my property, the better.’

‘You’re going to carry me all the way to the gate?’

He probably was strong enough. She could feel his muscles burning through the cold, wet fabric. The man was built. But he was also obviously unimpressed. Desperately she suppressed her appreciative shiver. So inappropriate and lamely predictable. He must get women literally throwing themselves at him all the time. She was not going to be another. But as he effortlessly strode over the manicured lawns towards that magnificently impressive building, she couldn’t hold in another giggle.

‘Are you hysterical?’

She heard the unmistakable note of horror in his question.

‘No.’ She breathed in and steadied herself. ‘I’m embarrassed. Laughing is my nervous release. I’m sorry.’ She peered up to try to see into his face and braved another smile. ‘At least it’s better than crying.’

‘Well, that’s true,’ he answered grimly. ‘Heaven forbid I have a tearful trespasser on my hands.’ He climbed the wide steps and entered through the open doorway into the glorious large lounge. ‘I’m Rafael Vitale.’

‘I figured.’

‘And you are?’

Now she was inside, it immediately struck her that the best way of minimising his insane effect on her was to scope out the amazing interior of the villa instead. But he didn’t stop in the eye-poppingly ornate lounge, rather he marched straight through it down a long corridor to a vast kitchen. He unceremoniously set her on the large table. Fascinated, Gracie gaped at the gleaming appliances.

‘Wow,’ she murmured as she stared at the elegance of the set-up. ‘State of the art.’ And that was an understatement.

He gave the kitchen a dismissive glance and turned back to her with businesslike seriousness. ‘Is it sore?’

‘What?’ Oh. Her knee. ‘My embarrassment has numbed my knee.’

She snatched a breath and tried to look anywhere but at him again. Except he was so close and so good looking, her attention was the iron filing to his magnetism.

‘How helpful,’ he commented dryly. ‘Ice will bring out the bruising.’ He strode over to the gleaming fridge and pushed some buttons.

‘Because I want a purple knee,’ she muttered.

He didn’t respond as he walked back, holding ice in a glass and a clean cloth.

‘That’s an impressive fridge. The whole place is impressive,’ she babbled. ‘This kitchen is bigger than our one at the bakery and that’s a commercial operation. You could cook enough in here to feed an army. Though you’d need an army to use all the appliances at once.’

He still didn’t respond, just neatly wrapped some ice in the cloth. She shivered before he got the cold pack anywhere near her, but at the same time was still sweltering with embarrassment. And awareness. And yet more embarrassment.

She stared hard at her lap as he bent before her.

‘You’re not supposed to be here.’ She winced, desperately trying to ignore the brush of his fingers on her skin as he pushed up her skirt to reveal her grass-stained, bruised knee. ‘The villa was supposed to be empty until tomorrow. That’s what I heard.’

‘You talk all the time when you’re nervous too?’ He held the ice to her knee.

‘This isn’t usual,’ she muttered. Usually she went silent. She’d learned long ago that talking too much meant secrets might slip out and that habit was surprisingly hard to break. She preferred not to tell people about her upbringing now out of choice, rather than necessity. The difference of it made people awkward. ‘You know, it’s not that bad. You can stop with the ice now,’ she gasped. ‘I’m fine.’

He ignored her and increased the pressure even more. ‘Here. Hold it firmly.’

Mortified at the realisation that the last thing the man wanted was to press an ice pack against her leg, she slapped her hand down to hold it in place, inadvertently hitting his hand in the process.

‘Sorry,’ she muttered, dying all over again. If she were a cat, she’d be down to her last life by now.

She pushed back a wet ribbon of hair and tried to ignore the fact that Rafael Vitale was unfastening his wet shirt. Ten timeless seconds later he wasn’t wearing said shirt. Her mouth dried as her brain shorted out. His chest was bronzed and, as she’d suspected, his muscles were ultra-defined. Furthermore, he had the finest trail of hair leading to the waistband of his perfectly tailored black trousers. He was officially a living freaking angel. When he turned away, she quickly pressed the wrapped ice against her burning cheeks instead of her knee and racked her brains for what Francesca had told her about him.

Rafael Vitale had made billions from the kinds of financial transactions Gracie had no desire to ever understand and now he was amassing a property empire. Another thing she’d never understand. She wanted only the one place to call home—that would make her happier than anything.

And if Francesca’s favourite websites were to be believed, the guy dated models and aristocrats—as in the aristocrats who were models. He had an endless supply of stunning well-connected women to warm his bed. Seeing him in the flesh—indeed seeing most of his flesh—Gracie could totally understand why.

She pressed her legs together, primly rejecting the insidious warmth and restless kick deep within. The sooner she got away from here, the better. She’d embarrassed herself enough. She didn’t need to drool over a man who was so far out of her league and who’d never send her a second look in ordinary circumstances. But his kitchen was totally droolworthy—she could make amazing things in this kitchen.

‘Why did you take a photo?’

Startled, she glanced at him, registering the distance in his demeanour as he waited for her answer. She’d taken that snap before she’d started watering the roses, so for how long had he been watching her? ‘I wanted to show him they were fine.’

‘Show who what were fine?’ He stepped closer.

She chose to focus on the smooth marble pastry bench on the opposite side from her and think about cold, cold things so she could speak without stuttering. ‘Alex. The roses.’

‘Who’s Alex?’

‘You don’t know?’ She glanced at Rafael again before remembering the searing impact on her senses.

‘I assume he’s a caretaker? This is my first visit to the villa,’ he said briefly, his intense gaze not leaving her face.

Caretaker? The man had worked on this estate for the last forty years!

‘You’ve not been here before?’ She wrinkled her nose in confusion. ‘Did you buy it without even seeing it and having that restoration work done?’

His lack of response confirmed it.

‘Wow,’ she muttered.

‘This really is about the roses?’

‘Of course it’s about the roses. Why else would I be here?’

He didn’t answer. She stared at him suspiciously. ‘Did you think I was here to, what...hope to meet you?’ The guy was unbearably arrogant.

She dragged her gaze back up from his chest to his eyes and didn’t really blame him. But still.

‘You wouldn’t be the first woman to break into one of my properties.’ A faintly amused look crossed his face as he regarded her damp blouse and skirt.

‘I didn’t break in,’ she said spiritedly.

‘Semantics.’ He leaned back against the opposite bench, that hint of amusement making him even more fascinating. ‘Mostly they try to find my bedroom.’

‘I’m not a stalker.’ At the thought of his bedroom her skin crisped.

‘I’m relieved to hear it.’ He angled his head and studied her.

Awareness rippled down Gracie’s spine. She wasn’t sure she trusted that new look in his eyes and she certainly didn’t trust her own suddenly frantic pulse.

‘You’d better go and get changed,’ she said brightly, hoping he’d take the hint and cover up quickly. ‘You obviously had somewhere to be and I need to get back to the village.’ She wriggled forward to the edge of the table, preparing to put weight on her wretched knee.

‘What’s your name?’

His question was a perfectly innocuous, normal one, yet her heart thundered. She’d given so many variations as an answer to this in her childhood. For over a decade she’d not been able to tell anyone her real name. Lying, lying, lying.

It’s for your safety, sweetheart. So we can stay together.

Hiding had meant constantly moving. She breathed in and shook off the whisper of the past. Now she’d chosen her own name—a family name too—so answering this question now shouldn’t be stressful. Yet for a reason she couldn’t quite identify, she didn’t want to tell him.

For the first time, he actually smiled. It transformed him from moody fallen angel to silver screen hero in a heartbeat. There was no way she could answer him now. She couldn’t actually speak.

‘What does it matter?’ he queried her reluctance with even more of a smile. ‘You’re never going to see me again.’

‘Right. Right, of course... The thing is...’ She bit her lip and decided to brave up. ‘You’re going to have to see me. I’m doing Alex’s job for a few days.’

That smile vanished. ‘Watering the roses?’ he asked, for cold confirmation.

‘Yes.’

‘Use an automatic hydration system,’ he snapped.

‘They’re like his babies,’ she retorted scornfully. ‘Would you use an automated feeding system for your babies?’

‘Not an issue I ever plan to face.’ He straightened to full height and put his hands on his hips, drawing her attention back to his sculpted, bare physique. ‘Why are you doing his job?’

Gracie studied the floor tiles. ‘He’s unwell. He has the flu.’

‘It’s the height of summer—’

‘He’s older—’

‘Should he still be working?’

‘Of course he should.’ She lifted her chin and glared at Rafael. The guy had no idea how lucky he was to have Alex working on his property.

‘His judgement is impaired,’ Rafael said coolly. ‘He should never have given you the security code to get inside the gate.’

‘He didn’t want your precious flowers to frizzle in this heat. He was doing what he thought best.’

‘All employees of this estate were under instruction to maintain security of the premises no matter what. Not to give the codes to just anyone.’

Gracie ignored the hit at being dismissed as ‘just anyone’. ‘He loves the roses. He’s spent his life looking after those roses.’

‘I don’t care about the roses—’

‘Clearly.’ The man was an unfeeling jerk.

‘I care about my privacy. And my security.’

‘You don’t want the common folk encroaching on your space? Or any rabid female stalkers lying in your bed?’ She immediately wished she hadn’t mentioned that as it put a disconcerting picture in her head.

‘That’s right.’ He smiled. ‘I don’t wish to be bothered.’

‘Well,’ she said formally, ‘if you’ll just let me leave, then you won’t be bothered any more. I’ll be sure to check the roses when you’re not here.’

‘Too late,’ he said softly, stepping forward so he was back in front of her. ‘I’m already bothered.’

His tone put her on edge.

‘Where are you from?’ he asked. ‘Why are you here?’

‘I’ve already told you.’

‘You’ve talked a lot but told me almost nothing.’

Ignoring the way he was standing too close, Gracie slid down from the kitchen table and gingerly tested her knee. To her relief, it wasn’t too bad. ‘Look, I’m fine. I’ll get going now.’

‘No.’ He didn’t walk any closer, but somehow seemed to block her escape route.

‘Why not?’ To avoid ogling his bare chest, she had no choice but to look up into his damnably handsome face.

A speculative light had entered his eyes. It was fascinating the way it warmed their colour.

‘I’m late for the party,’ he said. ‘I’m going to need a good reason for why I’m so late.’

‘Tell them the truth.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s the easiest way.’

‘You advise honesty?’ His gaze narrowed on her.

‘Always.’ She made herself maintain eye contact despite the way just looking at him made her pulse skip like a schoolgirl’s.

‘You’re always honest?’

Could he sound any more sardonic?

She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Absolutely.’

He actually laughed. ‘No one is ever absolutely honest.’

‘Well, I am.’ She’d vowed never to lie again. She’d had to do so far too much in the past.

‘People lie all the time. For good reasons and for bad.’ The corners of his mouth quirked up into that unbearably gorgeous smile. ‘But seeing you’re so good at being honest, you can come with me and tell them the truth.’

CHAPTER TWO

GRACIE BLINKED AT HIM, not sure she’d heard him correctly. ‘I’m not coming with you.’

‘It’s at the Palazzo Chiara,’ he added, as if she’d not spoken. ‘Have you seen the palazzo? It makes this place look minuscule.’

She’d seen Palazzo Chiara from a tourist launch on the lake when she’d first arrived. The humongous estate had been converted into an exclusive luxury hotel. The playpen of real silver screen heroes and beyond wealthy sheiks and oligarchs who paid literally thousands of dollars to stay for just one night. Villa Rosetta was the palazzo’s ‘little sister’, though frankly Gracie thought the villa held more charm. Apparently she wasn’t the only one—it was even harder to book a week here than a suite at the palazzo.

‘I believe it has an amazing view of the fireworks and the lanterns,’ he added softly.

She narrowed her eyes. He had listened in to her conversation with Alex. He’d been watching her for a while.

‘I can see the fireworks from the village,’ she said stiffly.

He might be the most handsome man she’d ever seen, but he had the inevitable flaw that came with such good looks and money—he was used to getting everything his own way. But this one time he wasn’t getting it. Even if there was that secret part of her that wanted him to.

‘You’re a tourist. Don’t you want to see what an elite party at a place like that is like?’

‘Full of “elite” people such as your arrogant self?’ she challenged bluntly. ‘It doesn’t sound all that.’

‘None are as arrogant as I am.’ His mouth curved and he put his hands on his hips.

Gracie narrowed her gaze. He was shameless at using his smile to his advantage. And his bare chest.

‘Think of it as another experience for your travels,’ he added.

She didn’t bother correcting his assumption that she wasn’t local. ‘So I should feel grateful for the opportunity?’

‘Most people would,’ he said, apparently without a hint of irony.

‘Unfortunately for you, I’m not most people,’ she said haughtily. ‘And I don’t want any other “experience” with you either. My mother warned me about getting into cars with strangers.’

Literally every day of her childhood her mother had warned her. She’d been so afraid they’d be caught. That Gracie would be kidnapped and taken from her.

‘But I’m no longer a stranger. You know who I am. I’ve even taken care of your bruised knee for you.’

‘What I know gives me all the more reason to say no.’

His eyebrows shot up. ‘Does my reputation precede me? What’s the worst I could do?’ His smile was so wicked. ‘I don’t think it would be that dreadful.’

The shift in him was like night from day. Suddenly he was charming and, darn it all, even more riveting. ‘Why on earth do you want me going along with you?’

‘Because it’s going to be boring. Having you there might make it less so.’

So she was to be light relief for him? ‘You want me to be your court jester? Or your pet Chihuahua?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘That’s not going to be a thing.’

‘Did you just refer to yourself as a dog?’

Her jaw dropped—then she snapped it shut. ‘I have a job to finish here.’

‘I think we both know your job here is done.’

‘For today,’ she said pointedly, lifting her chin. ‘I promised Alex. He’s old and he doesn’t deserve to worry.’

‘If he’s that old, doesn’t he deserve the freedom of his retirement?’

‘He loves these roses. Don’t you have something you love more than anything?’

There was a moment when a shadow crossed his face. ‘I’m not welded to one place, one thing and certainly not one person.’

She only just refrained from rolling her eyes again. ‘Well, lots of people are and what’s more they actually like to be. Alex has handed over the rest of the grounds to your new garden maintenance company who come from stupidly far away, but the rose garden was his design, his planting, all his work. It’s his treasure. He planted them for his late wife.’

‘On someone else’s property,’ Rafael growled.

How could he be so uncaring?

He watched her through narrowed eyes. Then spoke again. ‘If you don’t come with me, you can go and tell your Alex that he’s no longer needed to work here.’

Gracie gasped. ‘Are you holding his job over me to make me go to your stupid party?’

He smiled, tightly.

‘Wow. You must really be afraid of going by yourself if you’re resorting to threats.’

Now he actually laughed. ‘I’m not afraid to fight for what I want.’

‘And you’re not afraid to fight dirty.’ She gritted her teeth in the face of his partial nudity. ‘So you think the end justifies the means?’

‘Not always. But often.’

‘And you “often” bully your way into getting what you want?’

‘Usually I buy what I want,’ he replied carelessly. ‘But I didn’t want to offend you by offering you money.’

She flashed a filthy look at him. Of all the pompous things to say. ‘Why not just ask nicely?’

He sighed deeply. ‘Would you please go to the party with me? I’m new in town and I don’t want to walk in alone.’

She didn’t believe he was insecure for a second.

‘You want me to go with you, dressed in my wet skirt and bruised knee?’ She shook her head. ‘I’m going into Bellezzo to watch the festival on the waterfront.’

‘I can take care of your outfit,’ he said softly.

‘Excuse me?’

His grin was positively wicked and he leaned forward and scooped her into his arms again.

‘This is assault,’ she choked as she was pressed against all his hot naked skin. And muscles.

‘What? This is gentlemanly behaviour. I’ve rescued a damsel in distress,’ he countered as he marched through to a large living room. ‘The least you can do in return is gift me a few hours of your precious time. Now...’ He deposited her in a plush armchair and pointed to the corner. ‘What do you think of these?’

Gracie gaped at the two racks of women’s clothing. ‘You have a ready supply of evening wear for occasions such as this?’ She stared from the racks to him and back again. And then back at him because he was insanely fascinating. ‘You enjoy dressing women?’

Something kindled in his eyes and she instantly knew his unspoken answer. He liked undressing them.

He walked towards the racks. ‘They’re using the villa for a fashion shoot tomorrow. These are the dresses they’ll be modelling.’

A fashion shoot? Models? She turned to the hangers in horror. ‘I won’t fit into any of them.’

‘I’m confident we can find something suitable.’

She glared at his tone—catching his gaze raking down her body.

‘They’ll be worth a lot of money,’ she argued stiffly. ‘I wouldn’t want to damage one.’ Except there were some gorgeous-looking fabrics on those hangers.

‘If you want Alex to keep his job and keep his roses alive, then you’ll get into one of these dresses and come along for the ride. It’s only a party. I’m hardly proposing marriage.’

‘If it’s only a party, why can’t you face it alone?’ She straightened. ‘Is someone you’re afraid of seeing going to be there?’ She warmed to the idea, intrigued by his playboy reputation. ‘An ex?’

‘Not tonight I don’t think.’ He adopted a faux thoughtful pose. ‘Perhaps I need armour.’

‘From all your stalkers?’ She shook her head. ‘You’d swat them away like flies.’ No way was this man vulnerable.

He sighed again. ‘I already told you the reason. I’m easily bored. I’d like a distraction.’

‘You’re easily bored? I pity you,’ she mocked. ‘People with good imaginations never get bored.’

‘Oh, I have an imagination. Though right now it’s probably best if I don’t use it.’

She sent him a cool look.

‘So what’s your name?’ He leaned back, smiling at her hesitation. ‘I could call the police, you know. You are trespassing.’

Grimly she bit the bullet. ‘My name is Grace James.’

‘Grace.’ He held out his hand. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’

She couldn’t be churlish enough to refuse his hand when he’d been carrying her about the place for the last twenty minutes, but she wasn’t prepared for the electricity that shot through her the second her fingers clasped his. Quickly she pulled free, hiding her hand behind her back and clenching her fist to try to stop the lingering sizzling sensation. It didn’t work. So she turned to the dresses and started sorting through the hangers.

‘You’re my fairy godmother,’ she said with determined airiness. ‘I might meet an amazing man there.’

‘So you’re single,’ he said, while inspecting the second rack. ‘Good to know.’

She gritted her teeth.

‘I think this would suit you.’ He pulled a gown from the rack and held it up to show her.

‘It’s white.’ She glared at it. ‘I’ll have spilt something on it before we even get there.’

He laughed. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘It matters.’ With her luck it would be worse than a spill, she’d likely split the seam and she truly didn’t want to make even more of a fool of herself tonight.

‘You know you want to,’ he said softly. ‘Please.’

The man was an appalling flirt. As if he needed armour. There was no way this guy had any chinks. He had zero vulnerability. No, he was just a jaded playboy looking for light entertainment until his new batch of models turned up tomorrow. She wasn’t going to give him anything.

But she was going to go to the Palazzo Chiara and experience something she never ordinarily would—glamour, exclusivity. Because she was living life on her own terms now. She wasn’t missing out on anything.

‘Fine,’ she snapped, turning her back on the glittering smugness that instantly crossed his face. ‘Where can I get changed?’

Ten minutes later, installed in the most ornate and massive bedroom she’d ever been in in her life, Gracie wriggled into the dress. It had taken her eight of those minutes to absorb the sumptuous decor of the elegant room. Now she glared at her reflection in the large free-standing mirror. No way could she wear a bra beneath it. Worse, she wasn’t sure she could keep her knickers on either. The dress was so form-fitting her panty lines would be visible.

She blinked and wondered if she’d gone completely mad. What was she thinking by agreeing to this crazy idea? But, then, wouldn’t she be equally mad to pass such a chance up? She’d never been able to accept any invitations as a child. She’d never gone to a classmate’s house for a playdate, never walked into a swanky party as an actual guest...and she’d certainly never worn an eye-wateringly expensive designer dress like this before.

Breathing in deeply, she undid her bra and shimmied out of her undies, carefully putting them on the low armchair in the corner. This was one opportunity she was never going to get again, so she may as well go in braless and bold. Then she finger-combed her hair and twirled it into a low bun at the nape of her neck.

‘Are you dressed yet? We need to get going or we’ll miss the fireworks,’ he called from outside the door.

With an overwhelming sense of mortification she stepped out from the room and refused to meet his eyes. ‘I can’t wear this. It’s indecent.’

He was so silent she had to look up at him. He’d dressed in another tuxedo. How many did the guy have? Like the first, this fitted to perfection and was annoyingly gorgeous in the way it emphasised his lean, strong frame.

He regarded her for a full thirty seconds—so long she started to fidget with her watch strap.

‘It’s perfect,’ he finally said. Roughly.

‘It’s far from perfect.’ She looked down at the dress and put up her hand, self-consciously covering the neckline. ‘It’s pulling in all the wrong places.’

‘Right places. Very right.’

‘Because you like your dates to look—’

‘Beautiful. Of course. I’m not sure the watch works, though.’

‘Actually, it keeps good time and this Cinderella needs to keep an eye on it. I can’t be out past midnight.’

‘Because you might have too much fun?’ He reached out and lifted her wrist. ‘It’s old.’

‘It’s vintage,’ she corrected.

‘It’s a man’s.’

‘Yes,’ she muttered defensively. It was very precious to her. ‘An old man’s watch.’

He released her startlingly quickly. ‘Let’s go. How is your knee?’

‘Fine as long as I don’t try to run. I’m keeping the sandals on.’

‘Then I shall remain on hand as your long-suffering emergency support structure.’

‘Thank you, I so appreciate that,’ she cooed. ‘If anyone asks me what I’m doing there, I’m going to tell them the truth,’ she muttered.

‘Marvellous.’ He led her outside. ‘I expect we’ll have a ball.’

The car was low off the ground, red, polished to within an inch of its life and undoubtedly capable of screaming speed. She fastened her seatbelt.

‘I won’t be drinking, so I can drive home,’ she said primly.

Her plan to abstain wasn’t about driving but the insane attraction for him she was battling. If she had even a sniff of alcohol, she wasn’t sure she could control the reckless temptation that seemed to have materialised inside her at the mere sight of him.

He sent her a look. ‘Sure thing,’ he said blandly. ‘They’ll have some very nice champagne there, though. You might like to try just one glass.’

‘I’m not a risk-taker.’ Definitely not around this man.

‘Yet today you’ve trespassed on private property and are now going to a party in a borrowed designer dress with a man you barely know.’

‘In a Ferrari, no less.’ She nodded solemnly and braced herself for his no doubt reckless driving skills. ‘Most adventurous evening of my life so far.’

‘That’s...’ He glanced at her, but his brows lifted and he didn’t finish his comment. ‘Why don’t you take risks?’

Because she’d always had to hold back. Always been on the alert from years of conditioning, of watching over her shoulder and being cautious. But she had her safety plan figured out—she knew who Rafael was and Alex would call her in the morning if she didn’t look in on him. And the imp in her wanted to have fun for once. It would be an experience.

‘I struggle to open up and trust people.’ She stared, amazed as Rafael began to laugh.

‘Don’t look like that!’ She mock-punched his arm. ‘I’m serious. What you’re seeing is the new me. Opening up and delivering one hundred percent honesty. It’s liberating.’ She smiled.

‘The new you,’ he said, his smile not gone. ‘One hundred percent honesty one hundred percent of the time?’

‘Absolutely,’ she said fervently.

He roared with laughter this time. ‘No one is that honest.’

‘I am.’

‘Definitely not you.’

‘I am,’ she said indignantly.

‘Really? Could you be honest with someone even if you knew it was going to hurt them?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t it better to play it safe sometimes and protect someone’s feelings?’

That this guy thought about protecting someone’s feelings surprised her. ‘You’d actually protect another person’s feelings?’

‘Sure.’

So had he lied to her about how her dress looked? She just knew he had. ‘I bet you send flowers and jewels when you leave your lovers.’

‘That’s not generally a good idea,’ he said. ‘I prefer to leave them breathless.’

‘Oh, please.’ She rolled her eyes.

‘Well, you’re absolutely the kind of person who cares about someone else’s feelings, Ms I’ll-Water-the-Roses-for-the-Old-Guy.’

‘You say that like it’s not a compliment.’

He laughed again.

‘Not being honest hurts people more,’ she said with soft passion. ‘Because in the end the truth does always come out.’

He shook his head. ‘You’re so wrong. People lie and get away with it every day. Not just murderers. Cheats. Thieves. Everyday white lies as well.’

‘But it eats them up inside,’ she said softly. ‘Sure, you may never know that someone has lied to you, but the liar knows. And the liar suffers for it. Even if they think they don’t, they do. They’re weakened. Each lie breaks them down piece by piece.’

His gaze intensified on her. ‘Told a lot of lies in your lifetime?’

She held his gaze and her smile twisted. ‘More than you’d ever believe.’

And she’d been weakened by every one.

CHAPTER THREE

‘YOU’VE LIED YOUR head off your whole life?’ Rafe didn’t believe her. But he was drawn in by the shadows flickering in her eyes. ‘Why so many lies?’

‘For protection, as you suggested. But it still does damage and I refuse to lie any more.’ She squared her shoulders and smiled. But it wasn’t the bubbly smile he’d seen earlier when she’d been amongst the roses and he wondered if she was actually serious.

‘I’m like you,’ she said. ‘Upfront about what I want out of my life. What I will accept, and what I won’t.’

‘What makes you think I’m upfront about what I want from my life?’ How did she think she knew anything about him?

‘You’re decisive and take action to get what you want. The fact that I’m sitting in your car right now is a perfect example of your determination.’

Good point. He was used to getting his way, though honestly he’d not been certain she’d agree to attend the party with him. Even now he wouldn’t be surprised if she slipped away once they arrived at the palazzo. He’d have to keep her occupied.

‘But if this is the “new you”, then you’re getting what you want as well,’ he teased.

He’d been absurdly satisfied when she’d said yes, but it had been his first victory of a less than stellar day and he’d take it.

‘Once I’d had the time to process your...invitation, I realised it could be an interesting experience.’ She nodded primly, but the effect was ruined when an effervescent smile lit up her face. ‘Not one I’m likely to repeat.’

True, though why the fact should give him a twinge, he didn’t know. He’d been feeling off all day. He’d deliberately not visited the Villa Rosetta until the refurbishment was complete, but while he could appreciate its beauty and value, there’d not been the pleasure of getting what he’d wanted for so long.

Fool. What had he expected? The decades-old promise that the villa represented had never been fulfilled and never could be. His father, Roland, was long since dead. And that finality left an unusual melancholy just beneath his skin.

So not Rafe. He never wasted time looking backwards, he pushed forward, making headway against the resistance he was accustomed to. He pushed harder than anyone because he’d always had to. Illegitimate, unwanted heir that he was. Securing the villa should have been a pinnacle moment but it was larger than he’d realised. Its vastness screamed out for more people to be living in it. For the family he’d never had.

Fool. He wasn’t eight years old and full of fairy-tale dreams for a loving family now.

The woman wandering about the grounds had been a welcome distraction. He’d watched from the villa, initially outraged at her blithe trespassing. But he’d grown increasingly intrigued as she’d strolled through the roses with that smile lighting up her face.

‘The fireworks are supposed to be spectacular,’ she said as she waited for him to start the car. ‘You’re promising me all the fireworks, right?’

He glanced at her profile—had she really meant that as innocently as it had sounded? She turned to look at him fully, her expression limpid. The longer he looked at her, the deeper the colour ran in her cheeks. He was fascinated by the hint of vulnerability in her reaction.

‘What?’ she suddenly snapped. ‘Do I have something on my nose?’

He shook his head slowly. ‘Are you flirting with me?’

‘What? No!’ That colour in her cheeks ran crimson now. ‘Hurry up and drive. I want to see the fireworks. I’ve been looking forward to them all day.’

Warmth flowed through his veins. ‘I wouldn’t mind if you were flirting with me.’

Her mouth opened, then closed, then her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re shocking, you know that?’ She stared straight ahead as if to ignore him. But then suddenly turned to snap at him again. ‘Does everyone flirt with you?’

‘Mostly.’ Still grinning, he finally started the engine, enjoying the crazy whim that had led him to take a total stranger to the most exclusive party on the European continent.

Her eyes had hit him the second he’d been able to see again after wiping all that water from his own. Large and framed with long lashes, they were caramel-coloured and captivated him completely. When he added her flawless, lightly tanned skin, providing a perfect backdrop for those wide eyes and lovely curving lips, it made for pretty. Her long hair was tied back in a bun but had hints of blonde and brown in the loose tendrils that curled about her sweetheart-shaped face...

Yes, it all added up to his new definition of gorgeous. She was on the shorter side, with curves in the places he appreciated most. That worn denim skirt had stopped just at her knees and shown smooth-looking legs, while her blouse had been floral. He’d liked the way the buttons had strained to contain her breasts. He’d imagined popping them open one by one. But in the end it had been the melted caramel colour of her eyes—all sweet warmth—that he’d kept returning to. There was a lightness in them that he found unusual, enchanting, sweet.

Rafe did not do sweet. Rafe did sophisticated. It was safer to play with women who knew the rules of the one-night-only game. But fresh, half-wet, funny Grace intrigued him. Temptation had been irresistible and reckless.

So now here she was alongside him, wearing a killer dress that emphasised every one of those bountiful curves. He wanted to kiss down that deep scooped neckline and feel her lean closer for more. His muscles tensed.

Well, he had been celibate for six weeks—virtually a marathon for him and the longest stretch in his adult life. He gritted his teeth and concentrated on the winding road. Grace was not a one-night-stand prospect. She wasn’t the type. When she’d said this was the most adventurous night of her life so far, she’d meant it.

A small army of models was arriving at the villa tomorrow. There’d be more than one to frolic with afterwards if he still wanted to. Frankly, though, the speculation didn’t excite him.

He glanced at Grace again and wished he had that hose once more. If that dress were wet, it’d turn translucent and he’d know for certain that she wore nothing beneath it. He suspected so, he could almost see the outline of her nipples. He shifted in his seat and touched his foot harder on the accelerator, irritated with his sudden descent into basic thinking. Was he suddenly some hormonal teen? The sooner they got to the party, the sooner he could get a grip on himself.

Palazzo Chiara was lit up like a fairy-tale castle. He pulled up by the waiting valet and scooted around to help Grace out before she tripped on the stones or something equally unfortunate. But his half-sarcastic gallantry was rewarded when he saw the look on her face as she gazed at the palazzo.

‘You like it?’ He couldn’t help smiling at her reaction.

‘It’s huge.’

‘The Villa Rosetta is big.’ He puffed out his chest.

Her eyes kindled with amusement. ‘You’re defensive about size? I never would have suspected you’d be so insecure.’

‘I told you I needed armour tonight.’ He winked. ‘You think it’s better than the Villa Rosetta?’

‘Nothing is better than Alex’s roses,’ she declared loyally. ‘This place is too huge. It’s beautiful, but it’s not a home. The Villa Rosetta is a home—you can sense the love in it.’

Her genuine words touched a raw spot and he refrained from replying by guiding her into the reception hall. A liveried waiter stepped forward with a gleaming silver tray laden with tall champagne flutes.

‘You’re sure you don’t want a drink?’ Rafe teased her.

She shook her head. He passed on the offer as well and walked her further into the room so she could appreciate the gold and marble interior. Her breathy gasps delighted him and he kept walking, aware of heads turning. He carefully avoided eye contact with a couple of the models due at the villa tomorrow. He didn’t want to be interrupted yet. Grace’s face was fascinatingly mobile and it was impossible for her to hide her reactions. Captivated, he pointed out more of the various features—from the tumbling crystal chandeliers to the sparkling waterfall in the centre of the room. But she saw some of the people looking their way and definitely recognised some.

‘Famous people,’ she noted quietly. ‘Rich people.’

‘Rich and famous people.’ He nodded.

‘A Venn diagram of the upper echelon.’ She nodded. ‘And just one outside the circle.’

‘Is that one feeling self-conscious?’

‘Absolutely. But she’s absolutely determined to get over herself.’

He laughed, liking her frankness.

‘Pleasure to see you here, Rafe.’ Toby Winters, a party-hard aristocratic banker with a vast holiday estate on the lake, interrupted them loudly. ‘I heard work on Villa Rosetta is complete. Welcome to the neighbourhood.’

‘Thank you,’ he said calmly. ‘Julia, lovely to see you.’

Julia, Toby’s wife, was too busy looking Grace over to bother answering. Besides, Toby had intervened again.

‘You’re racking up quite the portfolio,’ Toby said. ‘I envy your energy.’

Rafe smiled but tuned into the conversation that was occurring about a foot lower than his eye level, where Julia was interrogating his fish-out-of-water guest.

‘I’m only here because he made me come,’ Grace said.

Oh, Lord. Did she have any idea how that husky comment was going to be interpreted?

Grace had offered Julia a disarming smile, but Julia wouldn’t disarm in any way.

‘He made you?’ Julia’s eyebrows might have risen had her forehead not been fixed in place by the poison she’d injected beneath her skin.

‘I’m working for him.’ Grace blushed. ‘C-currently... Just for...’ She trailed off.

Rafe gritted his teeth to stay serious.

‘You work for Rafe?’ Julia asked archly.

Grace, in her oblivious innocence, nodded.

‘Yes.’ Julia raked Grace over from head to toe with a frigid glare. ‘I can see exactly in what capacity you work for him.’

Because Grace didn’t look like a PA or a secretary or a housekeeper or even a gardener. Julia grabbed her husband’s arm and all but dragged him away. Grace turned shocked eyes on Rafe, her pretty skin now stained scarlet.

‘She thinks I’m...’

She couldn’t bring herself to say it. And she was blushing again. Rafe threw his head back and laughed. She was stunned at Julia’s interpretation. That meant she was even more naive and innocent than he’d already suspected. In her skirt and floral shirt she’d looked sweetly gorgeous. In the killer white dress she looked both voluptuous and shy and it made for a mouth-watering combination. But he wanted to ease her embarrassment now. So he opted to tease.

‘A paid escort?’ He nodded. ‘I believe so. You were the one who answered the question.’

‘It’s this dress.’ She put her hand up to hide that glorious cleavage. ‘I told you it was indecent.’ She paused as a thought struck her and she blinked rapidly. ‘Why would they think you would require the services of a paid escort?’

The compliment hidden in there was so unguarded it made it all the more touching. Something was seriously wrong with him. He could not be going crazy with lust for some random woman he’d found wandering in his garden...

‘Why wouldn’t I?’ he answered idly. ‘You weren’t exactly keen on being my date. I had to pressure you to come.’

And, yes, he’d meant her to catch that lame double entendre that Julia had already picked up on. He’d like nothing more than to make Grace come.

She flushed even more beautifully. ‘Because I don’t know you. Anyway, you didn’t ask me because you wanted to date me. You wanted to pay me back for ruining your suit.’

‘Did I?’

She stared up at him, her eyes melting. ‘Stop it. You’re an appalling flirt. It’s like you can’t help yourself.’

Right now it seemed he couldn’t. ‘Who says I’m flirting?’

Rafe watched Grace roll her eyes with outlandish expressiveness and then she glanced past him. ‘I’m hungry. Isn’t there any food?’

‘People are here to be seen, not to scoff.’

‘Heaven forbid they be seen munching.’ She looked about some more before a small pout of disappointment drew his attention to her lips. ‘I think I’ll have a drink after all.’

He signalled a passing waiter and lifted a flute of champagne off the tray for her. ‘Are you sure?’

‘One won’t hurt me.’

More people came over—offering congratulations and conversation, soliciting his attention and seeking to satisfy their own curiosity. Grace was oddly quiet as he chatted, offering only a nod as he introduced her to them as his friend. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, noting how swiftly the champagne was disappearing from her glass. She was sipping to stop herself from speaking, he just knew it. And the sparkle in her eyes was growing brighter by the second. Turning abruptly, he excused them both from the company and walked her towards the open doorway for some fresh air.

‘They all want something from you.’ Grace drained the last drop from the crystal flute. ‘Honestly, they were all over you like some hideous disease. Every last one, sucking up.’

He was the one wanting to suck up. He couldn’t take his eyes from her mouth and he really needed to get a grip. ‘Everybody wants something from me. Attention. Money,’ he said dryly. Everything always came back to money. And he was under no illusion that if he had none, those people wouldn’t come within fifty feet of him.

‘I don’t want either of those things,’ she said cheerfully.

No, it seemed she might not. But maybe he could make her change her mind on the attention front.

‘Let’s go look at the lake. It must be fireworks time soon.’ She walked out the wide-flung doors but came to an abrupt halt on the patio. ‘Who’s that guy?’ she whispered loudly, nodding her head in the direction of a tall, grey-haired man icily glaring at Rafe from further along the marble patio.

Rafe met the man’s stare for a second, then deliberately turned away. ‘No one important.’

Maurice Butler would never again have any importance in his life.

‘Yeah, right.’ She smothered a laugh. ‘If looks could kill, you’d both be dead.’

‘He’s a business acquaintance,’ he lied.

‘Really?’ She shot him a look. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Look at the lanterns.’ He pointed in the opposite direction.

He wanted to be alone with Grace, all his attention on her and her attention only on him.

‘But he’s coming over. He looks like he wants to talk to you.’

‘Well, I don’t wish to talk to him.’ Rafe firmly took her hand and walked her down to the lakefront.

‘It’s beautiful.’

The lights were reflected in her eyes and flickered across her face. She was so pretty. Sinful whispers swirled in his head, all the things he’d do to her, with her, for her. All the things he probably shouldn’t.

‘You’re using me to avoid talking to anyone else,’ she noted as they walked to the water’s edge.

‘Yes. It’s working well.’

‘Why did you bother coming at all if you didn’t want to talk to them?’

‘To be seen.’

‘Because?’

‘Because I’m here and they can’t ignore that fact.’

‘You have history with these people? With that man?’

He hesitated for a moment, but what did it matter if she knew? ‘That man you just asked about is my nephew. I heard he wanted to buy the villa. Unfortunately for him, I was the successful bidder.’

‘Your nephew?’ She turned around to stare again at the man still standing on the patio just outside the wide-open doors. He knew she was processing the vast age difference. Maurice was thirty-two years older than he.

‘You wanted to beat him more than you actually wanted the home?’ she asked, her eyes narrowing.

‘No, I wanted the villa.’ He turned to look out at the water so he didn’t have to see anyone from the family who’d made his life hell. ‘I always wanted the villa.’

He didn’t know why he’d admitted that to her—he presented it to everyone as the requisite luxury Italian holiday home string to his property portfolio.

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘Childhood dream,’ he muttered dryly. Thing was, it was true. He’d wanted it all his life. But it seemed the joke was on him. Walking into that villa this afternoon, he’d only felt emptier than ever.

‘But you also enjoyed stealing it from under your nephew’s nose,’ she added shrewdly.

Rafe smiled bitterly. He had, of course. Blocking Maurice’s interest in the villa had been a bonus point in the transaction.

‘You’re clearly not close.’

‘Clearly not.’ He straightened, determined to dismiss this conversation.

The fact that the villa had come with a pretty nymph in the garden was the one highlight of the day. He wasn’t squandering the possibilities by getting bogged down in the past now. ‘I didn’t bring you along to have you pry into my personal life,’ he said lazily, slipping back into Lothario mode. ‘Entertain me another way.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You’re one arrogant ass, you know that?’

He did, actually. But he wasn’t used to his dates calling him on it—at least, not quite so soon in his acquaintance. And never with amusement—it was with anger that they’d hurl that insult at him. Frankly, right now he was using his vast experience of arrogance to keep her burgeoning curiosity at bay. He hadn’t brought her along to talk to him about those things but to look at and to laugh with and, yes, possibly explore the sensual promise he’d felt flare between them from the second they’d met. But he liked that she called him on it.

Struggling with conflicting emotions, he took a hurried couple of paces to catch up to her. ‘I’m sorry.’ He caught her hand in his and fell into step. ‘That was rude. I was uncomfortable talking about him. I don’t want to talk about him.’

‘That’s totally fair enough. But you could have just said that and I’d have respected it.’

‘Would you?’ he asked pointedly.

She looked at him for a moment and then grinned sheepishly. ‘I am hopelessly curious about people, so probably not.’

He grinned back, refreshed again by her candour. ‘You’re this curious about everyone?’

‘Oh, yes.’ She nodded emphatically. ‘People fascinate me.’

That response was stupidly flattening, because he knew it was the truth. That was why she knew the gardener’s life story, why she knew the history of the village. Grace James was one of those rare people who was genuinely nice. Interested in other people, in their stories and their lives. But why be so interested—what was lacking in her own life?

‘People find you fascinating too,’ he said.

She laughed at that. ‘No. No, they don’t. And don’t feel you have to flatter me by arguing the point. Oh, look!’

He followed the direction of her deliberate distraction. Sure enough, she was watching other people again. He frowned at the scene going on at the edge of the palazzo’s private beach. A proposal no less. The fool was on bended knee, there was a trio of musicians and inevitably there was a guy with a camera filming the whole thing. Thankfully it only took a few moments.

Rafe watched Grace as she watched the happy couple kiss.

‘Public proposals are so vain,’ he muttered.

‘You’re calling them out for being vain?’ She laughed mischievously and sent him a look from beneath her thick lashes. ‘I think it’s romantic. With all those lights on the water, and the warm breeze and the full moon and the music...it’s perfect. They’ll never forget it.’

‘Of course they won’t, because it’s all been filmed for posterity. No doubt an edited clip will be uploaded onto the Internet before the night is over.’ He shook his head. ‘Such moments should be private. Not for show.’

‘Why, Rafael.’ She turned to face him, her eyes and skin illuminated by the soft warm glow of a hundred floating lanterns. ‘You’re a romantic.’

‘I’m what?’ he asked, startled.

‘A romantic,’ she marvelled triumphantly.

‘No.’ He tapped her on the nose with his finger. ‘I meant making a mistake like that should definitely be kept private.’

‘A mistake?’

‘Marriage,’ he growled.

‘Of course you’re against marriage. It would narrow the field too much for you.’

‘That’s right,’ he agreed wickedly. ‘Life’s too short to settle down and be with just one person for ever. How boring.’

‘Oh, that’s right, you’re easily bored. You’re a billionaire with a feeble imagination.’

‘Trust me, my imagination is all good.’

She shook her head and turned back to the couple. ‘Well, I don’t think it’s boring at all.’

‘You’re the romantic,’ he said. Of course she was. ‘You know it never works out,’ he said softly.

She looked back at him with amused speculation in her eyes. ‘Are you talking of your own relationships?’

‘Anyone’s. Everyone’s.’

‘So, let me guess...’ She studied him impishly. ‘You’re never getting married. Never having children.’

‘Absolutely not.’ He half laughed.

‘Because your parents weren’t happily married?’

‘My parents weren’t married at all,’ he said simply.

‘And you think that’s scandalous in today’s world?’ She grinned. ‘What do you think having unmarried parents means?’

‘That I’m a bastard.’ He winked at her. ‘You have officially been warned.’

‘You do know that lots of kids are born out of wedlock and lots of people divorce.’

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew the stats. But his family situation had some extra spice that hadn’t stilled the gossips’ tongues. ‘My father was over seventy when I was born. I have nephews almost twice my age. My half-siblings were not impressed when my mother and I came along.’ And he shouldn’t be talking about this.

‘They made life tough for you both?’

Tougher than this pretty nymph could ever imagine. It wasn’t just the age gap between his parents but the education, background, social status...everything and everyone had made life tough. Especially for his mother. What they’d done to her he’d never forget, or forgive.

‘Did your parents love each other?’ she asked softly.

And there it was, that romantic nature of hers. The truth would crush all her idealistic dreams. ‘You think that love could possibly make a difference?’ He forced a laugh.

‘So handsome yet so cynical.’ She sighed. ‘Such a shame.’

He leaned closer, playing up so he could forget the past. ‘Handsome is a win, though, right?’

‘A very small one,’ she said, flattening him again.

But he’d seen the gleam in her eyes.

‘Not that small.’ He couldn’t resist any more and put his hands on her waist. ‘You’re going to deny we have chemistry?’

‘It’s probably because we’re polar opposites.’

That she didn’t deny it surprised him all over again. He’d been expecting playful outrage and a pout. Instead, he just got a steadying hand on his chest and an assessing look.

‘You’re crazy good looking,’ she said, her gaze narrowing on him. ‘Like, not-of-this-earth good looking. And confident. So I’m guessing you know what you’re doing when it comes to women. And I know I’m nothing like the women you usually bring along to these things. Given how much you like women, you probably would try anything once. For the novelty factor.’

‘Are you suggesting I’m not discerning?’ He couldn’t decide whether to be pleased by her compliment about his looks or insulted by her assumption that he lacked pickiness when it came to women. But then he realised it wasn’t only him she was insulting. ‘And don’t denigrate yourself.’

She looked up at him, that impish light flickering in her eyes. ‘Oh, I’m not. But let’s be honest, I’m not your type. Everyone here knows it. That’s why they’re staring.’

He didn’t like the thought that he was predictable enough to have a ‘type’, even though he knew he did. ‘That’s not why they’re staring.’

They were staring because she was a breath of fresh air—basically barefoot in those flimsy sandals, with her white dress gleaming in the light and her skin glowing in the radiance of all those lanterns. She was stunning. He—like the rest of them—couldn’t take his eyes off her.

She, however, didn’t appear to suffer the same problem when it came to him.

‘There’s a boat coming.’ She craned her neck to peer past his shoulder. ‘Everyone is walking over. Do you know who’s on board?’

He didn’t know, didn’t care. Just wanted her eyes on him again.

‘This party is non-stop drama,’ she said. ‘Are your “elite” events always like this?’

‘Don’t you go to parties very often?’

‘Usually I’m serving the food.’

She was a waitress? That fitted with the travelling. She certainly wasn’t a local with that softened English accent. Yet it surprised him. She had an unworldliness about her, as if her optimism and hopefulness hadn’t yet been crushed by the harsh realities of life. Most travellers he’d met had a few street smarts and sharper edges. Maybe she was new to it all. His body tightened inappropriately again.

‘What are we going to do about it?’ he muttered harshly, unable to hold back his runaway thoughts.

‘About what?’

Astounded, he turned her back to face him. ‘This chemistry.’

‘Nothing.’ She turned back to watch the launch arrive. ‘Do you think it’s someone famous?’

He didn’t give a damn if it was the Queen of England. He just wanted her attention back on him. ‘I don’t think this is something we can do nothing about.’

‘Of course we can.’ She laughed, but she didn’t meet his eyes.

‘You’re not in the least curious?’

She finally focused on him properly. ‘I’m sure you could make me feel amazing.’ That giveaway colour washed over her light golden tan again. ‘I’m sure you could make me want anything and everything. But I’m also positive you’d be bad news.’

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