Transformed by his tantalizing touch...

A single look from Salvatore Di Luca. That’s all it took for virgin Lina’s life to change—forever. For one night, she escaped from her ordinary, suffocating life...and found freedom in the Sicilian’s arms!

It defies every rule Salvatore has set himself, but he just can’t resist enchanting Lina. Still, he refuses to let her into his fiercely guarded world. Until he finds their impulsive encounter cost Lina everything... He may never trust her, but if Lina is staying in his luxurious mansion, it will be in his bed!

SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition by describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, and her books feature often stubborn but always to-die-for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life…

Also by Sharon Kendrick

A Royal Vow of Convenience

Secrets of a Billionaire’s Mistress

The Sheikh’s Bought Wife

The Pregnant Kavakos Bride

The Italian’s Christmas Secret

Bound to the Sicilian’s Bed

Crowned for the Sheikh’s Baby

The Greek’s Bought Bride

The Italian’s Christmas Housekeeper

The Sheikh’s Secret Baby

His Contract Christmas Bride

The Legendary Argentinian Billionaires miniseries

Bought Bride for the Argentinian

The Argentinian’s Baby of Scandal

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Cinderella in the Sicilian’s World

Sharon Kendrick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09798-7

CINDERELLA IN THE SICILIAN’S WORLD

© 2020 Sharon Kendrick

Published in Great Britain 2020

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

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For my father, Donald Llewelyn Wirdnam, one of life’s truly contented people, whose favourite toast will never be forgotten (and neither will he).

‘Here’s to my wife’s husband!’

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

SALVATORE DI LUCA stared out at the bright blue Sicilian sea and felt his heart twist with something he had spent years trying to avoid. With pain. With regret. And with a bitter awareness that he had never really loved this beautiful island as much as he should have done. But how could he love it when it was bound up with so many bitter memories of the past? A past he had tried many times to escape, sometimes with more success than others.

Because wherever he went, he always took the past with him.

On this island he had possessed nothing and had known hunger. Real hunger. His clothes had been ragged and—when he hadn’t been running through the streets barefoot—his shoes second-hand. It had been a long time since he’d known hunger like that. A long time since he’d wanted for anything. These days he had everything which had once been his heart’s desire. There were properties around the world in addition to his San Franciscan home—a vineyard in Tuscany, a castle in Spain, and, up until very recently, a pied-à-terre in Paris. He had planes and cars and an Icelandic river in which to fish, whenever the whim took him. His property business had long been in the ascendancy and these days he channelled his profits into his charitable foundation, which reached out to children the world over. Dispossessed children. Children who had never been loved. Children just like him.

And there were women. Plenty of those. Beautiful, sophisticated, elegant women. He dated lawyers and bankers. Heiresses and scientists. He was highly sought after as a partner—his skill as a lover, his quick mind and vast personal wealth made sure of that. The only thing he couldn’t provide was love, because that had been removed from his heart a long time ago and that was what inevitably proved to be the death-knell on any relationship, for women craved love even when they had been warned it was never going to be on the cards.

In theory, he should have been perfectly content. Didn’t his friends—and his enemies—think he’d forged for himself the perfect life? And didn’t he allow them to carry on believing that? But occasionally he became aware of an aching emptiness deep at the very core of him, rumbling away in the background, like an incipient thunderstorm on the dark horizon. Sometimes he didn’t think that ache would ever leave him and sometimes he told himself it was better that way.

Because the memories which provoked that pain made him certain of what he did want, but equally important—what he didn’t. And if that knowledge had turned him into someone who was perceived as cold and unfeeling, then so be it. Let people think what they wanted.

It was time to embrace his freedom and drink a toast to it.

Turning away from the blinding glare of the ocean, Salvatore lifted his hand, and summoned over the waiter who had been hovering within his eyeline for the last half-hour.

The funeral was over and the inevitable introspection which followed such an event was also over. It was time to move on.

CHAPTER ONE

‘WHAT THE HELL do you think you’re doing, Nicolina?’

The words sounded sharp. Sharp as the tip of a needle or the sting of a bee. Lina’s throat tightened as she pulled the thin cotton blouse over her head and turned to meet the accusing gaze of the woman who had just entered her bedroom. Not for the first time, she wished her mother would knock before she came barging in, but she guessed that would be like wishing for the stars.

‘I thought I’d go for a drive,’ she said, winding a scrunchie around her thick hair, even though trying to get her black curls to obey her was a daily battle.

‘Dressed like that?’

The word was delivered viciously and Lina wondered what had caused this reaction, because no way could her outfit have offended her mother’s overdeveloped sense of decency. ‘Like what?’ she questioned, genuinely confused.

Her mother’s look of contempt was moving from the modest shirt, down to the perfectly decent pair of handmade denim culottes, which Lina had run up on her old sewing machine only last week, from some leftover fabric she’d managed to find lying around the workshop. According to the pages of one of the online fashion journals, which she devoured whenever she got the chance, they could have done with being at least five inches shorter, but what would have been the point in showing too much flesh? Why make unnecessary waves and have to listen to a constant background noise of criticism, when she spent most of her time trying to block it out?

‘You are supposed to be in mourning!’

Lina felt the urge to protest that the elderly man who had recently died was someone she’d never even met and whose funeral she had only attended because that was what people did in this tiny Sicilian village where she’d lived all her life. But she resisted the desire to say so because she didn’t want a row. Not when she was feeling so flat and so vulnerable, for reasons she didn’t dare analyse.

‘The funeral is over, Mama,’ she said quietly. ‘And even the chief mourner has left.’ For hadn’t Salvatore di Luca—the billionaire godson of the recently deceased—purred away in his car that very morning, leaving Lina staring glumly as the shiny limousine retreated down the mountainside, knowing she would never see him again? And wondering why that should bother her so much.

You know why. Because whenever he looked at you he made you feel alive. Because that was his skill. His special ability. To make women melt whenever he flicked that hooded blue gaze over them.

His occasional visits to her village had been something to look forward to. Like Christmas, or birthdays. Something shining bright in the future, which she would never see again. And somehow that left her feeling like a balloon which had just been popped.

‘Salvatore di Luca!’ Her mother’s voice broke into her thoughts as she spat out his name, with even more contempt than she had displayed towards Lina’s outfit. ‘In the old days he would have stayed for at least a week to pay his respects to the community. But I suppose his fame and fortune are more important than the Sicilian roots he has turned his back on in favour of his new and fancy American life!’

Lina didn’t agree with her mother’s condemnation but there was little point in arguing. Because her mother was always right, wasn’t she? Early widowhood had given her the moral high ground, as well as an increasing bitterness towards the world in general as the years passed by. And with that bitterness had come a highly sophisticated ability to create a feeling of guilt in her only child. To make her feel as if she were somehow responsible for her mother’s woes. And wasn’t that state of affairs becoming increasingly intolerable? Picking up her helmet, Lina made a passable attempt at a smile though she met no answering smile in response. ‘There’s been a lot going on, Mama. I just...need a break.’

‘Oh, that I were twenty-eight years old again! When I was your age I never used to complain about tiredness. I was too busy running this business almost single-handed. You are too young to be taking a break. When I was your age I never stopped,’ her mother mocked. ‘And there’s work for you here.’

Of course there was. There was always work for her here. Lina toiled from dawn to dusk in the family’s small dressmaking business, running up cheap skirts and dresses which would later be sold on one of the island’s many markets, with barely a word of thanks from the woman who had birthed her. But she didn’t really expect any, if the truth be known. Obedience had been drummed into her for as long as she could remember—even before her father had died so young, leaving her to bear the full brunt of her mother’s ire. And Lina had accepted what fate had bequeathed her because that was what village girls like her had always done. They worked hard, they obeyed their parents and behaved respectably and one day they married and produced a family of their own—and so the whole cycle was repeated.

But Lina had never married. She’d not even come close—and not because there hadn’t been the opportunity. She’d caused outrage and consternation in the village by rejecting the couple of suitors who had called for her, with their wilting bunches of flowers and sly eyes, which had strayed lecherously to the over-abundant thrust of her breasts. She had decided she would prefer to be on her own than to sacrifice herself to the unimaginable prospect of sharing a bed with either of those two men. It was a black mark against her of course. For an only child, a failure to produce a clutch of grandchildren would not easily be forgiven. And although Lina didn’t regret either of those two decisions, it sometimes left her with the feeling that she had somehow burnt her boats. That she would remain here for the rest of her days and that this was to be her future.

As her mother slammed her way out of the bedroom, Lina was aware that nothing had really changed in her life since yesterday’s funeral, yet she was aware that something had changed inside her. It had been a busy time—especially for the womenfolk, who had been preparing all the food which had been consumed by the mourners. They had buried Paolo Cardinelli with all the honour and ceremony with which Sicily traditionally regarded the deceased. But now it was over and life went on and Lina had been struck by the realisation that time was stretching out in front of her like an uninspiring road. Suddenly she felt trapped by the towering walls of oppression and expectation and her mother’s endless demands.

And she needed to escape.

She didn’t really have a plan. Her best friend lived in a neighbouring mountain village and often they would meet for a coffee. But their friendship had taken a hit since Rosa’s recent marriage and travelling solo to one of the fancier seaside resorts at the foot of the mountain wouldn’t usually have been on Lina’s agenda. Yet today she felt like breaking a few of her own self-imposed rules. Scrabbling at the back of the wardrobe to locate some of the money she’d stashed away from her ridiculously small wages, she found herself itching for a different experience. For something new.

Pausing only to stuff her swimsuit in the back of her rucksack, she wheeled out her little scooter and accelerated away from the village, the dust from the dry streets billowing up in clouds around her. Past the last straggle of houses on the edge of the village she negotiated the winding bends, and a sudden unexpected sense of freedom lifted her spirits as she sped downwards towards the coast. She could smell the sea before she saw it—a wide ribbon of cobalt glittering brightly in the afternoon sunshine and it smelt delicious.

Breathing in the salty air, she drove towards a beach famous for its natural beauty. It was the kind of place where people spent vast amounts of money to lie beneath fringed umbrellas and have iced drinks brought to them on trays. The kind of place she would usually have dismissed as being too grand and too fancy for someone like her. But today? Her heart pumped as she parked her bike close to the seafront bar. Today she felt different. She felt almost fatalistic.

Lina walked towards the open-air bar, acutely aware of how much she stood out from the rich tourists with their glitzy beach outfits and gold jewellery, but since she would never see any of these people again—did it really matter? She would perch on one of those tall bar stools and enjoy an icy sharp granita and afterwards drive off to her favourite secluded cove and have a swim. Pulling off her helmet and tucking it beneath her arm, she was shaking out her long hair as she picked her way along the sand-covered decking towards the beach bar.

And that was when she saw him.

Her knees went weak and something powerful unfurled low in her belly as she stared at the man who was sitting in the shade of the awning, effortlessly dominating the space around him, and Lina could feel the sudden racing of her heart as her gaze drank him in. Because it was him.

Him.

What were the chances?

Salvatore di Luca was perched on one of the tall bar stools, staring at his cell phone, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was attracting the gaze of every person in the place, though surely he must have been used to it by now. Hadn’t the eyes of every villager been fixed on him from the moment he’d stepped from his chauffeur-driven car onto Caltarina’s dusty main street for his godfather’s funeral? Hadn’t women—of every age—surreptitiously patted their hair and pulled their shoulders back, as if unconsciously longing for him to gaze with admiration on their breasts?

And hadn’t Lina been one of them? Struck dumb by his potent presence. By his thick dark hair and bright blue eyes.

He was still wearing the required black funeral attire—an exquisitely cut suit, as her professional eye had noted earlier, which emphasised the innate strength rippling through his muscular frame. His only concession to the powerful heat had been to remove his jacket and tie and undo the top two buttons of his shirt, but he still stood out from the carelessly dressed holidaymakers like a forbidding dark cloud which had moved dangerously close to the glare of the sun.

Lina hesitated as she glanced down at the grains of sand which were clinging to her well-worn trainers, uncertain whether to introduce herself and say something, because surely that would be the right thing to do in the circumstances. To tell him she was very sorry about his godfather. Though what if he just looked through her blankly? He certainly wouldn’t have noticed her back in Caltarina—he had been too busy dealing with the attentions of the village elders who had surrounded him from the moment he’d arrived. And since he didn’t come from around here, he didn’t really know anyone by name. Yes, she had sometimes seen him from a distance when he had paid one of his unannounced visits, but she’d never actually spoken to him. Like her, most people in the village had simply gazed at him in wonder, as you might gaze on some bright star if it had tumbled down from the night sky.

Should she go up and offer him her condolences, or leave the poor man in peace? She almost smiled at the wildly inaccurate track of her thoughts because poor was the last word you’d ever use to describe a man like Salvatore di Luca. Even living in a village which sometimes felt like the land time had forgotten, none of Caltarina’s inhabitants could have failed to be aware of the fortune and wealth of the powerful tycoon.

She decided it was best to slip away unnoticed, but he chose just that moment to slide the cell phone into his jacket and to lift his head. His eyes narrowed and then refocussed and he appeared to be staring. At her. Lina blinked, half tempted to turn around to see if there was someone else he might have recognised standing behind her. Someone as rich and as beautiful as him. But no, his gaze was definitely on her. It was piercing through her like a bright sword and Lina felt momentarily disconcerted by his arresting beauty. Because...those eyes! Those incredible blue eyes, which were rumoured to be a throwback to the days when Greek warriors had conquered the jewelled island of Sicily. Hadn’t she overheard women whispering about their astonishing hue, not long after the coffin had been lowered deep into the hard, unforgiving soil? Talking about a man so avidly at such a time was perhaps a little disrespectful, but in a way Lina couldn’t blame them. Because wasn’t Salvatore di Luca the embodiment of everything it meant to be virile and masculine, and who wouldn’t be tempted to comment on something like that?

And now...

She blinked.

Now he was beckoning her over with an imperious curl of his finger as if he wanted her to join him and Lina froze with indecision and hope.

Surely there had to be some sort of mistake. Maybe he’d got her muddled up with someone else. Maybe he didn’t mean her at all. And yet she found herself praying he did. That she could go over there and join him and for one afternoon forget she was Lina Vitale, the poor dressmaker who lived in a forgotten mountain village. The woman who seemed to observe life from a distance as it swiftly passed her by...

Salvatore narrowed his eyes as he stared at the dark-haired beauty with the windswept hair, pleased to have a diversion from the disturbing cycle of his thoughts. He recognised her, of course. Even though she’d been one of a multitude of women wearing black, she had the kind of curves which nature had designed to imprint onto a man’s memory, as well as the softest pair of lips he had ever seen, and naturally a man would register those facts, almost as a matter of course.

He wondered if she had followed him here. It happened. In fact, it happened a lot. He was pursued frequently and without shame, and while some men might have chosen to capitalise on the potential for such easy seduction, Salvatore wasn’t one of them. Given a preference, he preferred to be the hunter—though these days, most women seemed oblivious to that simple fact.

The Sicilian woman who stood on the other side of the bar was worlds away from the type of woman he usually dated, yet, despite this, Salvatore’s gaze flickered over her with interest. She certainly looked out of place in this chic bar with her commonplace outfit and a dusty motorbike helmet, which was tucked beneath her arm. But the dark curls which bounced down her back were lustrous and glossy and her denim culottes emphasised the undulating swell of her generous hips. And her breasts were luscious, their firm swell emphasising her innate femininity.

He felt an unmistakable prickle of interest. Hers was one of those old-fashioned figures he rarely encountered in his busy transatlantic life, or at home in San Francisco, where he was surrounded by wafer-thin socialites, whose main aim in life seemed to be to maintain an abnormally low body weight. He wondered whether to offer to buy her a drink. Surely it would be bad manners to ignore her—particularly as she had done him the courtesy of paying her respects to his godfather. Lifting his finger, he beckoned her over and, after a moment of hesitation he wasn’t expecting, she walked slowly towards him, a faint flush of colour highlighting her sculpted cheekbones as he rose to his feet to greet her.

‘Signor di Luca,’ she said, when at last she reached him, her obvious nerves making her words trip over themselves. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you. I... I saw you at your godfather’s funeral.’

He had to bend his head to hear her properly, for her voice was soft and melodic and her faltering words rang with such genuine condolence that Salvatore felt a wave of unexpected emotion washing over him. It wasn’t the first time this had happened since he’d learned that his godfather had died, but it was hard for him to get his head around, because he was a man who didn’t do emotion. He was someone who prided himself on his detachment and had told himself repeatedly that the old man had been given a happy release from his earthly bonds.

For although he owed a deep sense of gratitude to the man whose generosity had allowed him to spread his wings and leave his native land, he had never loved him. He had never loved anyone since his mother’s callous and brutal rejection.

So why had his eyes prickled with tears and his heart contracted with pain when he had been taken to view the cold and silent body of his godfather? Why had he felt as if something had ended without him quite knowing what it was?

‘And I’m very sorry for your loss,’ the curvy brunette was saying, biting her voluptuous bottom lip rather nervously.

‘Grazie. He is at peace now after a long illness, and for that I give thanks.’ Salvatore watched as she chewed her bottom lip again and as he found himself increasingly fixated on that dark, rosy cushion an idea occurred to him, which he was finding impossible to shift. ‘You are meeting someone?’ he probed softly.

She shook her head. ‘No. No, I’m all alone. I came on a whim,’ she answered and then shrugged rather apologetically, as if aware of having given more information than he’d asked for.

‘Then you will join me for a drink?’ he questioned, inclining his head towards the vacant stool next to him. ‘Or perhaps you disapprove of the fact that I am sitting in the sunshine, listening to the sound of the sea at such a time, when my godfather was buried only yesterday and now lies deep beneath the soil?’

Again, she shook her head and her thick black curls shimmered in the light sea breeze. ‘I make no such judgment,’ she said, placing her helmet on the bar and wriggling onto the bar stool he was holding out for her. ‘In the village you must have noticed people chattering even while they carried the coffin towards the cemetery. It is always like that. Life goes on,’ she continued, with a quiet rush of confidence. ‘Such is the way of the world.’

She sounded both old and wise as she spoke, as if she were repeating the words of her elders, and Salvatore’s eyes narrowed as he tried to guess her age because that was a safer bet than focussing on her delicious bottom. Late-twenties, he thought. Possibly more.

‘In many ways, my godfather’s death was a blessed release,’ he said, staring into dark-lashed eyes which were the colour of the old and expensive bourbon he’d first encountered when he’d arrived in America, so young and so very angry. And something in those eyes made him confide in her about the old man’s final years. ‘You are aware that he lay in a coma this past decade?’ he questioned. ‘Not seeing, not speaking and possibly not hearing anything which went on around him?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, I do. One of my friends was one of the many carers you employed to look after him, Signor di Luca. We thought it was wonderful you didn’t move him out of the village into some big institution in the city. Particularly as you are a stranger to these parts. And of course, everyone knows that you visited regularly, which couldn’t have been easy for a man as busy as you must be.’ She hesitated. ‘You are very kind.’

Salvatore tensed, briefly startled by her words because this wasn’t a character assessment he was used to. Unsolicited praise wasn’t something which came his way very often, unless from women cooing over his prowess in bed. Yes, he was often applauded for his business acumen and ability to be ahead of the curve. And, yes, he was a significant philanthropist. But to be commended for his personal kindness? That really was a one-off. As he looked at her sweet face he felt the stir of something unrecognisable deep in his heart. Something which did not sit easily with him. Was it the realisation that, suddenly, he really was all alone in the world? Even though his godfather had not been sentient for over ten years, he was his last and only link with his past.

Salvatore shook his head, as if he could dislodge the dark thoughts which were stubbornly refusing to shift. He needed a distraction, he decided, and here was one sitting next to him in the shape of this local beauty. But would it be wise to pursue such a diversion? He examined his motives for wanting her to stay. He didn’t want to seduce her. Hell, no. Not only was she most definitely not his type, she probably had a fistful of vengeful brothers and uncles who would demand he married her if he went within touching distance!

But the thought of spending a couple of uncomplicated hours in her company and letting her naïve chatter wash over him was suddenly appealing. Besides, wasn’t there something a little careworn about her features? As if she had been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. A moment of unfamiliar compassion spiralled up inside him as he came to a rapid conclusion.

‘Do you have to rush away?’

Lina narrowed her eyes, wondering if she’d heard him correctly but also wondering what had caused that intense look of pain to have crossed his face. Was he thinking about his godfather, or had it been something else? She reflected how strange life could be sometimes. When here was a man who appeared to have everything, yet for a moment back then his expression had seemed almost...haunted.

He was waiting for an answer to his question and she knew exactly what she should say. Thank him politely but decline. Walk away from the bar and the faint sense of edginess he exuded, while reminding herself that she and this man had nothing in common. Some bone-deep instinct warned her he could be dangerous—and who in their right mind would willingly embrace danger? But vying with that certainty was something stronger. Something which was telling her to do the very opposite. Hadn’t she driven away from the village today precisely because she wanted to experience something different—and wasn’t this her opportunity to do just that?

Up this close, his proximity was making her body react in a way which was shocking yet delicious. Her nipples had begun to tighten beneath her handmade blouse—and now a low curl of heat was pulsing somewhere deep inside her and setting her blood on fire. Was this what it was all about? she wondered as she felt her lips grow dry. Was this what all her friends chattered about—a desire which had always eluded her up until now?

‘No, I don’t have to rush away.’

‘Then will you have a glass of wine with me?’ A flicker of humour danced in the azure depths of his eyes. ‘Are you old enough to drink?’

He was flattering her, she knew that. But Lina shook her head. She didn’t want wine. She wanted as clear a head as possible. ‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s much too hot. I’d like a granita, please.’

‘A granita,’ he repeated thoughtfully. ‘I haven’t had one of those in years.’

He ordered two and the granitas were delivered in chunky little glasses clouded with condensation and it wasn’t until after they had drunk for a moment, in silence, that the Sicilian tycoon turned to her again.

‘Do you realise you have me at a complete disadvantage?’ he observed slowly. ‘You seem to know exactly who I am, while I have no idea what your name is.’

She took another sip before replying and the sweet-sharp taste of the lemons was icy against her lips. And wasn’t it bizarre that her senses suddenly seemed raw, so that the granita tasted better than any granita she’d ever had, and the glittering sea had never appeared bluer than it did right now?

‘It’s Nicolina Vitale,’ she said. ‘But my friends call me Lina.’

There was a heartbeat of a pause. ‘And what would you like me to call you?’

His question hung on the air—as fragile as a bubble. An innocent question which suddenly didn’t feel innocent at all because the smokiness in his eyes was making her want to tremble, despite the heat of the day. Lina was a stranger to flirting, mainly because she’d never met anyone she’d wanted to flirt with, but suddenly she was finding it easy. As easy as the smile she slanted him, as if she mixed with handsome billionaires every day of the week.

‘You can call me Lina,’ she said huskily.

His blue eyes hardened with something she didn’t recognise, but it was gone so quickly that she didn’t have time to analyse it.

‘So are you going to stay here for a while, Lina Vitale?’ he was enquiring softly. ‘Are you going to throw caution to the wind and have lunch with me?’

Lina was aware of a sudden rush of colour to her cheeks as briefly she wondered what her friend Rosa would say if she could see her now. She wouldn’t be teasing her about being a cold fish, would she? And those two spurned suitors would have been forced to retract their cruel comments about her being uptight and frigid.

‘Why not?’ she said shyly, and gave him a breathless smile.

CHAPTER TWO

THE AFTERNOON SUN was low in the sky and people were beginning to make their way back to the sunbeds now that the fierce heat of midday had subsided. Against the ocean’s glitter, Lina could see women on loungers reapplying suncream and thought how cool and composed they all looked.

Unlike her. It was hot down here on the sand and her body was reacting to it in a way which wasn’t particularly attractive. Sweat was beading her forehead beneath her thick curls and her clothes were sticking to her skin. She shifted a little in her seat, still unable to believe she was having lunch with a world-famous tycoon.

She wondered if she’d outstayed her welcome. Probably. Though since she had no experience of this kind of affair, it was impossible to know. But surely someone like Salvatore di Luca must have grown bored with the conversational limitations of a village girl by now. Maybe it was time she gave him an exit route.

Pushing her plate away, she glanced up into his arresting face and, once again, her heart gave a powerful punch of pleasure. ‘I guess it’s time I was going.’

‘You don’t say that with any degree of conviction,’ he observed, an unfathomable expression darkening his ruggedly handsome face. ‘And you’ve barely touched your lunch.’

This much was true. Lina felt a rush of guilt as she stared at her plate. She was fond of her food and had been brought up never to waste anything and certainly not a meal as expensive as this. But she’d barely been able to swallow a morsel. The food had tasted like sawdust and her throat had felt tight with a tension she couldn’t seem to shift. Because beneath the fierce light of Salvatore’s potent charisma, she could feel her senses unfurling. As if the cautious and inexperienced Lina Vitale was blossoming into someone she didn’t recognise, dazzled by the attentions of a man who was little more than a handsome stranger.

He had commandeered a shaded table which sat on the edge of the sea, where, after a little persuasion, she had removed her socks and trainers so that her bare toes could wriggle luxuriously in the sand. Then she’d sat back in her chair watching the crystal blue waters lapping against the crushed silver shore, as armies of waiters rushed over to serve them. It was the most luxurious thing which had happened in her twenty-eight years and Lina found herself savouring every moment. Terrified of doing the wrong thing, she’d watched Salvatore closely throughout the meal to make sure she didn’t let herself down. But he had surprised her. He hadn’t behaved remotely how she thought a billionaire would behave. He hadn’t ordered lobster or scallops or any of the fancier items which adorned the menu. Instead, he had rolled up the sleeves of his white silk shirt and devoured his meal as hungrily as any labourer and Lina had been surprised at his very traditional choice of tomato sauce, fried aubergine and ricotta cheese.

‘I didn’t notice it on the menu,’ she said.

‘That’s because it isn’t. But they always make it for me when I come here.’

‘Was it something your mother used to cook?’ she guessed.

As far as she was aware, it was the only awkward part of the meal for his face suddenly grew cold. Cold as the ice bobbing around in her glass of sparkling water. Suddenly his voice sounded like stone. ‘No,’ he clipped out. ‘My mother wasn’t into cooking.’

She found herself wishing she could take the words back and attempted to lighten the mood by asking other questions, more questions about his life, and he filled in some of the gaps which village gossip had been unable to provide. He told her that he’d been a humble waiter in America when he had overheard his boss complaining how difficult it was to transfer money internationally. At the time, Salvatore had been doing a course on digital technology at night school and this one remark had inspired him to invent an amazingly simple phone app which solved just that problem. He’d made a fortune in the process.

‘Just like that?’ Lina asked, wide-eyed.

‘Just like that,’ he agreed.

‘And then what did you do?’

He then went on to explain that he had diversified, buying up property and department stores and a small airplane company which chartered rich passengers between the different Caribbean islands. And when he’d made more money than any man could spend in a hundred lifetimes, he poured his funds into a charitable foundation for children, set up in his name.

But he seemed more interested in talking about her, though Lina couldn’t quite shake off the feeling that he was regarding her with the interest one might display towards an unusual exhibit at the zoo. Maybe he saw her as some kind of relic as she chattered away about the family dressmaking business. Like some sort of curiosity.

She remembered his stand-out incredulous question.

‘So you’ve never even been abroad?’

‘I almost did once,’ she replied, a little defensively. ‘Last year, I was supposed to go to Florida for my cousin’s wedding and I was going to spend a little time working out there, but...’

‘But?’ he probed.

‘My mother got ill and said she’d rather I didn’t go, so I didn’t.’

‘Let me guess—she got better straight away?’

‘She did, yes. How did you know that?’

He had given a bitter laugh. ‘Human nature. Otherwise known as manipulation. You don’t need to be a genius to work it out.’

But now the empty coffee cups and scatter of amaretti crumbs on the table indicated that the meal was well and truly over and Lina was aware that she really ought to make a move.

‘I’d better go,’ she said again.

‘You sound as if you don’t want to go anywhere,’ he observed, lifting his fingers in a careless gesture, which instantly had a waiter scurrying towards them with the bill. ‘Is there something special you need to be back for?’

Lina couldn’t help the feeling of dread which fluttered inside her stomach as she reached beneath the table to retrieve her trainers and wondered what he’d say if he knew what she was really going home to. Not the pared-down and slightly amusing version of village life with which she’d regaled him, but her mother’s sour face and incessant demands. Cheap denim and cotton stacked into high piles, waiting for her to turn them into skirts and shirts and knock-off designer dresses. The endless hours alone with her whirring sewing machine and then those long and desperately lonely evenings which followed—the silence broken only by the constant chiming of the church bells. Suddenly it all seemed so empty—and more than a little bit sad. Was that what made her look into his eyes with a sudden rush of resolve, which was accompanied by an unfamiliar sense of defiance?

‘Not really, no,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to get back in time for dinner, of course.’

‘Of course.’ There was the merest flicker of a pause as he deposited a wad of notes on top of the bill and his blue eyes were shuttered when he glanced up at her again. He slid his wallet back into his jacket pocket. ‘Well, then. What would you have been doing this afternoon if you hadn’t bumped into me?’

Lina thought about it. She would have driven to her favourite hidden cove, hoping that nobody else would be there. And, after swimming until she was cool and pleasantly tired, she would be attempting to brush the stubborn sand from her body and performing a few clumsy acrobatics as she tried to modestly remove her swimsuit from behind a towel. ‘I was planning on going swimming,’ she said.

He looked across at the rows of loungers which were laid in neat lines. ‘Swimming?’ he repeated. ‘You mean here?’

Lina followed his gaze, noting that the occupants of the loungers wore bikinis which were little more than a series of flimsy triangles, which someone as curvy as her would never be able to get away with. She thought about the swimsuit she’d stuffed at the bottom of her rucksack. Imagine the reaction if she took to this exclusive beach wearing that! She’d probably be frogmarched straight off for committing a crime against fashion!

‘No, not here,’ she said quickly. ‘This beach is private. Only guests of the hotel are allowed to use it.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ he said, with the cool confidence of a man for whom no door was ever closed. ‘Nobody’s going to stop you from swimming.’

Not while you’re with me, went the unspoken subtext but Lina still shook her head. ‘No, honestly,’ she said quickly, unable to keep the sudden panic from her voice. ‘Forget I ever said it. I don’t... I don’t really want to swim here, if it’s all the same with you.’

He gave her a considered look. ‘Well, what about a swim at my villa, if you don’t want an audience?’

Lina’s throat thickened with an emotion she didn’t recognise. Just as she didn’t recognise the sudden hopeful squeak of her voice. ‘You mean you’re staying here? In Sicily?’

He shrugged. ‘Only tonight. My plane will take me back to San Francisco tomorrow.’

‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’

‘It’s no trouble. My car is outside.’

‘So is my scooter.’

‘So why don’t I get my chauffeur to ride your bike for you, and I can drive you to my villa myself? You can have a swim and leave when you like.’

‘Won’t your chauffeur mind driving my scooter?’

‘He isn’t paid to mind,’ he drawled arrogantly. ‘He’s paid very handsomely to do exactly what I tell him to do.’

Salvatore watched as she worried her bottom lip again, a gesture which left her mouth looking so unbelievably kissable that he wondered if it was done for precisely that effect. He was used to instant acquiescence—especially from women—but Lina Vitale kept him waiting for an answer and the novelty of that was more than a little exciting.

‘Okay,’ she said eventually, pushing a thick handful of hair back from her face. ‘Why not?’

Why not? Salvatore frowned. She obviously didn’t realise that he wasn’t usually given to handing out invitations to waifs and strays and that a little gratitude might have been welcome. He pushed back his chair. He couldn’t work her out. Not only that—but he still hadn’t quite worked out his own motives for inviting her. Was he intending to seduce her? To peel off those over-long denim shorts and the almost puritanical cotton shirt to see what voluptuous delights lay beneath?

His mouth hardened. No. He had never been into one-night stands and even if he were he certainly wouldn’t choose a woman from a tiny mountain village who would probably read too much into it. He was being kind, that was all. Hadn’t she praised him for such kindness earlier?

So stop being such a cynical bastard and make the poor woman’s day.

‘Come on, then. Let’s go,’ he said abruptly, rising to his feet and causing a woman on a nearby table to completely miss her mouth as she prepared to take a drink of wine.

As Lina had suspected, Salvatore’s chauffeur looked distinctly unimpressed at being presented with her helmet and told to drive her scooter. But he didn’t protest. His bulky body dwarfed the small fifty cc machine, but by then Salvatore was opening the passenger door of the limousine and Lina was climbing inside. And, oh, it was gorgeous. It smelt of leather and wealth, and the powerful engine made less noise than her hairdryer as Salvatore drove along familiar roads before turning onto a hidden track on the opposite side of the mountain.

And this, Lina quickly realised, was a completely different world from the one she usually inhabited. A quietly wealthy part of the island, where rich tourists parted with huge amounts of money in order to be able to live the Sicilian dream—or rather, their version of that dream. But it was difficult to concentrate on the scenic beauty of these new surroundings. Difficult to look anywhere other than at the powerful thrust of Salvatore’s thighs.

‘Comfortable?’ he questioned obliquely.

‘Very,’ she lied.

The shades he had donned made him seem even more sexy and inaccessible than before. Because he is inaccessible, she reminded herself fiercely. He’s a hunky billionaire who’s got a whole different life on the other side of the world. But none of those thoughts seemed to have any effect on her escalating excitement. It didn’t stop her breasts from hardening, or lessen the imperceptible tension which seemed to be building between them within the confined space of the car. Soon, it had reached such a pitch that Lina felt as if she’d forgotten how to breathe normally, and as a pair of ornate iron gates swung silently open she reached into her rucksack and surreptitiously turned off her phone, determined that nobody was going to disturb this day, least of all her mother. Because this was a one-off. She knew that. She wasn’t going to entertain any unrealistic expectations or try to second-guess what was about to happen, she was simply going to enjoy every second of it.

‘Madonna mia!’ she breathed, unguarded pleasure slipping from her lips as the gates closed behind them. ‘Is this for real?’

A faint smile touched the edges of his lips. ‘Do you like it?’

‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘Yes, I like it.’ Alighting from the car, she stood in the courtyard and stared up at an imposing house, surrounded by tall palm trees which soared up into the bright blueness of the sky. Dotted around the place were antique terracotta pots containing bright flowers and in the distance she could see the dark glitter of a swimming pool.

A housekeeper appeared from within the shadowed entrance of the house—a sharp-eyed woman wearing black who failed to return her nervous smile of greeting. But Lina heaved a silent sigh of relief because at least she didn’t recognise the woman as being from Caltarina. How difficult would that have been?

‘Carla, could you please arrange to have coffee sent down to the pool?’ Salvatore’s voice was smooth and entitled, before turning to Lina. ‘Come with me and I’ll show you where you can change.’

Lina followed him through the grounds, telling herself she should be enjoying every aspect of this lovely garden, but it wasn’t flowers or shrubs she wanted to look at, and it wasn’t the exotic cacti or carefully positioned statues which were dominating her attention. She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from Salvatore’s broad shoulders where the thick black waves of his hair were curving decadently over his collar and making her wonder what it would be like to trickle her fingers through them. She stared at the fluid thrust of his hips as he walked along the path with a confident stealth which radiated power and strength.

At last they came to a vast infinity pool—its water as dark as sapphires—with panoramic views over the green and golden countryside. But even that knockout view didn’t have any impact on her sudden overwhelming sense of self-consciousness at being in such an intimate situation with a man she didn’t really know.

And yet she wasn’t scared. On some fundamental level she totally trusted him—and how crazy was that?

‘You can get changed in there,’ he said, pointing to a small building which resembled a Swiss chalet. ‘I’m going up to the house to put on something cooler.’

Lina was relieved when he left, giving her time to compose herself, her relief short-lived when she consulted the full-length mirror and realised how frightful she looked. Hot and bothered and... She unbuttoned her blouse and unzipped her denim shorts and gave a silent groan as she slithered out of panties which felt uncomfortably...wet.

And you know why that is, don’t you? mocked a taunting voice in her head. You might be a virgin who has never experienced a scintilla of desire but that doesn’t mean you can’t recognise it when it comes your way.

Digging around in her rucksack, she located her swimsuit and pulled it on over her increasingly sticky body, before stepping back to look at the result. Only now the mirror revealed a much too curvy body unflatteringly covered in a plain navy swimsuit and Lina’s heart plummeted. What was she even doing here?

Slipping from the chalet, she was thankful that Salvatore hadn’t returned, though she could see that a tray of coffee had been left on one of the tables. But she wasn’t going to hang around for refreshments. She would have a quick swim, get changed and then drive her scooter back home. Go back to where she belonged and forget all her foolish fantasies.

Curling her toes over the edge of the pool, she dived deep into the sapphire waters and a restorative underwater length of the deliciously cool water calmed her fractious nerves a little. Rising up to the surface, she shook her head like a wet puppy, blinking against the sunlight to see Salvatore standing on the side of the pool, and she could feel the painful tightening of her nipples because he was wearing nothing but a pair of bathing trunks.

Exasperation flooded over her. Of course he was wearing bathing trunks! Did she think he was about to go swimming in the black suit he’d worn for the funeral? So stop staring at him, she urged herself furiously. Do some more swimming and then get the hell out of here, back to where you belong.

But she couldn’t.

All she seemed capable of doing was treading water and staring up at him, because he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. His sculpted body gleamed olive in the bright sunshine and his dark, hair-roughened legs were planted firmly on the side of the pool as he stared right back. Lina licked her lips and tasted chlorine but barely noticed it because she couldn’t seem to drag her gaze away from him. His broad chest tapered down to a pair of narrow hips and the black Lycra of his bathers was clinging with disturbingly graphic definition to...to...

Lina swallowed, feeling the sudden rise of colour to her cheeks, and swiftly she dived beneath the water again to swim another couple of lengths. But this time the water didn’t cool her and when she reached the shallow end of the pool he had slipped into the water and was waiting for her, just as she’d somehow known he would be. He was standing waist-deep, with tiny droplets glittering like scattered diamonds against all that rich golden skin. She wanted him so badly it was as if every atom of her body was longing for him to touch her. Suddenly she understood the reason for all the tension which had been slowly mounting throughout lunch and in the car afterwards. And despite her complete inexperience, Lina knew there was only one thing which could happen now.

If she wanted to.

She looked into his eyes and licked her lips again.

She wanted to.

Did he somehow read her thoughts or was it the hard thrust of her nipples against her navy costume which gave the game away? Was that why his body stiffened, as if someone had just turned him into stone? Lina didn’t know and she didn’t care, because suddenly it was as if she were being governed by something outside her control—by a force much greater than herself. It was as if she knew exactly what was going to happen, despite her total lack of experience and the laughable inequality which existed between them.

He didn’t move—not one inch—but that didn’t come as a surprise to her either. She’d somehow guessed he wouldn’t.

Because he doesn’t really want this, she recognised with a sudden understanding which went way beyond her actual experience. Oh, on one level he does—on the physical level, for sure. But he’s reluctant to initiate anything he might later regret. He doesn’t want to take responsibility for this.

But she did.

Somehow she knew she needed to.

Which was why she went right up to him and turned her wet face to his, standing on tiptoe and placing her trembling palms on his broad wet shoulders so she could support herself. But mainly so she could touch her lips to his, and kiss him.

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