The Italian Tycoon's Bride

by Brooks, Helen

  ‘Sue.’ It felt indescribably good that he’d forgotten Sue’s name, which she knew was horribly bitchy.

  ‘Ah, yes, Sue. Now Sue is an ordinary girl. Articulate, attractive, independent, successful—’

  He needn’t spoil it.

  ‘But without that spark.’

  ‘Spark?’ She didn’t have the faintest idea what he was talking about.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you fishing for compliments?’

  ‘No.’ She glared at him over her wineglass. ‘Of course not. I don’t know what you mean, that’s all.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s the secret.’

  He was talking in riddles and her stomach was rumbling. She’d discovered since she had been in the inn and smelt the food that she was, in fact, ravenously hungry. Her brow wrinkled. ‘Secret?’

  ‘No matter.’ He looked at her quietly as a waiter appeared at their elbow with two menus. Once he had departed and she gazed helplessly at the writing, which was all in Italian—only to be expected, of course—Blaine said, ‘Would you like me to choose something delicious for you? As I said, I eat here fairly often and I’m used to the various dishes.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He probably knew she couldn’t speak a word of his language, so Maisie said, ‘I was never any good at languages at school; it was the sciences that grabbed me.’

  ‘Interesting.’ His eyes laughed at her. ‘And lucky sciences.’

  Was he flirting with her? Maisie stared at him uncertainly. But then Italian men flirted all the time, didn’t they? Of course Roberto didn’t but he was Jackie’s father and therefore relegated into a different strata. She gave a tentative smile.

  ‘I will have to teach you some basic Italian while you are here, yes?’

  Umm, probably no.

  ‘Polite words, of course—thank you, please, how to ask for directions if you are lost, that sort of thing. And the casual brush-off to unwanted suitors. That might not be quite so polite.’

  He was definitely flirting with her. Maisie refused to acknowledge how captivating it was to have a man like Blaine flirting with her, telling herself that as she was the only woman present it wasn’t quite such a triumph. Any port in a storm sort of thing.

  The waiter appeared again and Blaine fired off an order in rapid Italian, which still managed to sound utterly soft and enchanting. It really was a gorgeous language. Like the country. And the men. The last thought jolted Maisie into realising she hadn’t eaten a thing since breakfast—thanks to the euphoria of losing six pounds in as many days she’d been motivated to starve herself some more—and the glass of wine in her hand was empty. She had also had two gin and tonics on the plane to steady her nerves—perhaps not such a good idea with hindsight.

  Another glass of wine appeared in front of her like magic. Obviously Blaine had seen her empty glass when he had ordered the food. Not wishing his mother’s first impression of her to be one where she was carried into the house like a sack of coal, Maisie left it exactly where it was, saying, ‘What is it we’re eating?’

  ‘We are making the most of the fresh fish by having two courses where seafood features. Not exactly the done thing, I know, but…’ He gave another of his Latin shrugs and she wondered if he knew quite what it did to her. ‘We begin with carpaccio di tonno, which is essentially cooked peeled crayfish and very thin slices of fresh raw tuna on a bed of lemon iced salad sprigs. Following this I have chosen linguine all’aragosta because the lobster here is second to none. In most restaurants you would be lucky to get a few mouthfuls of lobster with the pasta but here even I am satisfied.’

  Maisie nodded as though she knew exactly what he was talking about.

  ‘Ah, the appetisers.’ As the waiter reappeared with several small plates holding delectable-looking morsels, Blaine thanked him, adding to Maisie, ‘The Italian word for appetiser is antipasto, sì? This is your first lesson, mia piccola.’

  He was becoming more Italian by the moment. And more irresistible. Something told her not to ask what the last two words meant. Instead she tucked into the appetisers and discovered they were absolutely delicious. As was the rest of the meal when it came.

  Maisie had always liked her food and made no apology for it, although she would have loved to wave a magic wand, of course, and eat what she wanted without it showing on her waistline. Somehow she had never quite managed the knack of surviving on lettuce leaves and brown rice and all the other things which were devoid of cream and butter and everything that made life worth living, though. Halfway through the meal she decided to put the diet on hold until she was back in England. Time enough then for being miserable. She was well overdue a bit of pleasure with all she’d gone through in the last few weeks.

  She did refuse dessert though. Not through any misguided and belated feeling of guilt but simply because she couldn’t eat another thing after the most wonderful lobster since the beginning of time.

  ‘You eat like a true Italian.’

  They were sitting having coffee and Maisie was wondering how she was going to waddle out to the car when Blaine spoke. She looked at him warily. ‘Meaning?’

  ‘You enjoy your food. I cannot bear to sit and watch a woman move the food about her plate as though it is going to poison her.’

  But he had probably been sufficiently attracted by their slim nubile bodies to take them out in the first place. Maisie acknowledged the waistband of her skirt was threatening to split. She had been thrilled to bits to find she could actually fit into a size twelve for the first time in years when she had gone on her shopping spree, even though it had been a bit of a near thing between that and the size fourteen. She wrinkled her small nose. ‘I’m not fashionably thin,’ she said, stating the obvious. ‘Jeff, my ex, went off with a size eight blonde who’s recently had breast enhancements.’ And then she wondered why on earth she had told him that.

  He folded his arms over his chest, studying her with an air of quiet interest. ‘That must have been hard for you.’

  In a nutshell, yes. She tried to inject a note of nonchalance into her voice. ‘It obviously wasn’t meant to be.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t.’

  Not into comforting words and polite platitudes, then. Although he had only agreed with her, she found herself bristling. ‘Actually, we were very well matched.’

  He raised cryptic eyebrows.

  ‘We both love animals and long walks and good food,’ she said determinedly, ‘and going to the theatre and lazy Sundays…’ What else? She knew there was more.

  ‘So does most of the population,’ said Blaine, his mouth curving.

  ‘We would have been very happy together.’

  ‘I doubt that.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Maisie glared at him. ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Because if he was fool enough to let you go in the first place he would not have had sufficient fire to match you flame for flame,’ Blaine said with lazy coolness. ‘Fire and water never mix and this is the cause of many divorces. Passion must be met by equal passion or one partner will be left feeling unfulfilled and the other believing they haven’t measured up. This Jeff sounds like a water person to me.’

  ‘You don’t know him,’ she snapped while secretly thrilled that he thought she was a fire person. She wasn’t at all sure she was but she was glad he thought so.

  ‘I don’t have to. If he had fulfilled all he should have done you wouldn’t be like you are now at his going. You would be devastated, distraught—’

  ‘I was. I am!’ She was furious. ‘Just because I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve, it doesn’t mean I’m not upset, does it.’

  ‘He did not touch the core of you, Maisie. Face it. He didn’t have what it takes. If you had married him you would both have been miserable in time. Maybe this size eight, breast-enhanced female is what he needs.’

  ‘So he did the right thing in starting an affair behind my back when we were due to be married in a few weeks’ time? Is that what you’re saying?’ She couldn’t remember when she had b
een more mad.

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  His cool aplomb made her wish she had some wine in her glass so she could have flung it at him. As it was, she ground out, ‘That’s exactly what you said.’

  ‘No, I did not.’ He leant forward, his eyes holding hers as he said very softly but with deadly intent, ‘Listen to me and stop behaving like a child unless you want me to treat you like one and put you over my knee. I said you were well rid of the guy and you are, and perhaps this other woman will suit him. Perhaps she’s as shallow as he is; I really don’t know. What I do know is that I am glad you found out what he was really like before you went through a marriage and all that entails. I have been there and when things go wrong it can be ugly. I am glad you are not with this man but I am sorry for the hurt you have suffered. OK? But if he had fully had your heart it would have been worse, I stand by that.’

  She stared at him, the anger dying. The man in front of her now was not the smooth controlled Blaine she had seen thus far; this man was quite a different individual. The chiselled cheekbones were taut, the sensual mouth grim and the eyes weren’t smiling. Whoever it was he had been speaking about, whoever the woman was that he had loved and lost, she had meant a great deal to him. Maisie didn’t know what to say. ‘I’m sorry.’ She kept her gaze on his face and her eyes were dark and steady. ‘I didn’t mean to revive bad memories for you.’

  His eyes held hers for a moment more and then, as she watched, it was as though he pulled a mask over his face. He settled back in his seat. ‘You didn’t.’ He smiled. ‘We were talking about you, remember?’

  She wasn’t so sure about that but she let it pass, finishing her coffee as he strolled over to the inn-keeper and chatted for a moment or two as he paid the bill. He came back to the table, pulling out her chair for her with the courtesy she realised was an integral part of him. He was the sort of man who would open doors for the woman he was with, stand back and let her precede him into a room, throw his cloak down over a puddle so she didn’t get her feet wet. The last was going a bit far but Maisie made no apology for it because it fitted somehow. She wasn’t so sure about the being treated as a child and put over his knee, but even that might have certain advantages. She blushed to herself and was glad of the cooler evening air as they stepped out of the inn.

  He took her elbow as they walked down the steps to the Ferrari, but before he opened the car door he turned her to face him. ‘Let go of what won’t be.’ He touched the edge of her mouth with his finger and she had to steel herself not to tremble. His voice was deep and smoky when, after opening the door and helping her inside, he leant with both hands on the roof and said softly, ‘Take life and embrace it, mia piccola. There will be other men, other loves. It would be a crime to waste your youth believing this is not so.’

  He shut the door then and walked round the bonnet, sliding into the car and starting the engine without looking at her again.

  He had spoken as though he was aeons older than her. Maisie sat quietly with her hands folded in her lap but her mind was racing. What on earth had gone on with this woman for it to have affected him so deeply? Who was she? Was she still a part of his life?

  As they drove on and reached Sorrento the sun-baked buildings with faded pink and ochre walls ablaze with vivid window-boxes in the maze of streets of the town failed to hold Maisie’s attention as they would have earlier. She could see Sorrento was quaint, colourful and romantic and full of southern earthy charm, the panoramic views awe-inspiring and the pretty piazzas and shops fascinating. But not as fascinating as the man sitting beside her.

  Blaine pointed out this and that as they drove on towards the Sant’ Agnello district of Sorrento, where orange groves perfumed the air and where his parents’ villa was situated, but his talk was impersonal now, distant even, as though he was regretting revealing too much. Not that he’d told her anything at all really, Maisie thought regretfully, even as she reminded herself that she wasn’t here to wonder about Jackie’s young uncle but to do a job for his mother. She was an employee and that was all.

  She continued to give herself a silent talking-to as they turned into what was little more than a shady lane a few minutes later, at the end of which she could see a large white building partially obscured by trees. Almost immediately they passed through wide open wrought iron gates set in a stone wall, then the view opened up to reveal a gleaming white two-storey house flanked by rows of cypress trees. It was bigger than she had expected, a wide veranda with a red-tiled roof running the length of the house.

  ‘All the ground is at the back of the house,’ Blaine said as he parked the car on the stretch of pebbled drive beyond the stone wall. ‘There is a large garden but most of the land is given over to a paddock and stables with orange groves behind them. I was born in this house; it’s very beautiful.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ Maisie jumped in quickly before the conversation moved on. ‘Where do you live now?’ she asked with what she hoped sounded like polite interest.

  ‘I have a place in the hills above Positano; it is not too far away,’ he said as he exited the car. Helping her out a moment later, he added, ‘You must come and see it one day.’

  ‘I’d like that.’ An understatement. She would just love to see his home, she admitted to herself, trying to ignore how his height and the lean breadth of him dwarfed her.

  He had put his sunglasses on to drive and now she couldn’t see his eyes as he said, ‘Come to dinner one evening. My home is at its best on a summer’s evening.’

  Her stomach tumbled. All the way from the inn she had been regretting her earlier rebuff when he had offered to show her the sights during her stay; now she couldn’t gauge if his offer was a polite empty one or if he really meant it.

  The large ornate door of the house opened in the next moment, revealing a small wizened woman with snowy white hair standing in the gap. Was this his mother? She was nothing like she’d expected, Maisie thought in surprise, only to realise her mistake when Blaine said, ‘Liliana, here is Maisie,’ as he held out a hand to the little figure.

  ‘Welcome, welcome.’ Liliana smiled at her. ‘I have a tray prepared for you, just a cool drink and some fruit. Blaine said you would be eating earlier.’

  Maisie was heartily relieved to hear Liliana speak such fluent English. She had assumed the housekeeper would probably have a smattering of the language as Blaine’s mother was American, and as her knowledge of Italian was nonexistent she’d hoped they’d get by, but this was better than she had expected. She smiled widely at the black-clad little woman. ‘Thank you very much, that’s very kind of you.’

  ‘Are you staying for a while, Blaine?’ Liliana asked, in the way a mother would rather than a housekeeper. Maisie got the feeling the two of them were very close.

  ‘Not tonight, work calls.’ He smiled and touched one heavily lined cheek with his lips. ‘I shall bring Maisie’s bags in and then leave her in your capable hands, sì? Any news from the hospital?’

  ‘He is resting and your mother has agreed to stay at the hotel from tomorrow onwards. She wants to meet Maisie tonight and then show her the horses and explain the routine and feeding of the animals tomorrow. As though I couldn’t have done that.’ Liliana sniffed. ‘Jennifer won’t be home for some time,’ she added to Maisie, ‘so I’ll show you your room in a moment and you can freshen up before you eat.’

  All the time Liliana had been talking the sound of barks and whines had filtered through the house. Now, as Maisie stepped into what was a wide and gracious hall with beautiful marble tiles on the floor and a curved staircase, the sound rose in intensity. Two large Persian cats were sitting at the foot of the stairs and they eyed her with mild curiosity and another cat, a little tabby, came winding round Maisie’s legs as she looked about her.

  ‘These are some of your charges.’ Blaine had just arrived back in the house with her case and bags. ‘There are six more cats, mostly rescue animals. My mother supports a local sanctuary and every time she visi
ts them she seems to come back with another cat. The dogs are a mixed bunch too, but quite well behaved on the whole.’

  Liliana made a sound somewhere between a snort and a sniff at this point. Maisie gathered that she didn’t agree. ‘Can I see the dogs?’ she asked eagerly.

  ‘Now?’ Liliana asked in surprise. She clearly couldn’t understand the interest. ‘Would you not prefer to freshen up first?’

  Blaine, however, was walking towards a door at the far end of the hall and as he opened it a number of dogs tumbled out into the hall. Big ones, little ones, long-haired, short-haired, they all made a dash towards her but instead of jumping up as she had expected sat in an orderly circle once they reached her. All except for one little funny-looking mongrel with big ears and a whiskered chin. He seemed as though he was on springs and kept up a frenzied jumping on the edge of the crowd.

  Once the initial onslaught had ceased Maisie counted seven dogs, mostly mongrels from what she could see, although there was a little Scottie and a Labrador in the pack. She fussed them all enthusiastically and, apart from a little shoving and jostling amongst themselves, they behaved remarkably well, although the jumping bean positioned himself on her foot once she straightened again.

  ‘That’s Humphrey,’ said Blaine, his accent making the very English name sound even cuter. ‘He’s a law unto himself and the bane of Liliana’s life. Isn’t that right, Liliana?’

  Liliana frowned at him. ‘This is not something that is amusing,’ she said severely. ‘He is a bad dog. Only today he has chewed one of my best shoes.’

  Blaine grinned. ‘He only does it to get your attention; isn’t that what mother says? If you would only love him he would be quite content. Surely you can open up your heart and make room for one little dog?’

  ‘Hmph!’ Liliana eyed him darkly. ‘You do not live with this animal, Blaine, and my heart is quite open enough, thank you. It does not need filling with dogs and cats.’