by Helen Brooks
She felt his fingers release the clip holding her hair, and as it fell about her shoulders Cherry jerked away. ‘Don’t,’ she said sharply, holding out her hand for the fastener. ‘It’s too hot to wear it down today.’
‘And is this the only reason you hide such beauty from me?’ he said, ignoring her outstretched fingers.
She stared at him, wondering if he was making fun of her. Her hair was ordinary. She was ordinary. OK, so she wouldn’t exactly shatter mirrors, and when she took the time to dress up and do her hair and make-up with more care than usual she could pass for averagely attractive, but that was all. She had no illusions about herself, and if she had had, Angela and her mother would have set her right years ago.
‘My hair is nothing special.’ She fixed him with her most severe look. ‘And how I choose to wear it has absolutely nothing to do with you.’
He smiled faintly, which Cherry found incredibly irritating. ‘Have you always been so defensive or is it a barrier erected since the disappointment in love?’ he asked with unforgivable audacity. ‘And do not deny once again there is not a man behind your sojourn in my country. Sophia has told me otherwise.’
Whether the quick stab of hurt at Sophia’s betrayal was evident in her face Cherry didn’t know, but in the next breath Vittorio said, ‘That is all she said. No details. Not one. And she only told me that because she was anxious I did not… What is that English phrase? Ah, si. Put my foot in it in some way.’
She had recovered enough to glare at him. ‘Your sister clearly doesn’t know you as well as she thinks she does,’ she bit out, ‘if she imagines a little thing like knowing someone has been hurt would stop you barging in where angels fear to tread.’
‘But I am no angel, mia piccola.’ To add insult to injury, he tucked the hairclip away in the pocket on his side of the vehicle as he added, ‘And a man who is stupid enough to let you slip through his fingers does not deserve you anyway. Now, I am going to take you to lunch in Locorotondo, and afterwards we will visit the Baroque cathedral. Sophia will sleep for most of the day, I am sure. Now the secret she had been worrying about for weeks is out in the open she is feeling something of a reaction, I think. But tomorrow she will have to begin to consider all the preparations for the wedding, and you will be needed.’
Fighting the urge to scream at him, Cherry drew on all her considerable will-power to stay cool and composed. ‘I have no intention of having lunch with you. I agreed to stay to help Sophia.’
‘Which I have no doubt you will do admirably.’ He started the engine. ‘But today I show you the città del vino bianco, Locorotondo—the city of white wine—while you are still the tourist sightseeing rather than Sophia’s aide. This will be a pleasant and relaxing interlude before your hard word, si?’
No. Definitely not relaxing, and with her jangled nerves, probably not pleasant either. She would far rather go back to the house and spend the time by the pool with just a book for company. She opened her mouth to argue further, glanced at Vittorio’s imperturbable profile, and shut it again. He’d made up his mind, and although she might not have known him very long she knew once made up it wouldn’t change. Short of throwing herself out of the Range Rover she had no choice but to accompany him.
That wouldn’t be so bad if a secret part of her didn’t want it so badly. Which was dangerous. Very dangerous. And foolish. Vittorio must have had lots of women, and would continue to have them; he was experienced, worldly-wise and devastatingly charismatic—and if love ever featured in his life in the future the woman concerned would have to be super-special, like him, for it to work.
And then she caught her thoughts in alarm. What on earth was she thinking about love for? Her cheeks burned. Thank goodness he couldn’t read her mind. She had to pull herself together. The sexual attraction she felt for this man was controllable, it had to be, and that was all it was. Once the next few weeks were over and Sophia was settled, life would go on for Vittorio and his sister and they probably wouldn’t think of her when she was out of their lives. Vittorio was a man. He could sleep with a woman and move on without emotional difficulty. That was just the way it was. She had to remember that. She had to remember that.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHERRY found one of the charms of Locorotondo was the approach to the town as they drove through the Valle d’Itria, a striking Italian landscape of luxuriant vineyards sleeping in the hot sun and traditional trulli houses, where the sweet aroma of the mint growing by the roadside filled the car with its perfume.
Vittorio told her that the dry white spumante wine which was a speciality of the area had given the town its nickname and was of the highest quality, but as they got nearer, and she could see the domes of the cathedral, she realised it was an outstandingly beautiful town too. Blindingly white limestone houses and narrow alleyways bedecked with geraniums and citrus plants wound in true Italian style around squares and tiny palm-sheltered courtyards, and by the time Vittorio had parked the Range Rover and they’d wandered on foot deeper into the town and made their way to the cathedral Cherry was smitten.
The cathedral was as magnificent as she had expected, but when they left its confines and Vittorio casually took her hand as she stumbled over some ancient cobbles all she could think about was his fingers holding hers. And he didn’t seem inclined to let go. She felt dwarfed by his solid maleness as they walked, but it was an intoxicating feeling, and just for a while—she told herself—she’d enjoy the sensation. It didn’t mean anything, she was fully aware of that, so no harm done.
They found a small trattoria—an informal restaurant serving simple meat and pasta dishes—and ate sitting outside under a large umbrella, sipping glasses of spumante wine. Cherry kept darting quick glances at Vittorio from under her eyelashes, unable to believe she was sitting in the sunshine enjoying a meal with one of the most gorgeous men she had ever seen in her life when just a couple of days before she had been very much on her own. This was the sort of thing that happened to other people, not to her. And it wasn’t as if Puglia was a beach resort type of place, where romances were more likely to occur.
Not that this was a romance, she reminded herself firmly. Not remotely. She’d made up her mind before leaving England that it would be a very long time before she made the mistake of trusting a man again. It had been one of the reasons she’d decided to spend some months exploring archaeological sites and museums on the continent—places that recalled days of Greek and Roman inhabitants, medieval castles and fortresses, the breathtaking artistry of eighteenth-century Baroque architecture and the rest of the wealth of history countries like Italy, Greece and Turkey contained. She’d wanted to immerse herself in the past and forget the disappointments of the present and the uncertainty of the future, and definitely—definitely—steer clear of the male of the species.
She suddenly became aware that Vittorio was sitting gazing at her, having finished his meal, his grey eyes thoughtful. ‘You are thinking of this man again.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘There is sadness in your face.’
Taken aback, she spoke without thinking. ‘I wasn’t thinking of Liam. Not specifically.’
‘Liam.’ A hardness came into his voice. ‘I do not like this name.’
It was such a ridiculous thing to say she found herself smiling. ‘In spite of what you think, I am actually over him,’ she said firmly. ‘It was a salutary lesson in being foolish enough to place one’s trust in a man if nothing else.’
Vittorio finished the last of the wine in his glass before speaking. ‘And this is the woman who took me to task for my observations of the female sex yesterday?’ he said silkily. ‘Such hypocrisy.’
‘Not at all.’ Hell, she’d walked into that one. ‘You were saying women are driven by a man’s wealth first and foremost and marry for money, and that’s just not true.’
‘Forgive me if I misunderstood,’ he went on, in the same tone as before, ‘but did you not just condemn men as being intrinsically undependable and untrustwor
thy? Speaking purely for myself, I think it is fair to say you have a limited knowledge of me, and I fail to see how you can make an accurate observation of my character—not to mention all the millions of men out there you have not met.’ Black eyebrows rose mockingly. ‘Is this not true?’
‘Oh…’ She was furious with him for catching her out so expertly, and knew she didn’t have a leg to stand on in this particular altercation. ‘You don’t understand what I meant.’
‘No?’ His smile died. ‘But I do know this man let you down in some way, and I would like to know what happened,’ he said with utter seriousness.
Something in his voice—a tenderness, maybe?—caught her unawares and changed the nature of the conversation.
‘If you can bring yourself to talk about it, that is.’
‘I told you. I’m over him,’ she repeated quietly.
‘But there is still sadness and even disillusionment. Your own words prove this.’
Cherry shrugged. The last thing she wanted to do was reveal how easily Angela had enticed Liam into her clutches. There was an ignominiousness to it all that still smarted. But perhaps it would be easier to tell Vittorio if she was going to be around for a few weeks? If nothing else, it would convince him she had no intention of going from the frying pan into the fire and that any kind of dalliance with him was out of the question.
She kept her eyes on the dazzling white wall of the house opposite them across the cobbled road, the blazing sunlight turning its window boxes of brilliant red geraniums so bright the contrast was unreal, and began to speak. She told him it all. It seemed pointless not to. And it didn’t take very long. When she’d finished she still didn’t look at Vittorio straight away, reaching for her glass and taking a long sip of her wine before she raised her eyes to his. They were waiting for her.
‘I have known women like your sister,’ he said softly. ‘Just one or two. Predatory females who are never satisfied with what they have. I have the feeling Liam has got exactly what he deserves. She will make his life hell. You know this?’
Cherry nodded. Yes, she knew it. She had seen it happen before. But the strange thing was the men concerned still wanted Angela no matter what she did. It was as though she injected a love drug into their system and they were addicted from the first kiss. To her knowledge, not one of Angela’s conquests had ever thrown her over. It was always the other way round.
‘These people are shallow and without foundation,’ Vittorio went on. ‘Unable to feel deep emotion and incapable of contentment. Every generation breeds a few of both sexes and it is your misfortune to have one as your sister. They make everyone they come into contact with miserable eventually. It can be no other way. But her power will be defused when you show her you know what she is and that she cannot hurt you or influence you.’
‘But she can hurt me,’ Cherry pointed out. ‘She has. Often.’
‘Only because you let her,’ he said, very gently. ‘And Liam was not the man for you or he would have been immune to her wiles. Love can cut through the power these people exert like a knife through warm butter.’
It was all very well for him to say that. He didn’t know Angela or her mother, and he hadn’t grown up in Angela’s shadow like she had. The very concept was inconceivable to him.
‘Your mother? She is not a happy woman?’ Vittorio asked perceptively.
Cherry thought about it and realised with a little jolt of surprise that her mother was far from happy. ‘No,’ she admitted.
‘Because all the time she is trying to reconcile what she wants her daughter to be and what she knows deep in her heart she is. No doubt your sister plays your mother’s heart like a violin. As I said, these people cause everyone who is close to them to suffer in one way or another.’
Cherry drank the last of her wine just as the waiter appeared with the two espressos Vittorio had ordered.
Once they were alone again, Vittorio looked at her with a small smile playing round his lips. ‘Wondering how I know so much about such people, mia piccola?’
His question so accurately reflected what she was thinking that she suppressed a nod of agreement.
‘It is because I had a lucky escape from one such woman a long time ago,’ he said softly, without waiting for her to speak. ‘For a short while I thought my heart was broken. It was not, of course. And then events transpired which caused me to reflect that a tongue that carries the sweetness of nectar can be a fatal trap to the unsuspecting bee, rather than a source of life and joy—especially when that tongue is in a beautiful face with an enchanting body to accompany it.’
Was he talking about this Caterina Sophia had mentioned? The woman he’d been about to marry when his parents were killed and who’d then married one of his friends? It was on the tip of her tongue to ask but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do so. Instead she sipped her espresso before she said lightly—in a deliberate attempt to break what had become a disturbingly intimate atmosphere—‘So now you go from flower to flower and never linger too long?’
He didn’t join in her casualness. ‘Not exactly.’
He didn’t elaborate, and she felt like a child who’d spoken out of turn. She wondered how it was that this man always seemed to put her in the wrong even when she was right.
The stubbornly immovable custom of the siesta was drawing near, and in the next moment or two the waiter appeared with their bill. They left the little trattoria and made their way back to the Range Rover, and this time Vittorio did not take her hand. Cherry wondered why she felt bereft and told herself not to be so stupid, at the same time berating herself for agreeing to stay at the Carella villa. She’d made some bad decisions in her life but this had to be the worst.
Once in the vehicle, Vittorio turned to her. ‘I have not met your sister, mia piccola, but of one thing I am sure. She does not have the beauty of her sibling. You are beautiful, whatever you think to the contrary.’ He leaned forward, tipping her chin up with his forefinger and kissing her lightly, trailing his lips across hers before settling himself into his seat and starting the engine.
Cherry couldn’t have moved if she had wanted to. She closed her eyes for a moment as they got underway, willing herself to keep still and pretend nothing had happened. She didn’t want to be attracted to this dark, volatile stranger who curiously didn’t feel a stranger; she couldn’t let herself go down that route. He lived in one world and she in another; they were different in every way. He had a magnetism that would draw women from puberty to old age. She—well, she was Cherry Gibbs from England, unremarkable, conventional, no great shakes. That was reality. That was fact. Even if they began something—her stomach did a cartwheel—she would be a ship that passed in the night as far as he was concerned. Whereas for her…
‘You are very quiet.’ He glanced swiftly at her before returning his gaze to the road ahead.
Cherry mustered all her will-power to lie convincingly. ‘I was thinking about Sophia. I hope she’s feeling better.’
‘Sophia will be fine.’ He dismissed his sister with a coolness that told Cherry he hadn’t forgiven Sophia yet. Something his next words confirmed. ‘She has got what she wanted, after all. To be Santo’s wife. Never mind the furore her determination has caused.’
‘That’s a bit hard,’ Cherry protested.
‘No. It is facing the truth. The Carella strength of mind in action—always getting what it wants.’
‘You’re a Carella,’ she pointed out, knowing he was right and that Sophia had been determined to have Santo all along. ‘Do you always get what you want?’
He smiled—a smile as predatory as the women he’d spoken of a few minutes before. ‘Always,’ he said softly, slanting a glance at her that—although mockingly teasing—was interested to see her reaction.
‘So it’s OK for you, but not for Sophia because she’s a woman?’ Cherry said, with more acidity than she was actually feeling. If what she’d read in his eyes was right then Vittorio Carella wanted her, impossible though it s
eemed for a man who could have any woman he desired with a click of his fingers. But perhaps it was because she hadn’t fallen at his feet in humble adoration that he was interested? she asked herself in the next moment. All those hopeful daughters of predacious Italian mammas had probably been schooled to worship the ground he walked on, and the sophisticated female socialites his wealth would bring him into contact with would have no qualms about stroking his male ego—among other things. She blushed hotly as though she’d spoken the last thought out loud.
‘It is OK for me because I am a grown man who can control his emotions and bring sense and reason into any situation,’ Vittorio stated with unshakable arrogance. ‘Sophia, as yet, cannot. She is capable of acting like a spoilt child on occasion.’
‘So you never let your heart rule your head?’ she said crisply. ‘I find that very sad.’
Vittorio pulled off the road into a square they were passing which was deserted in the hot afternoon sun now the siesta had begun, apart from the odd pigeon pecking around. Without a word he cut the engine and moved to take her into his arms, pulling her into him as he took her lips in a scorching kiss. Like the time at the pool the day before she didn’t even think about objecting, instead savouring his closeness, drinking in his elusive unique scent—a combination of freshly laundered clothes, the clean shampoo fragrance of his hair and the delicious aftershave he wore. His body was strong and solid, as intoxicating as the powerful aura of masculinity that surrounded him, and his body heat enveloped her so it felt as though they were the only people in the world.
As the kiss deepened her mouth opened willingly under his, her arms slipping up and around his shoulders. She heard his sharp intake of breath as she ran her fingers through the crisp dark hair at the base of his head and knew he was aroused. The knowledge ignited a desire more powerful than anything she’d felt before.
