by Lucy Gordon
‘No matter how often I see that,’ he murmured, ‘it never fails. As long as there’s so much glory in the world…’ He fell silent.
‘Have you spent much time here?’ Ferne asked.
‘Since my parents died I’ve kind of moved around the family, living with aunts, uncles, grandparents. This was where I came in the summer, and I loved it. It felt more home than anywhere else.’
‘But it sounds sad to be moving around the family, not really having a settled base.’
‘I like having a big family. There’s nothing to compare with the feeling that you have the whole tribe behind you.’
‘Isn’t there one member of the tribe you need more than the others?’
‘Hope and Toni have been like second parents. Apart from them, no. Like you, I’m an only child, but I thrive on having plenty of cousins.’
At last everyone drifted back to the house. There were children to be put to bed, and Hope wanted an early night. Ferne was glad of the chance to go to her room to be alone and think about everything that had happened to her.
To think about Dante Rinucci.
He was attractive, amusing, sexy and clearly in the mood for a diversion. Since she felt the same, there was really no problem, except for the little voice in her head that kept saying, Beware!
But beware what? she asked herself.
There’s something about him that doesn’t add up.
Nonsense. I’m just being fanciful.
She put on a night-gown, took out her laptop and connected it to her digital camera. In a moment she was looking at the pictures Dante had taken of her, trying to recognise herself.
Who was this woman with the come-hither look, giving the man that teasing smile because she was basking in his attention? It was an illusion. Dante had summoned that look from her in the joking spirit that seemed natural to him, and somehow he’d persuaded her to glance sideways, smiling, to intrigue him as he intrigued her. This man was a natural showman with the gift of luring everyone else into the show. There was no more to it than that, and she mustn’t forget.
There was a knock on the door and Dante’s voice called, ‘It’s me.’
She drew a slow breath of dismay. She’d half-expected him to appear at her door, but not so soon. Where was the skilled, sensitive man with the light touch that she’d pictured? Was he going to be vulgarly obvious after all? Her disappointment was severe.
As she was preparing the words of rejection, he knocked again. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Yes,’ she said hastily, reaching for her robe and whisking it on as his head appeared cautiously around the door.
‘Ah, you’ve got the pictures on-screen,’ he said. ‘I was hoping to see them. Am I any good as a photographer?’
‘Er, yes, some of the pictures are very nice,’ she said, trying to marshal her thoughts.
He was still fully dressed and didn’t seem to notice that she was attired for the night. He studied the computer screen eagerly.
‘Nice,’ he said. ‘You photograph well, and the light was good just then.’
He ran through to the end of the pictures, then back, then forward again, until he found one that seemed to please him especially. She had just shaken her hair so that it fell in soft curls about her face, framing her laughter.
‘I’d like to have a copy of that one,’ he said. ‘You look just great.’
Here it was: the first move. Be careful.
But it was hard to be careful when she was suddenly conscious of her nakedness beneath the flimsy night-gown. Her whole body seemed alive to him and oblivious to her efforts at control.
‘I’m afraid that may take a while,’ she said. ‘I don’t have a printer with me.’
‘No problem. Here’s my email address. Send it to me as a file attachment and I’ll take care of the printing. Now, I should get to bed if I were you. You’ve had a long day, and tomorrow is going to be even busier.’
He turned in the open door.
‘Sleep well. Sorry I disturbed you. Goodnight.’
The door closed behind him.
Just down the corridor, the sound of that door closing was heard by two who lay contentedly in each other’s arms.
‘Leaving so soon?’ Toni observed. ‘Dante’s losing his touch. Usually he can have any woman he wants-for a little while.’
‘I know,’ Hope sighed. ‘As soon as it looks like getting serious, he vanishes. But how can we blame him? Think what it must be like for him, living with the knowledge that-Oh, it’s terrible! Of course he can’t be like other people.’
‘He won’t let anyone mention the subject,’ Toni said sombrely. ‘If you try, he becomes cold and angry. He wants to pretend that nothing is wrong, but if you catch him off-guard it’s there in his eyes, the knowledge and the fear.’
‘Should we tell Ferne?’ Hope said. ‘Just in case?’
‘Warn her, you mean? Not now. Perhaps later. Dante would be furious to know that his secret was out.’
‘Won’t it have to come out in the end?’
‘I don’t know,’ Toni said sadly. ‘Perhaps it will never be spoken of at all-until it’s too late.’
Dawn was the best part of the day, when the bright, clear air gave the view across the bay to Vesuvius a new vividness. How peaceful the volcano looked now it was sleeping, and how hard won that peace must be. The previous night had taught Ferne that.
She’d thought herself so well prepared, so ready to fend off any advance from Dante. But when he’d bid her a gentlemanly goodnight she’d been ill prepared for any of the reactions that had coursed through her.
Starting with disbelief, they had exploded through to outrage, deprivation and finally insult. At the mere prospect of making love with him, her body had flowered. And he hadn’t been interested. It was sheer bad manners.
She could cheerfully have hurled something at the door he’d closed behind him. It had taken the rest of the night to calm the volcano inside her, and now the sight of the real one in the distance didn’t improve her temper.
Had he suspected her moment of weakness? The thought made her go hot and cold.
She felt an urgent need to get away from where he might be. He’d come out last night to watch the sunset. Suppose he came out again at dawn?
Turning to hurry inside, she saw him standing behind her. How long had he been there?
‘Good morning,’ she said hurriedly, trying to get past him.
But he detained her with a light hand on her arm. ‘Stay.’
‘You’re very free with your commands,’ she said tersely.
‘Have I offended you?’
‘Of course not. But I expect you want to be alone.’
‘Not alone from you.’
He turned her so that she faced the sea and then he stood behind her, his arms crossed over her breast, holding her gently against him. Mysteriously his touch seemed to soothe her annoyance, and Ferne put up her hands, not to push him away but to hold his forearms.
‘So near and yet so far,’ he murmured.
‘How far is Vesuvius really?’
‘Only about six miles in earthly distance, but it comes from another universe. Once, years ago, I heard it rumble, and it was like magic. I’m always hoping for another one.’
‘No luck?’
‘Not yet. It keeps you waiting.’
‘Maybe it can’t decide what it wants.’
‘Or maybe it knows what it wants and can’t decide what to do about it,’ he mused. ‘Even when you want something badly, the way isn’t always clear.’
Now she had her answer about the night before. He didn’t want to keep his distance from her, but for some reason seemed to feel that he should. So the next step was up to her. Nothing else mattered now; she was content.
They returned to find the villa already awakening. Everyone was agog at the arrival of the two remaining sons, Justin from England, Luke from Rome. As many of the family as possible were going to the airport to meet Justin, his wife and childre
n. Dante and Ferne remained at the villa to greet Luke.
In the early afternoon Primo and Olympia arrived, soon followed by another car, out of which stepped a powerful-looking man and a petite, fair-haired young woman.
‘Luke and Minnie,’ Dante said.
It was clear from the interested looks Ferne was getting that her story had spread throughout the family. When Minnie came downstairs from settling into her room, she commandeered Ferne’s company, demanding to be told everything. But before there was time to say much there was a shout and everyone hurried outside to welcome the party from England.
Justin, Hope’s eldest son, was an austere-looking man who at first seemed out of place in this convivial gathering, but Ferne noticed that his eyes followed his mother with a possessive look that contrasted curiously with his bearing. He had the same look for his wife, Evie, a brisk young woman with an air of friendly efficiency.
They were accompanied by Mark, Justin’s son by his first marriage. He was twenty, handsome, with dark wavy hair and brilliant eyes that made both the young maids give him yearning looks.
‘He’s just discovering his powers as a ladykiller,’ Justin said with a groan, yet also a touch of fatherly pride. ‘It makes him very difficult to live with.’
‘Don’t be hard on him,’ Evie protested. ‘It’s not his fault he’s good-looking. He’s just finished his first love affair with a girl who teaches ballroom dancing. He started learning as a way of getting close to her, and now he’s really good.’
The young man’s presence changed the atmosphere, making it livelier. Later, when the meal was over, Toni rummaged through some old tapes, made in the days before rock ’n’ roll, and played them on an ancient tape recorder.
‘Go on,’ he told Mark. ‘Let’s see how good you are.’
Without hesitating, Mark extended a hand to Ferne, whom he’d been admiring across the table all through supper.
‘Dance with me?’
Pleased, she accepted. She was a good dancer, and Mark was an expert. Soon they were spinning around in perfect time.
‘Let’s go really fast,’ he said suddenly, swinging her around and around.
Gasping, she just managed to keep up. When they finished there was applause from the others, who had retired to sit down and watch them with admiration.
‘What is that dance?’ Dante asked, coming forward hastily. ‘Could you teach it to me?’
‘It’s basically the quick-step,’ Mark told him. ‘You do it like this.’
Someone switched the music on again, and there were more cheers and applause as Mark gave a dazzling demonstration, with Ferne as his partner. Then Dante took possession of her and proceeded to show how well he’d learned.
Ferne had to admit that he was a natural, mastering the fastest steps with ease, and taking her flying across the floor as if they had been doing this all their lives.
With this partner the most intricate steps became easy to her, and her feet flashed in and out, sometimes between his own feet, so that she felt they must surely trip each other, yet never did. She had the glorious sensation that no mistake was possible while Dante held her. He was a powerful man, but that power lay not in muscles and brawn but in quicksilver.
That was how he lived his life, she was sure. If trouble loomed, he would dance around it, or over it, or past it, then vanish into the shadows, leaving everyone wondering if he’d ever really been there. It made him both enchanting and dangerous.
At last Toni changed the tape, and they slowed into a waltz.
‘I’m impressed,’ she gasped. ‘Have you really never done the quick-step before?’
‘No, but I love dancing; the faster, the better.’
‘Waltzing’s too dull for you, huh?’
‘Much. Who needs it? You have to hold her close.’
‘As you’re doing with me?’
‘Naturally. And you have to pay her compliments, like she’s the loveliest woman in the room.’
‘But you’re not doing that!’ she protested indignantly.
‘Why should I bore you with what you’ve heard a hundred times before? Besides,’ he added more slowly, ‘you know exactly what you look like.’
He was right. She’d taken time over her appearance, and was pleased with the result. The honey-red of her hair was perfectly set off by the floaty chiffon dress with its mixture of autumnal colours. It was knee-length, revealing that her legs were long and elegant, her ankles perfect, and she had a natural balance for the high-heeled sandals that many women couldn’t have risked wearing.
In the arms of this tall man, those heels were an advantage, helping her match his height and see his face more closely.
‘Maybe I know and maybe I don’t,’ she teased. ‘That’s for me to say.’
‘So you want me to tell you that you’re a dream of beauty, a goddess of the night?’
‘Oh, shut up!’ she chuckled.
‘I’m just trying to do the proper thing here.’
‘And you’re always so proper, aren’t you?’
‘Well, somebody did once say that I wouldn’t recognise propriety if it came up and whacked me. I can’t recall her name just now.’
‘Ah! One of those instantly forgettable females. She was probably just trying to provoke you to get your attention.’
He gave a self-mocking smile. ‘I wish I could believe she wanted my attention.’
‘Or she might be playing cat-and-mouse with you.’
‘I’d like to believe that too. You don’t know what fun cat-and-mouse can be.’
‘You think I don’t?’ she asked, eyebrows arched sardonically.
‘No, forget I said that. Of course you do.’ He added hopefully, ‘You could probably teach me a thing or two.’
‘No, I don’t think I could teach you anything about playing games.’
‘The game of love has many different aspects,’ he suggested.
‘But we’re not talking about love,’ she whispered. ‘This is a different game altogether.’
It was a game that made her pulses race and her whole body sing from the close contact with his. Reason argued that her physical excitement was due to the movement of the dance, but reason fell silent before the pleasure of his clasp about her waist and the awareness of his mouth near hers.
‘What do you call the game?’ he whispered.
‘I’m sure we each have our own name for it.’
‘Tell me yours.’
She glanced up, murmuring, ‘I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours.’
‘I asked first.’
This time she didn’t reply, but her look was full of mischief.
‘You’re going to tease me, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘You’re a wicked woman.’
‘I know. I work at it.’
‘No need. I reckon a certain kind of wickedness comes naturally to you.’
‘True. It’s one of the great pleasures of life.’ Exhilarated, she provoked him further. ‘Almost as much fun as cat-and-mouse.’
A gleam of appreciation came into his eyes. ‘Cat-and-mouse; I wish I knew which one I was.’
‘I’ll leave you to work that one out.’
He gave a shout of laughter that made everyone stare at them, and began whirling her fast again until they spun out onto the terrace, where she broke from him and darted away, running down the steps and under the trees. She was high on excitement, and the sound of him pursuing her was a delight. She ran faster, challenging him to follow her, and he accepted the challenge.
‘Woman, are you crazy?’ he demanded, winding his arms around her waist in a grip of velvet and steel. ‘Just how much do you think a man can take?’
She responded not with words but with laughter, that rang up to the moon until he silenced her mouth with his own. Somehow the laughter continued, because it was there in the kiss, passing from her to him and back again. It was there too in the skilful movements of his hands that knew how to coax without demanding, persuade without insisting.
/>
He had the gift which so many men lacked, of kissing gently. Her return kiss was joyful, curious, teasing just a little.
‘I’m not crazy,’ she whispered. ‘And perhaps a man should exercise a little self-control.’
‘Not while you’re making it hard for him,’ he growled, moving down her neck.
She was unable to say more, because his lips had found the spot where she was most sensitive. Shivers went through her, defying her efforts to control them as his mouth caressed the hollow at the base of her throat, touching it softly again and again while she clung to him and her head whirled.
He was wicked. Even with all her nerves shouting warnings, he could still make her want him. Her hands had a will of their own. They clasped his head, drawing him closer against her so that his lips continued their skilled work. She should push him away, but, just another minute…
She felt the ground beneath her. She didn’t know when he’d drawn her down, but suddenly she was lying in his arms, and he was looking at her with an expression on his face that she couldn’t see through the darkness.
That was so like him, she thought feverishly-always keeping one part of himself a secret. And right now she wanted to know his secrets, wanted to know everything about him, to feel his hands on her body, all over, wanted everything there was to want.
His fingers were at the neck of her dress, trying to draw it lower. When it would go no further, he drew the shoulder down and laid his lips against it. Now she could feel his hair brushing her face and she ran her hand deliciously through it, sighing with satisfaction.
But then she heard something that froze her blood: laughter, soft and merry, coming from a little distance away. The family was appearing in the garden, getting nearer.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘D ANTE ,’ she hissed. ‘Dante! Get up.’
Frantically she pushed at him and he drew back, frowning.
‘They’re coming,’ she said. ‘They mustn’t find us like this.’
Muttering a curse, he wrenched himself away and got to his feet, drawing her up with him. He would have run, but Mark’s voice came through the trees.
