by Kim Lawrence
‘Don’t worry, I won’t be tempted to install black PVC and leopard-skin prints in the bedrooms of your palazzo.’
He met her innocent look with a smile. ‘I feel reassured. Luca will look after you,’ he said, nodding in the direction of the dapper-looking suited figure who was approaching them. ‘So try not to start a fight before I return.’
The charge startled Sophie. ‘Me!’
He smiled and looked more attractive and dangerous than in Sophie’s opinion any man had a right to look.
Well, it had been quite an experience meeting Marco Speranza and seeing him smile, but it was one that she could put behind her now, which was just as well.
His personality was so overwhelming that it was hard to concentrate on anything else, and if she was to make a success of this job and prove herself—do her small part in retrieving the good name of the Balfours—she didn’t need any distractions.
And Marco Speranza was a big distraction!
At the door he paused and turned back. Sophie, who was feeling dead on her feet, tensed.
‘Be ready at eight…’ He paused. She looked so small and utterly exhausted standing there that he adjusted his timetable. ‘Be ready at eleven-thirty.’ The decision had nothing to do with sympathy. It was purely practical; he needed her alert and functioning when he showed her what needed to be done.
‘Eleven-thirty, of course,’ Sophie said, hiding her relief as for a split second she had thought he had said eight.
‘It is an hour’s drive to the palazzo.’
‘You’re coming!’ Sophie was startled; she had assumed that Marco Speranza would delegate such a task to one of his underlings, one that she had hoped would have a less deleterious effect on her nervous system.
‘You look disappointed.’
‘No, of course not,’ Sophie denied unconvincingly.
‘I would like to see your reaction to my home and hear your ideas.’ He turned to the dapper-looking man, sliding seamlessly into Italian as they shook hands.
‘Tell Luca if you need anything. I will see you in the morning, Sophia.’ He tilted his head and moved away.
‘Sophie,’ she called after him, not liking the Latin treatment of her name—it implied an intimacy that didn’t exist.
Marco didn’t stop but turned his head to fling a grin at her over his shoulder.
The penthouse suite turned out to be just as luxurious as one might expect a suite Marco Speranza used to be, not that it bore any trace of his occupation. There were no slinky dresses in the wardrobes, but she was provided with a basket of all the essentials and a promise that her luggage would be there in the morning.
Sophie thought the promise was overly optimistic but, sure enough, when she woke up—she had fallen into a deep dreamless slumber almost before her head hit the pillow—someone who identified himself as a senior airport employee knocked on the door carrying her lost luggage.
His apologetic charm contrasted sharply with the brush off she’d received the previous day, but then she was sure that the name Marco Speranza worked miracles on Sicily.
She had just opened her cases when the text came from Amber. Sophie hadn’t been sure how to tell her about Marco’s choice. In the end, exhausted and fearing that she’d cave in a second if faced with Amber shrieking over the phone, she’d rung late last night and left a very short message. Amber’s text was comprised mainly of excess punctuation and an order to Sit tight, don’t say anything more to him and I’ll be there soon. Knowing nothing she could say would prevent Amber’s imminent arrival, Sophie headed downstairs.
The time was exactly eleven-thirty.
Marco was already sitting at a table with newspapers spread around him and a coffee in his hand.
He didn’t immediately see her and Sophie had a chance to study his clear-cut classical profile. He really was good-looking enough to make a girl weep, and so rampantly male that it was no wonder a passing group of well-dressed women did everything but rip off their clothes to get his attention as they walked by, ogling him shamelessly.
Marco, his attention on the financial pages, appeared oblivious to the buzz of female interest.
Maybe he took it for granted? Maybe he took it as his due?
He still hadn’t seen her and she was in no hurry to gain his attention. She felt pretty awkward about meeting him again after her performance the previous day.
She had lain in bed that morning reviewing the conversation, groaning at intervals as she recalled some of the things she had said to him.
Sophie had no idea what had come over her—she was always polite—but saw little point in stressing over this lapse, because it wasn’t going to happen again.
She’d been tired and anxious and her emotions had been close to the surface. It had all got far too personal and she had been…well, she had been rude, and he had given her a contract. Sophie still hadn’t quite got the why part straight in her head, but probably there was a lesson in that somewhere, though she wasn’t sure what it was.
She had decided it was pointless to stress over yesterday; she needed to concentrate on today and the task ahead. Today would be different. Today she would keep things professional.
Marco glanced at his watch and went to fold one of the broadsheets spread before him and caught sight of her standing there.
‘Good morning,’ she said brightly.
He got to his feet and offered her coffee, which she refused. ‘I’ve had breakfast.’
‘I wasn’t expecting to see you for a while yet,’ he admitted.
Dressed today in faded denims that hinted at the muscles in his long powerful thighs and a plain white T-shirt, he was a much more relaxed-looking version of the Marco she had met the previous day.
More relaxed but still devastatingly attractive. Italian men wore clothes well.
‘You did say eleven-thirty, didn’t you?’
‘I did but you looked tired enough to sleep the clock around last night.’
Having been shocked by the haggard face that had looked back at her from a mirror illuminated by unforgiving lights Sophie was well aware what she had looked like last night.
She met his eyes levelly, aware that the gentle buzz of the room had receded. It was as if when he was around there was no room in her head for anyone else.
She pushed aside the whimsical thought.
‘It had been a long day, but I’m fine now. I even had my own toothbrush this morning and my own clothes. I can’t believe they found my baggage so quickly.’
Marco’s brows lifted as he agreed. ‘Amazing.’
‘I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that?’
His look of innocent bewilderment was so phoney that despite herself she laughed. ‘Well, I’m grateful and terribly impressed by your influence.’
‘I would have thought it would take more than that to impress a Balfour girl.’ He saw her flinch and wondered what nerve he’d touched.
‘The name is Sophie,’ she said flatly. Unable to stop herself she added, ‘Did you give me the contract because I’m a Balfour?’
She waited tensely for his response; it would not exactly be the first time someone had cultivated her because they wanted access to her father or a date with one of her sisters.
And this was something she wanted on her own merits; until this moment she hadn’t known how much getting it with no string pulling meant to her. The success would have no meaning if she discovered it was the Balfour brand and not her talent that had swung the deal.
Marco, who had also been born with a name that made people assume things before they met him, understood what she was saying. ‘No, I gave it to you despite your name.’
Sophie’s startled eyes flew to his face. ‘Despite.’
He said nothing, just slung her an enigmatic look, his eyes glittering and hard, from under his dark brows and extended his arm, inviting her to walk beside him.
She knew eyes followed their progress towards the exit and wondered if the people watching
had seen the danger in him too.
Some people were attracted by danger; she was glad she was not one of them.
Marco led her to a long low chauffeur-driven limousine, explaining his choice of transport by saying he had work to do.
Just as Sophie was about to step inside, a series of loud squeals and her name being called stopped her. She turned and her heart dropped. Too late. Sukie and Emma were running as fast as their high heels would take them along the pavement towards her.
Marco angled a brow. ‘Friends?’
Sophie struggled to adopt a philosophical attitude to the fact her big break was about to come to an abrupt end and shook her head. ‘Colleagues,’ she said, reminding herself she hadn’t even wanted the job anyway…which begged the question, why did she feel like a kid who had just had her favourite teddy bear snatched away?
Sukie reached her first. ‘Sophie, we’ve been looking for you everywhere, poor darling. You look exhausted, doesn’t she, Emma?’ Sukie said, patting her hand absently as she gazed up at Marco, fluttering her lashes so hard Sophie was surprised they didn’t come unglued.
‘Poor Sophie. Never mind—you can sleep on the flight home,’ Emma said, extending her hand to Marco breathlessly. ‘The office sent us to take over, Mr Speranza…Marco…’
Marco didn’t take the hand. ‘Then you had a wasted journey, ladies. I have my team leader.’
Sukie’s glance shifted to Sophie. ‘Sophie.’
She exchanged a bewildered look with Emma, who said, ‘But that’s Sophie.’
‘I know who she is. You, however, I do not know.’ His expression as he nodded dismissal suggested he did not wish to. ‘Good morning, ladies. Sophie?’
Obeying the pressure of the hand on her shoulder Sophie got into the limo. She turned her head as they drew away, knowing she would always cherish the expressions on the two girls’ faces.
Aware that Marco’s eyes were on her face she turned back. ‘You were awfully rude to them. Did you see their faces when…I think I enjoyed it.’ Sophie gave a shamefaced grin and asked worriedly, ‘Does that make me a terrible person?’
‘Are they always that dismissive of you?’ Having seen how sharp her tongue was it bewildered him that Sophie let them get away with it. ‘If you think I was being awfully rude to them, then it appears your education has been sadly neglected.’
‘Working for you will probably fill in the gaps,’ she retorted, then amazed by her own daring she lapsed into silence.
And so did Marco, as after the car had pulled smoothly away he opened a laptop.
Half an hour later, she looked at his dark head, bent over the screen, with a certain resentment; his concentration was total, but his manners were appalling.
It wasn’t that she wanted to chat but having her presence acknowledged would be nice.
Lips compressed into a thin disapproving line, she fished into her bag and extracted the guidebook she had picked up in the hotel that morning. Consulting the map in the centre pages, she attempted to match it to the scenery they were passing through and tried to work out what route they were taking.
It was hard to figure out because she hadn’t noticed what route they had used when they left Palermo; she had been too busy admiring the incredible mixture of architecture the city offered, from Byzantine to Norman. Some areas were rundown and dilapidated, some grand. Palermo was a cultural and architectural melting pot, and one that boasted more crazy drivers a square mile than any place she had ever been.
Sophie was about to give up on the impossible task of figuring out where they were when Marco sighed, leaned across and took the book from her hands.
Sophie glared and lifted her chin. ‘Do you mind?’
‘We are,’ he said, handing the book back to her, ‘here.’ He pressed his thumb against a spot on the map, then moved it to another spot, adding, ‘And we are heading there.’ His attention shifted to her face. She was relieved he did not comment on her flushed cheeks. If she leaned a little closer their shoulders would be touching…
‘I am not ignoring you… All right,’ he conceded, anticipating her protest, ‘I am, but I do have work to do, so stop attention seeking. Your fidgeting is distracting!’
So was the scent of her newly washed hair which had already mostly escaped the ponytail she had secured it in. Curling fronds framed her face, giving her an angelic look that was at stark variance with the evil look she was giving him.
‘I am not attention seeking!’ Her indignation was not feigned—of all the things he could have accused her of this was the most unfair!
He ignored the protest and directed his gaze through the window. ‘This area is a nature reserve, parco naturale. The mountain range is the Madonie. I think you’ll find the rest of the guidebook drivel on page six.
‘Now try, if you can, to amuse yourself. Dio mio! If I had known I was travelling with a six-year-old I would have brought crayons and colouring books.’
Sophie’s murderous glare was utterly wasted as he had tuned her out again. ‘Do you work at being offensive?’
‘Not any longer. I perfected the art years ago.’
‘Well, that’s not something to be proud of,’ she heard herself observe.
He closed the computer and put it to one side with a long-suffering sigh. ‘You win. You have me.’
‘I don’t want you.’ Now that, she thought, could not be something he heard every day.
‘I’ll only make such an offer once…’ he taunted, trying to figure what it was about this small English woman that ate away at his patience.
She seemed to him like a woman half alive and yet there was all that passion just below the surface… He concluded it was the wasteful nature of this situation; she had life, something many people fought tooth and nail for, and she was not living it.
If there was a man in her life he clearly wasn’t doing his job properly.
Sophie let out a small shriek and grabbed the seat to steady herself as the limo rounded a sharp bend. If she loosened her grip she was going to slide into him.
So don’t loosen!
‘I’m quite happy with my guidebook,’ she said, trying not to see herself pressed up close to him. ‘And it’s a lot more…’ Her voice faded as she saw his arms closing around her, drawing her…
‘We’re here.’
She expelled a shaky sigh and pushed free of the shameful earthy images in her head. Then she saw where she would be working. ‘Oh, my goodness! How beautiful!’ she gasped.
Sophie had not exactly been brought up in a shoe box herself; she was used to luxury, but this was on another scale. No wonder Amber wanted this contract so much, she mused.
‘Renaissance?’ She flashed him a questioning look and saw he was watching her. The enigmatic expression in his deep-set eyes made her shiver and look away.
Marco nodded. ‘The facade is, but some parts date from a much earlier period. Some people believe that…’
Sophie was interested—she really was—but she struggled to concentrate on what he was saying. His words seemed somehow passionless in comparison to the beauty of the building. All she wanted to do was escape this wretched car and his disturbingly close proximity and explore.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine!’ Sophie tugged fretfully at the neck of her top. She really needed to cool off before she made a total fool of herself.
‘I thought I’d let you get the feel of the place alone.’
Sophie, who had seconds before been wishing him a million miles away, found her reaction to the news that her wish had been partially granted worryingly ambiguous.
‘Good idea.’
The door opened and she tumbled out. Having filled her lungs with pine-scented air she turned her attention to the palazzo. It was breathtaking. The only palazzo she’d seen on the journey here had been crumbling, and this certainly wasn’t; although for all its magnificence it did have an unloved look to it.
‘How many rooms are there?’ she asked, thinking she
could easily get lost.
‘I have never counted. Ah, here they are.’
Sophie watched as Marco greet the elderly couple who were walking towards them. He shook hands with the man and hugged the woman, who to Sophie’s amazement ruffled his hair. The affection between them was obvious.
‘This is Alberto and Natalia.’ Marco’s smile was warm and carried no hidden agenda.
‘They,’ he said, ‘are here if you need them. This is Miss Balfour.’
‘Sophie,’ she corrected him, smiling at the couple, the man lean and angular, the woman soft and round.
‘I will see you later and you can tell me what you are going to do to bring our palazzo back to life.’
She wrinkled her nose at his choice of words. ‘It doesn’t look dead to me.’
‘Looks can be deceptive, cara. Its heart,’ he said clamping a hand to his own chest, ‘is quite dead.’ And a man could walk and talk, function, even laugh, and be quite dead at his heart.
Sophie was still puzzling over this extraordinary statement when he strode away without a backward glance. Marco Speranza, with his combustible combination of Sicilian pride and passion, was a deeply troubling man. Or was that troubled? she wondered.
Marco’s home was an incredible building, filled with treasures that one rarely saw outside a museum. In fact, the place reminded Sophie more of a museum—the old-fashioned musty variety—than a home, and there was a pervasive air of neglect that was dispiriting.
Sophie tried to be tactful, but when faced with a bucket situated below a dark stain in the ceiling she could not hide her disapproval.
‘One storm and that whole ceiling will be down!’
The upkeep on a place like this might be a financial burden for some but not Marco.
‘It was not always like this, but since the divorce he could not bear to come here. She was a bad one, the one he married. There were men,’ Natalia told her darkly. ‘Many men and drink and still the marchese let her do anything she wanted.’
‘Marchese?’
The older woman shrugged and gave a puzzled frown. ‘Of course, there was no other son, or daughter—it is very sad. This place needs the sound of children’s laughter. Are you perhaps…?’ She looked Sophie up and down as though assessing her child-bearing hip potential.
