‘There’s no need to get hysterical, cara.’ There was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. ‘I’m only trying to help you.’
It was the last straw. Her voice rose shrilly. ‘You’re not trying to help anyone but yourself.’
He took a step towards her and held out his hands apologetically, placatingly. ‘I am. Truly. And I’m sorry about all this noise and mess.’ Turning, he barked out a few words in rapid Italian, and as if a switch had been flicked the hammering and drilling stopped and within seconds the kitchen was empty and silent.
She stared at him, confused.
‘Here. Drink this.’ He held out a glass of water and then as she took it, he shook his head and said softly, ‘You see. You’re already starting to wish you’d taken the money, aren’t you?’
For a moment she floundered, shocked by his malice and sheer bloody-mindedness, and then anger, hot and damp like wet earth, rose in her throat. Breathing out slowly, she put the glass on the table. She wanted to kill him.
‘Is that why you’re doing all of this?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I’m doing all this for my new tenant. Your new neighbour.’
She gaped at him. ‘What new neighbour?’
‘The new tenant who’s moving in today. It was in the email.’ He paused. ‘The one that wasn’t sent.’ He smiled blandly. ‘Don’t look so worried. I hand-picked him myself.’
It took all her will-power not to throw the glass of water at his head. Finally, she said flatly, ‘Let me guess. He’s a drummer in a band. Or maybe he breeds huskies or budgerigars.’
He laughed. ‘Are you saying I’d deliberately pick an antisocial tenant to make your life hard?’ He shook his head. ‘Sorry to disappoint you but there’s no dogs or birds. Just a nice, quiet businessman.’
Something wasn’t right.
His words nudged each other inside her head and then she knew what it was. She went hot, then cold, and then hot again with horror.
‘No!’ She shook her head, her pupils flaring. ‘No! You are not moving in here. You can’t—’
‘But I can.’
He paused, and her pulse soared as he smiled at her slowly—a dark, taunting smile that sent a shiver through her body.
‘You’re not scared, are you, cara? After all, it’s a big house.’
She felt a jolt, low down, felt suddenly horribly out of her depth. It was a big house but she knew that he would dominate every inch of it. A lump rose in her throat. It wasn’t fair. This house was her home—her refuge from the world. But how was she supposed to feel safe living with a man who looked at her with such absolute focus? Such predatory purpose?
Fear mingling with desire, she stared at him in silence, terrified that he might somehow be able to read her mind as the blue gaze lingered on her hot, flushed face.
Finally, he shrugged. ‘I’ve taken the bedroom next to yours—the blue room.’ Pausing, he smiled coldly. ‘Of course if you don’t like it you can always move rooms. Or move out.’
Her stomach clenched, and she could barely swallow her anger. ‘Over my dead body.’
Massimo smiled coldly. Normally his business decisions were based on logic and reason. But his decision to move into the palazzo had been driven by pure, elemental rage. Flora had defied him and he’d wanted to punish her defiance—to rub his power in her face.
Giorgio had been appalled. His team astonished. It had been reckless and completely out of character. And yet he’d still gone ahead and done it.
His body twitched and he stared at her greedily, a memory of her near naked body stealing into his mind like a cat burglar. For weeks it had been the same story. He’d found it impossible to concentrate, his mind drifting off, distracted by images of a fierce-eyed Flora melting into his arms—
His breathing slowed. And why not, he thought idly. He’d tried money and threats and reasoning with her and none of those had worked. So why not seduction?
He smiled at her, feeling the tug of sexual tension between them. ‘I’d rather be on top of your living one.’
Flora swallowed the lump in her throat. Fear spiked inside her. Until that moment it hadn’t been real—this feeling, this longing. It had just been inside her head: private, shameful. Now it was out in plain sight. His gaze rested intently on her face, and she felt something hot and dry eddy over her skin like the air pushed out of a tunnel by an approaching train.
‘You’re disgusting,’ she whispered.
He studied her face fully, his eyes narrowed, knowing, cruel. ‘Just honest,’ he murmured. His lip curled. ‘You should try it some time.’
Her pulse beat loudly in her head; her mouth was dry. What was the matter with her? Was she really so shallow that her body could simply override what her brain knew to be true? Massimo Sforza might be heart-stoppingly handsome, but he was also a despicable human being.
She walked slowly across the kitchen and stopped in front of him. They were so close that she was dizzily aware of the warmth of his body and the scent of lavender and bergamot that clung to his skin. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her eyes huge as she looked up at him.
‘You forcing your way into my home is a pretty scummy thing to do—and I’d honestly thought you couldn’t sink any lower. How wrong I was! Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t do housework, listen to opera or sleep with men I hate.’
She felt a sting of satisfaction as his smile vanished. After so many months of feeling harried, it felt good to turn on her hunter.
His fine features twisted mockingly. ‘Hate? Oh, you don’t hate me, cara. You’re afraid of me. Afraid of how I make you feel.’
They were inches apart, and she found herself staring helplessly at his full and sensuously curved lips. How could a man with so little integrity have such a beautiful mouth? It was cruel and unfair.
‘You’re right,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I am afraid. Afraid I might get sent to prison for beating you to death. As if I’d sleep with you after how you’ve treated me! You are literally the most arrogant, insensitive person I’ve ever met.’
His eyes were cold. He let the silence grow and swell between them until it felt as if it was bruising her.
Finally, he shrugged. ‘I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal of it. I’m not asking you to do anything you haven’t done before.’
Her whole body was trembling, as though the fury and outrage inside was trying to burst through her skin. ‘Which is what, exactly?’ she snapped.
He gave her a speculative look. ‘Sleep with a rich man to make your life easier.’
With satisfaction he watched something flutter across her eyes even as her hands curled into fists. How far could he push her? And how hard would it be to make her forget her anger and give in to the tension that had been building between them ever since that first day in the garden?
He gritted his teeth. For his sake, he hoped it wouldn’t be too long. His self-control was already being severely tested.
Flora felt fury sweep over her skin. ‘You’re not only rude, you’re wrong. Your girlfriends might act like that, but I’m not that kind of woman.’
‘Oh, I think you’re exactly that kind of a woman,’ he said softly. ‘But don’t get me wrong. I’m just making sure we understand one another. It doesn’t actually matter to me what kind of woman you are. After all, men and women don’t need to like or respect one another to have sex. You of all people must know that.’
She felt her breathing change, anger layering on top of the pain. ‘No. They don’t. But they have to like and respect themselves—and I wouldn’t be able to do either if I slept with you.’
There was a glint in his eye but his voice was surprisingly calm when he spoke. ‘As you wish. And now I really do have work to do, so enjoy your breakfast.’
He turned and walked out of the kitchen
before she had a chance even to register that he was leaving. For a moment, still seething with resentment, she stared after him in stunned silence. And then she shivered. Maybe she should have just taken the money and gone...
Her mouth tightened. But why should she have to give up her home? Whatever he might like to imply, he couldn’t force her to her leave. She had the law on her side. And she had the measure of him now.
Stepping out into the garden, she blinked. Only that was proving less of a help than a hindrance—now she knew just what she was up against. Knew that he would use every weapon at his disposal to get his way. Unfortunately what she hadn’t realised until now was that his most effective weapon was himself.
* * *
Hunched over a tray of seedlings in the greenhouse, Flora blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and, looking up, stared resentfully at the beautiful honey-coloured palazzo. It had only been five days since Massimo Sforza had moved into the building but already she knew that he had changed her life. And she was not sure it would ever be the same again.
Her once peaceful home was now filled with a succession of painters and plumbers—and, of course, his glossy-haired, expensively clad entourage. And that was just the men, she thought sourly.
Standing up, she arched her back and let out a long, slow, calming breath. Why did all the women employed by Sforza have to look like extras from a Victoria’s Secret show? Surely it couldn’t be a prerequisite of working there: that would be vile, not to say illegal. She pursed her lips. Although what would a bit of male chauvinism really matter to a man like Massimo?
Wiping her hands on her shorts, she picked up the tray and slid it into the rack, her face darkening. She’d been determined to ignore his existence, or at the very least treat it with the indifference it deserved. But it was proving hard when everywhere she looked there was some reminder of his presence: a pair of carelessly discarded cufflinks on the kitchen table, a sleek black sports car parked in the drive...
Flora sighed softly. Her life and her home were no longer her own. And there wasn’t anything she could do about it.
At least not if her brother was to be believed.
Freddie ran his own law firm in London and, having sat and stewed in a mixture of misery and frustration, she’d finally rung him and given him an edited version of what was happening.
Thankfully, he had a big case on and was more distracted than usual. Unfortunately he’d simply confirmed her suspicions that she had two choices: stay or leave. But somehow hearing it from him had seemed to snap it into focus.
‘The law’s on his side,’ Freddie had said, the grim note in his voice underlining her plight. ‘Technically, he should have notified you...’
He’d paused, and she’d gripped the phone tightly, willing him to present her with some watertight legal argument that would wipe that smug smile off Massimo’s handsome face.
‘And...?’ she prompted, and heard him sigh.
‘Not and—but! But it just won’t be worth pursuing it. For a start it’ll take so long to come to court, and secondly—on paper, at least—he’s a good landlord. I mean, you said he’s doing all the repairs you wanted.’
Flora stared tiredly down at her bare feet. He was. And some she hadn’t even asked him for—like installing a gleaming stainless steel cooker with a baffling array of dials and programmes.
‘I’m sorry, Flossie!’
Her brother’s use of her childhood nickname made a lump form in her throat.
‘It’s okay,’ she said quietly, kicking a pebble into the sunken pond. ‘It was just a thought. And thanks for looking into it. I know it’s not your thing.’
She could almost picture the amused expression on his face. ‘It’s a little domestic for my tastes. But then again, Sforza’s a big name. He’s high-profile. I could easily stir the pot up a little.’
She sighed. ‘No, thank you. I can handle him. It’s just nice to know I can run things past you.’
Freddie cleared his throat. ‘You know you can always ring me. It makes a nice change from all the usual horror.’
Freddie specialised in ‘causes’, not cases, but she knew he loved his work.
‘Look...’
She heard the shift in his voice.
‘I know you don’t want to hear it, but you’re wasting your time out there. There’s plenty of flowers in England too, you know. Why don’t you come home? Dad would love to see you. We both would. You can have your own room—’
Gritting her teeth, Flora interrupted her brother quickly. ‘Thanks, Freddie. But I’m not leaving the palazzo. It’s my home—’
But he’d already moved on. ‘Okay. But just promise me you’re not going to go looking for a fight. Just keep your head down and stay out of his way—’
Glancing at the seedlings in front of her, Flora sighed. Of course she had promised, and she had meant what she said.
She had no intention of giving Massimo Sforza the satisfaction of getting what he wanted, and launching an all-out battle against him would have done just that. He was clever and cool-headed enough to keep on goading her until she snapped—thus giving him the perfect justification to end her tenancy. So, much as she would have liked to take him on at every opportunity, she’d kept her promise and kept out of his way.
She bit her lip. And it was fine. Except that Massimo’s arrival in her life had been so sudden, so traumatic, that living with him felt as if she was dealing with the aftermath of some natural disaster. Everything familiar and safe had gone. Now even something simple, like eating breakfast, was so highly charged with possible outcomes that just thinking about it left her exhausted.
At some point she would be happy to resume open warfare, but in the meantime she was like a shipwreck survivor alone on a raft at sea. Picking up another tray of seedlings, she sighed. What she really needed was time to come to terms with her new circumstances. Time to get her bearings. And time to plan her next step...
* * *
Thankfully, the following two weeks went by without incident. The house was finally free of dust sheets and ladders, and the smell of wet paint was starting to fade. Much as she had done before Massimo’s arrival, Flora spent most of her days in the greenhouses, writing up notes for her thesis. And after a couple of days spent looking warily over her shoulder she’d finally begun to relax, for it was clear that whatever occupied her landlord’s days it didn’t involve venturing into what she thought of as her space.
The gardens, though, represented a somewhat trickier prospect. A sort of no man’s land. It was galling to admit it, but she skirted round them to reach the greenhouses. However, she couldn’t avoid going there for ever unless she was happy to see them all go to seed. Picking up her favourite trowel and a pair of secateurs, she shut the greenhouse door firmly. She would start today with the rose garden. It always needed the most attention.
Her cheeks grew warm. The fact that it was the garden farthest away from the palazzo obviously had nothing to do with her decision.
After days stuck in the greenhouses, it felt glorious to feel the sun on her skin and hear the birds chattering excitedly in the hedges. The air was thick and heavy: there would be a storm later, but probably not until the evening. She worked steadily, only stopping to eat a makeshift lunch of a sebadas and some grapes.
Finally straightening up, she noticed a beautiful apricot floribunda: Absent Friends. She had planted it after Umberto died. He had loved all roses, but that delicate coral colour had been his favourite.
‘You poor old thing,’ she said softly. Brushing the petals lightly with her hands, she inhaled the smooth, voluptuous scent with pleasure. ‘I’m sorry I’ve haven’t been looking after you.’ Gently, she trimmed back a couple of straggling stems. ‘There. That’s better!’
Smiling, she turned to throw the discarded blooms into her bucket—and it was th
en that she saw Massimo’s tall figure, leaning casually against the stone sun dial that formed a centrepiece to the rose garden.
‘I’ve heard of people talking to their pets. Or even to trees. But I’ve never heard anyone talk to a flower before.’
Slowly, he began to walk towards her, his eyes fixed on her face. Hypnotised, she watched him come closer, her body stilled by the sudden tension in the air. Even the birds had fallen quiet, their sharp cries replace by a taut, expectant silence.
He stopped in front of her, and she felt suddenly almost giddy. After so many days of harbouring a grudge against him it was a shock to see him again. And a greater shock to be reminded of how beautiful he was. Her eyes skipped nervously over the curved, hard muscles of his arms and chest. Dressed casually in blue jeans and a faded grey T-shirt, he looked more indie rock star than autocratic billionaire businessman.
His gaze travelled lazily over her and despite the warmth of the day she felt a shiver trickle over her skin.
‘So. Do they talk back?’
He spoke gently, without any hint of mockery, but she still felt her cheeks grow warm.
She gripped the roses tightly. ‘Sometimes.’
The sun seemed to light up the bones beneath his skin, emphasising the finely etched features, the firm jaw and smooth, slightly angular cheeks. There was strength there, and a compelling authority, but also restraint—as though he were holding something back...some dark energy. Quickly, she looked away.
‘What are they saying now?’
His voice was so cool and clear that it made her feel thirsty. Somewhere inside her head a warning bell was ringing faintly in time to the beating of her heart. He was too close, and suddenly her breath caught in her throat, hot and panicky, as around her the birds broke into sweet, high song and a trembling breeze shook the leaves on the bushes.
He alone was silent, watching her with eyes so deep and blue she thought she might drown in them.
Trying to ignore her heart thumping against her ribs, she cleared her throat. ‘They’re saying, Why is this really annoying man trampling all over us?’
A Deal Sealed by Passion Page 5
