‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry about that.’
He commandeered her wheeled case and winced slightly as he took her hand luggage. ‘What have you got in here? Bricks?’
‘I put in a few books,’ she said as they set off towards the exit. ‘Though I wasn’t sure how much time I’d have for reading.’
Usually he would have made a provocative comment in response to such a remark but he didn’t and the unyielding expression on his face told her he wasn’t ready to forgive her for making him wait. But he didn’t say anything as they emerged into the bright sunshine and Darcy was too overcome by the bluest sky she’d ever seen to care.
‘Oh, Renzo—I can’t believe I’m in Italy. It’s so beautiful,’ she enthused as she looked around, but still he didn’t answer. In fact, he didn’t speak until his shiny black car had pulled out of the airport and was heading towards a signpost marked Chiusi.
‘I’ve been waiting at the damned airport for over an hour,’ he snapped. ‘Why weren’t you on the flight I told you to get?’
Darcy hesitated. She supposed she could come up with some vague story to placate him but hadn’t she already shrouded so much of her life with evasion and secrets, terrified that someone would examine it in the harsh light of day and judge her? Why add yet another to the long list of things she needed to conceal? And this was different. This wasn’t something she was ashamed of—so why not be upfront about the decision she’d made when he had stuffed that enormous wad of cash into her hand and made her feel deeply uncomfortable?
‘Because it was too expensive.’
‘Darcy, I gave you the money to get that flight.’
‘I know you did and it was very generous of you.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘But when I saw how much it cost to fly to Florence first class, I just couldn’t do it.’
‘What do you mean, you couldn’t do it?’
‘It seemed a ludicrous amount of money to spend on a two-hour flight so I bought a seat on a budget airline instead.’
‘You did what?’
‘You should try it sometime. It’s true they ran out of sandwiches and the tea was stone-cold, but I saved absolutely loads of money because the price difference was massive. Just like I did with the clothes.’
‘The clothes,’ he repeated uncomprehendingly.
‘Yes. I went to that department store you recommended on Bond Street but the clothes were stupidly overpriced. I couldn’t believe how much they were asking for a simple T-shirt so I went to the high street and found some cheaper versions, like this dress.’ She smoothed the crisp yellow cotton down over her thighs and her voice wavered a little uncertainly. ‘Which I think looks okay, doesn’t it?’
He flashed a glance to where her hand was resting. ‘Sure,’ he said, his voice sounding thick. ‘It looks okay.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
He slammed the palm of his hand against the steering wheel. ‘The problem is that I don’t like being disobeyed.’
She laughed. ‘Oh, Renzo. You sound like a headmaster. You’re not my teacher, you know—and I’m not your pupil.’
‘Oh, really?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘I thought I’d been responsible for teaching you rather a lot.’
His words made her face grow hot as they zoomed past blue-green mountains, but suddenly Darcy was finding the sight of Renzo’s profile far more appealing than the Tuscan countryside. He was so unbelievably gorgeous. Just the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. Would she ever feel this way about anyone again, she wondered—with a chest which became so tight when she looked at him that sometimes it felt as if she could hardly breathe? Probably not. It had never happened before, so what were the chances of it happening again? How had Renzo himself described what had happened when they first met? Colpo di fulmine—that was it. A lightning strike—which everyone knew was extremely rare. It was about the only bit of Italian she knew.
She sneaked another glance at him. His black hair was ruffled and his shirt was open at the neck—olive skin glowing gold and stunningly illuminated by the rich Tuscan light. His thighs looked taut beneath his charcoal trousers and Darcy could feel the sudden increase of her pulse as her gaze travelled along their muscular length. She’d rarely been in a car with him since the night he had seduced her—or rather, when she had fallen greedily into his arms. She’d hardly been anywhere with him other than the bedroom and suddenly she was glad about something which might have bothered other women.
Because with the amazing landscape sliding past like a TV commercial, she thought how easy it would be to get used to this kind of treatment. Not just the obvious luxury of being driven through such beautiful countryside, but the chance to be a bona fide couple like this. And she mustn’t get used to it, because it was a one-off. One last sweet taste of Renzo Sabatini before she began her new life in Norfolk and started to forget him—the man with the cold heart who had taught her the definition of pleasure. The precise and brilliant architect who turned into a tiger in the bedroom.
‘So what exactly are we going to be doing when we get to this place of yours?’ she said.
‘You mean apart from making love?’
‘Apart from that,’ she agreed, almost wishing he hadn’t said it despite the instant spring of her breasts in response. Did he need to keep drumming in her sole purpose in his life? She remembered the hiking shoes she’d packed and wondered if she’d completely misjudged the situation. Was he planning to show her anything of Tuscany, or would they simply be doing the bed thing, only in a more glamorous location? She wondered if he had sensed her sudden discomfiture and if that was the reason for his swift glance as they left the motorway for a quieter road.
‘The man who is buying the estate is coming for dinner,’ he said, by way of explanation.
‘Oh? Is that usual?’
‘Not really, but he’s actually my lawyer and I want to persuade him to keep on the staff who have worked at Vallombrosa for so long. He’s bringing his girlfriend with him, so it’ll be good to have you there to balance the numbers.’
Darcy nodded. To balance the numbers. Of course. She was there to fill an empty chair and warm the tycoon’s bed—there was nothing more to it than that. Stupidly, his remark hurt but she didn’t show it—something in which she’d learned to excel. A childhood of deprivation and fear had taught her to hide her feelings behind a mask and present the best version of herself to the world. The version that prospective foster parents might like if they were looking for a child to fit into their lovely home. And if sometimes she wondered what she might reveal if that mask ever slipped, she didn’t worry about it for too long because she was never going to let that happen.
‘So when were you last abroad?’ he questioned, as they passed a pretty little hilltop village.
‘Oh, not for ages,’ she answered vaguely.
‘How come?’
It was a long time since she’d thought about it and Darcy stared straight ahead as she remembered the charity coach trip to Spain when she’d been fifteen. When the blazing summer sun had burned her fair skin and the mobile home on the campsite had felt like sleeping in a hot tin can. They were supposed to be grateful that the church near the children’s home had raised enough money to send them on the supposed trip of a lifetime and she had really tried to be grateful. Until somebody had drilled a peephole into the wall of the female showers and there had been a huge fuss about it. And someone had definitely stolen two pairs of her knickers when she’d been out swimming in the overcrowded pool. Somehow she didn’t think Renzo Sabatini’s Tuscan villa was going to be anything like that. ‘I went on a school trip when I was a teenager,’ she said. ‘That was the only time I’ve been abroad.’
He frowned. ‘You’re not much of a traveller, then?’
‘You could say that.’
And suddenly Darcy scented danger. On the journey over she’d been worried she might do something stupid. Not something obvious, like using the wrong knife and fork at a fancy dinner, because her waitressing
career had taught her everything there was to know about cutlery.
But she realised she’d completely overlooked the fact that proximity might make her careless. Might make her tongue slip and give something away—something which would naturally repulse him. Renzo had told her that one of the things he liked about her was that she didn’t besiege him with questions, or try to dig deep to try to understand him better. But that had been a two-way street and the fact he didn’t ask about her past had suited her just fine. More than fine. She didn’t want to tell any lies but she knew she could never tell him the truth. Because there was no point. There was no future in this liaison of theirs, so why tell him about the junkie mother who had given birth to her? Why endure the pain of seeing his lips curve with shock and contempt as had happened so often in the past? In a world where everyone was striving for perfection and judging you, it hadn’t taken her long to realise that the best way to get on in life was to bury all the darkness just as deep as she could.
But thoughts of her mother stabbed at her conscience, prompting her to address something which had been bothering her on the flight over.
‘You know the money I saved on my airfare and clothes?’ she began.
‘Yes, Darcy. I know. You were making a point.’ He shot her a glance, his lips curving into a sardonic smile. ‘Rich man with too much money shown by poor girl just how much he could save if he bothered to shop around. I get the picture.’
‘There’s no need to be sarcastic, Renzo,’ she said stiffly. ‘I want you to have it back. I’ve put most of it in an envelope in my handbag.’
‘But I don’t want it back. When are you going to get the message? I have more than enough money. And if it makes you feel better, I admire your resourcefulness and refusal to be seduced by my wealth. It’s rare.’
For a moment there was silence. ‘I think we both know it wasn’t your wealth which seduced me, Renzo.’
She hadn’t meant to say it but her quiet words reverberated around the car in an honest explanation of what had first drawn her to him. Not his money, nor his power—but him. The most charismatic and compelling man she’d ever met. She heard him suck in an unsteady breath.
‘Madonna mia,’ he said softly. ‘Are you trying to tempt me into taking the next turning and finding the nearest layby so that I can do what I have been longing to do to you since last I saw you?’
‘Renzo—’
‘I don’t want the damned money you saved! I want you to put your hand in my lap and feel how hard I am for you.’
‘Not while you’re driving,’ said Darcy and although she was disappointed he had turned the emotional into the sexual, she didn’t show it. Because that was the kind of man he was, she reminded herself. He was never emotional and always sexual. She didn’t need to touch him to know he was aroused—a quick glance and she could see for herself the hard ridge outlined beneath the dark trousers. Suddenly her lips grew dry in response and she licked them, wishing they could have sex right then. Because sex stopped you longing for things you were never going to have. Things other women took for granted—like a man promising to love and protect you. Things which seemed as distant as those faraway mountains. With an effort she dragged her attention back to the present. ‘Tell me about this place we’re going to instead.’
‘You think talking about property is a suitable substitute for discovering what you’re wearing underneath that pretty little dress?’
‘I think it’s absolutely vital if you intend keeping your mind on the road, which is probably the most sensible option if you happen to be driving a car.’
‘Oh, Darcy.’ He gave a soft laugh. ‘Did I ever tell you that one of the things I admire about you is your ability to always come up with a smart answer?’
‘The house, Renzo. I want to talk about the house.’
‘Okay. The house. It’s old,’ he said as he overtook a lorry laden with a towering pile of watermelons. ‘And it stands against a backdrop that Leonardo should have painted, instead of that village south of Piacenza which is not nearly as beautiful. It has orchards and vineyards and olive groves—in fact, we produce superb wines from the Sangiovese grape and enough olive oil to sell to some of the more upmarket stores in London and Paris.’
The few facts he’d recited could have been lifted straight from the pages of an estate agent’s website and Darcy felt oddly disappointed. ‘It sounds gorgeous,’ she said dutifully.
‘It is.’
‘So...why are you selling it?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s time.’
‘Because?’
Too late, she realised she had asked one question too many. His face grew dark, as if the sun had just dipped behind a cloud and his shadowed jaw set itself into a hard and obdurate line.
‘Isn’t one of the reasons for our unique chemistry that you don’t plague me with questions?’
She heard the sudden darkness underpinning his question. ‘I was only—’
‘Well, don’t. Don’t pry. Why change what up until now has been a winning formula?’ His voice had harshened as he cut through her words, his hands tensing as a discreet sign appeared among the tangle of greenery which feathered the roadside. ‘And anyway. We’re here. This is Vallombrosa.’
But his face was still dark as the car began to ascend a tree-lined track towards an imposing pair of dark wrought-iron gates which looked like the gates of heaven.
Or the gates of hell, Darcy thought with a sudden flash of foreboding.
CHAPTER THREE
‘HOW ON EARTH am I going to converse with everyone?’ questioned Darcy as she stepped out onto the sunny courtyard. ‘Since my Italian is limited to the few words I learnt from the phrasebook on the plane and that phrase about the lightning strike?’
‘All my staff are bilingual,’ Renzo said, his show of bad temper in the car now seemingly forgotten. ‘And perfectly comfortable with speaking your mother tongue.’
The words mocked her and Darcy chewed on her lip as she looked away. Mother tongue? Her own mother had taught her to say very little—other than things which could probably have had her prosecuted if she’d repeated them to the authorities.
‘Pass Mummy that needle, darling.’
‘Pass Mummy those matches.’
‘If the policewoman asks if you’ve met that man before, tell her no.’
But she smiled brightly as she entered the shaded villa and shook hands with Gisella, the elderly housekeeper, and her weather-beaten husband, Pasquale, who was one of the estate’s gardeners. A lovely young woman with dark hair helped Gisella around the house and Darcy saw her blush when Renzo introduced her as Stefania. There was also a chef called Donato, who apparently flew in from Rome whenever Renzo was in residence. Donato was tanned, athletic, amazingly good-looking and almost certainly gay.
‘Lunch will be in an hour,’ he told them. ‘But sooner if you’re hungry?’
‘Oh, I think we can wait,’ said Renzo. He turned to Darcy. ‘Why don’t we take a quick look around while our bags are taken to our room?’
Darcy nodded, thinking how weird it felt to be deferred to like that—and to be introduced to his staff just like a real girlfriend. But then she reminded herself that this was only going to work if she didn’t allow herself to get carried away. She followed him outside, blinking a little as she took in the vastness of his estate and, although she was seeing only a fraction of it, her senses were instantly overloaded by the beauty of Vallombrosa. Honeybees flitted over purple spears of lavender, vying for space with brightly coloured butterflies. Little lizards basked on baked grey stone. The high walls surrounding the ancient house were covered with scrambling pink roses and stone arches framed the blue-green layers of the distant mountains beyond. Darcy wondered what it must be like growing up somewhere like here, instead of the greyness of the institution in the north of England, which had been the only place she’d ever really called home.
‘Like it?’ he questioned.
‘How could I not? It’s beautiful.
’
‘You know, you’re pretty beautiful yourself,’ he said softly as he turned his head to look at her.
Remembering the way he’d snapped at her in the car, she wanted to resist him, but the light touch of his hand on her hip and brush of his fingers against her thighs made resistance impossible and Darcy was shaking with longing by the time they reached the shuttered dimness of his bedroom. It was a vast wood-beamed room but there was no time to take in her surroundings because he was pulling her into his arms, his lips brushing hungrily over hers and his fingers tangling themselves in her curls.
‘Renzo,’ she said unsteadily.
‘What?’
She licked her lips. ‘You know what.’
‘I think I do.’ His lips curved into a hard smile. ‘You want this?’
Sliding down the zip of her cotton dress, he peeled it away from her and she felt the rush of air against her skin as it pooled to the ground around her ankles. ‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘That’s what I want.’
‘Do you know,’ he questioned as he unclipped her lacy bra and it joined the discarded dress, ‘how much I have been fantasising about you? About this?’
She nodded. ‘Me, too,’ she said softly, because the newness of the environment and the situation in which she found herself was making her feel almost shy in his presence.
But not for long. The beat of her heart and the heat of her blood soon overwhelmed her and had her fumbling for his belt, her fingers trembling with need. Very quickly she was naked and so was he—soft, shuttered light shading their bodies as he pushed her down onto the bed and levered his powerful form over hers. She gripped at the silken musculature of his broad shoulders as he slowly stroked his thumb over her clitoris. And she came right then—so quickly it was almost embarrassing. He laughed softly and eased himself into her wet heat and for a moment he was perfectly still.
Secrets of a Billionaire's Mistress (Mills & Boon Modern) (One Night With Consequences, Book 29) Page 4
