Falling for the Sardinian Baron

by Rosanna Battigelli

  The panino and water had helped. Her color had returned and apparently her spirit, as well.

  He stood up and checked his watch. “There’s really no point in going over the interview schedule tonight. Why don’t you just relax for the rest of the evening? There’s actually a guest bedroom on this floor. I’d feel much better if you slept down here.” He glanced up at the staircase leading to the loft. “I wouldn’t want you to have another dizzy spell, Ella.”

  “I feel fine, now that I’ve had something to drink and eat,” she said with a shrug. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Massimo said crisply. “You’re a guest on my island. Therefore, I’m responsible for you. And for your safety.”

  He saw Ella’s eyebrows arch and caught a flicker of indecision when she followed his gaze back to the stairwell.

  “Maybe you should just stay in a guest room at my villa for tonight,” he said, stroking his chin. “Or, you can stay here but I will sleep in the guest room on this floor. Either way, I’ll be close by, in case you need me.”

  He saw Ella’s eyes flicker with...surprise? Suspicion? Good heavens, was she thinking...? Of course she might think it. She was alone on an island with a billionaire whose reputation she knew little or nothing about. For all she knew, he was a rake who was using her dizziness as an excuse to manipulate the situation by pretending to be concerned for her health and safety.

  “Look, signorina,” he said, feeling he needed to address her with some formality. “You don’t have to worry. There’s a Moorish sword displayed on one wall in your room. You can easily remove it to defend yourself if you feel the need.” His mouth twitched, but he could see that she wasn’t amused. Or convinced.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I think it’s better if you just stay here, and I will stretch out on the chaise lounge on the beach. If you are not feeling well, you just need to call me from your balcony overlooking the cove. I just want to make sure you will be okay tonight,” he added in what he hoped was a gentle tone, but it came out sounding gruff.

  Ella gaped at him. “But...what if a wolf or wild boar—?”

  He burst out laughing. “Let me reassure you, Ella, there are no wolves on my island. As for wild boars—” he shrugged “—my ancestors sometimes had to fight them with bare hands.” His eyes narrowed. And I’ve had to fight worse demons. He felt a tightening in his chest. “But those ancestors all survived.”

  He stood up brusquely. “The only wild boar we will encounter on this island is the one from the market, served for dinner in a ragù. I will accompany you up the stairs, Ella, and then I will leave you to enjoy my night under the stars.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DECIDING THAT HIS dark eyes were sincere, Ella made her way carefully up the spiral stairway and walked slowly into her room, her gaze landing on the Moorish sword. A shiver ran through her, not because of fear, but because of the sense of mystery around Massimo DiLuca.

  Changing into a nightgown, she thought about the man in whose company she had been for less than two days. Yet in that short time, she had glimpsed different sides to him. He was a good son, had shown Ella his generosity and sense of humor, concern and empathy, but there was also an intensity about him that she suspected he kept in check.

  Perhaps it was a trait he had inherited from his wild boar-wrestling Sardinian ancestors. She had a sudden image of him in a torn linen shirt, his muscled chest and forearms glistening with perspiration, his eyes blazing with passion as he confronted a charging boar.

  Oh. My. God. What was she doing? This was not good. No, no, no. She had to get these kinds of thoughts out of her mind. Get this Sardinian out of her mind. At least in that way...

  Good luck with that, an inner voice chuckled. He’s hardly like your last boyfriend. This one is a man who’s willing to sleep outside to make sure you’re okay during the night.

  Ella’s pulse quickened. She turned off the light and walked to the open balcony doors. The sky looked like a blue-black quilt speckled with clusters of stars. Ella caught her breath. They looked so close... The half-moon, suspended jauntily at an angle, was reflected in the waters of the cove, undulating ripples, their gentle swoosh on the shore sounding like a meditation app she had sometimes listened to.

  Her gaze shifted to the outdoor furniture set farther back from the beach on a large landscaped area with a diagonally tiled section. Massimo was lying back on a cushioned chaise lounge with his hands joined behind his neck, staring out at the water. He must have grabbed a throw on his way out; it was bunched up against his leg.

  He was actually going to sleep outside.

  Either he was crazy or just a hell of a nice guy.

  Watching Massimo in the dark gave her a strange feeling. What if he looked up and saw her? Ella turned away and went over to lie down on the bed. The breeze was strong enough to reach her, but it was pleasant. She would probably not need the bed covers tonight.

  But how could she possibly fall asleep when the man—the billionaire—she would be interviewing tomorrow had decided to camp out on a chaise lounge outside his guesthouse, just because he was concerned about her?

  Ella shifted to one side of the bed. At times she had wondered what it would be like to have a partner, someone you trusted with your secrets and your life. But those thoughts hadn’t lingered. Her goal was to be the best that she could at her chosen career, and unless her future forever man was able to put stars in her eyes, she had reasoned to herself, then her work would continue to be her focus.

  Ella flipped her pillow over and, after a few restless minutes, felt her eyelids starting to droop. The mattress was perfect...

  Her eyes flew open. How could she allow herself to sleep when Massimo was sacrificing his comfort for her? She turned to view the sky. And the stars, which seemed even brighter now. Sighing, she rolled out of bed and padded to the balcony.

  Peering down, she saw that he had turned to one side, his arms crossed at his chest. He had fallen asleep.

  A warm feeling of tenderness washed over her, followed by a hint of guilt. She couldn’t let him stay there the whole night.

  “Massimo,” she called out.

  He leaped out of the chaise and looked up. “Are you all right? Are you dizzy again?”

  “No, I’m fine. It’s just... I can’t let you sleep all night out there.” She paused. “So if you intend on staying, then...you might as well stay in the guest room. That way, at least we’ll both get some rest.”

  For a few moments Massimo didn’t respond, and Ella wished she could see his face out of the shadows.

  “Va bene,” he said huskily. “I am glad you are okay. Buona notte.”

  Ella watched as he grabbed the throw and disappeared into the shadows.

  She glanced up at the sky and felt a knot form in her throat. When she was young and missing her father, her mother would gently tell her that he was in a place called heaven, where there were many beautiful angels and that when she looked up at a sky full of stars, it was their wings sparkling, and he was close by...

  She got back into bed and realized that she had left her bedroom door partially open. She thought about closing it and then decided against it. Massimo DiLuca would not be intruding on her privacy. He had already shown a selflessness that had stunned her, reinforcing her gut feeling he was a man of integrity and honor.

  Ella pulled the light bedsheet over her, leaving her arms uncovered. It was strange to think of sleeping under the same roof as this enigmatic baron, and just as strange to think about being in the same bed that he had slept in.

  She heard some movements and felt her pulse quicken. And then she heard his footsteps receding and a door opening and shutting. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to fall asleep. They would be meeting tomorrow morning, and she wanted to appear alert and articulate. And in the afternoon
when she was on her own, she’d go online and book a place to stay once her interview sessions were over. She had decided that it made sense to find a place in Posada, where her uncle still lived and where her father came from.

  It was a heady feeling, knowing that she was finally back in Sardinia and could soon be connecting with an uncle who had been part of her early life. Maybe he could shed some light—if he knew anything at all—about the mother—no, woman—who had given her up for adoption.

  And maybe help Ella to find her.

  In any case, Ella considered only one person her mother, and that was the one who had chosen her. Cassandra.

  If she ever had children, she would name her little girl Cassandra. And call her Cassie, too. And if she had a boy, she would give him her father’s name. She wouldn’t use the English version of Michael. No, she would keep it Micheli, to honor the Sardinian man who had adopted her and loved her for four years, before...

  Ella’s eyes welled up. The photos her mother had of those years were precious to her. She had gone over them so many times with Cassandra, who had shared them with Ella from the time she was able to understand, telling her how much her papà had loved her and how he had taken her everywhere: to the piazza for a jaunt, sitting on his shoulders; to his parents’ farm to pick olives; to the sea for an early-morning swim; or to the countryside for a picnic. One of Ella’s favorite photos was one a family member had taken of her parents, smiling as they both held her between them, as they celebrated her fourth birthday, her last with her father...

  “Oh, papà, I’ve come home,” she whispered, dabbing her eyes with the edge of the bedsheet.

  * * *

  Massimo took off his shirt and pants and tossed them on top of a chair. Now that he was in the guesthouse, he might as well be comfortable. He opened the shutters of the large window and stretched out on the bed, the half-moon lending the room some illumination.

  His heartbeat had settled down after rocketing twice in the last few hours. Ella Ross had given him quite the scare. First with her dizzy spell, and just a few minutes ago when she had called him from the balcony. Thank goodness that she hadn’t experienced another episode. Still, he wondered if he should arrange for her to see a doctor... He’d ask her tomorrow.

  He breathed in and out deeply. The breeze was refreshing after the heat of the day, and he would have been comfortable enough outside, but he couldn’t say that he was disappointed to be spending the night in this king-size bed. After the jolt of hearing Ella call his name, he had been genuinely surprised at her comment.

  So, she trusted him...

  The last thing he had expected today was to be spending the night in his guesthouse. With his Canadian guest. And although she had consented to having him sleep inside, he imagined that she might be feeling a little awkward, as he was.

  She wasn’t what he had expected.

  He was intrigued by her, actually. He liked the fact she hadn’t put on any airs or pretenses. She hadn’t tried to impress him, and she had had no problem letting him know how she felt, like when she had shared the fact that she had suffered loss in her life. He had regretted being so judgmental.

  When his lifestyle had been more public before the passing of his wife, Massimo had generally observed people found it hard to be themselves around him. Being a billionaire either made people stay away from him, mistakenly thinking themselves as inferior, or they blatantly tried to ingratiate themselves with him.

  Ella hadn’t shown either tendency. And that put him at ease about the upcoming interviews. He just hoped she wouldn’t have any further episodes of dizziness.

  He closed his eyes. The sheets felt cool on his bare chest and legs. He wondered if Ella was just as comfortable in his bed. An image flashed in his mind of her face on his pillow, just the way it had been resting against his chest earlier...

  Something pulled in his chest. Something that caught Massimo by surprise.

  He didn’t want to go there.

  He redirected his thoughts to a safer place: the next day’s agenda. He was to have shown up at the guesthouse at 9:00 a.m., accompany Ella to his villa, offer her a cappuccino and biscotti and then proceed to his study for the first official interview.

  But since he was already at the guesthouse, he would take the liberty of preparing espresso and cappuccino for them the next morning. And the refrigerator and pantry were fully stocked, so he would put together a breakfast tray. That was, if he was up before she was.

  He paused. This all sounded so...so intimate, the way a man would act for his lady or vice versa. But, he reasoned to himself, there was no point leaving in the morning only to return a while later. And there was no reason that they couldn’t deal with this situation in a professional way.

  Since they hadn’t gone over the entire week’s agenda this evening, they would start with that first thing in the morning. He imagined the interview itself would focus on the history of the DiLuca family, its origins, noteworthy ancestors and the role of a baron throughout the centuries, for starters. That in itself could take the whole day, he mused wryly, let alone a couple of hours or so.

  Massimo turned on one side to gaze at the star-dotted sky. A few seconds later, he caught the flash of a falling star. Had Ella seen it? It would have been something, seeing it while outside... He felt a surge of pride and gratitude, living in such a beautiful region. He hoped Ella would be able to enjoy some of it in the week she was here. She had the afternoons to herself, and he had already stated in the letter to her boss that he would arrange for her boat trip back and forth from Villa Serena to Sardinia whenever she wanted.

  He remembered that Ella would be staying for an additional week. She should really think about booking a place as soon as possible. Sardinia was a prime holiday destination in the summer, and prices would be higher during this peak season, especially in the most popular resort region, the Costa Smeralda, if that’s where she wanted to stay.

  Leaving it this late could make finding a place challenging. He’d diplomatically pose the question of what kind of accommodation she was looking for in the morning. Not that he was interested in knowing her budget, but he could advise her as to some possibilities. He knew many resort owners, and not only ones with high-end establishments.

  Massimo heard the sudden high-pitched call of a scops owl, its intermittent cry sounding like a timer going off, and a second, more distant call. He was used to these night sounds, and they generally didn’t disturb his sleep. But he wondered if Ella was hearing them now or had already fallen into a deep slumber.

  He closed his eyes. He needed to stop thinking about her if he wanted to get a half-decent sleep tonight...

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ELLA WOKE UP when her alarm went off. She reached over to stop it and realized that the aroma of coffee had wafted into her room. She sat up and squinted at her surroundings, disoriented for a moment. And then she remembered she wasn’t alone. The reclusive Baron DiLuca had spent the night in the guest bedroom. In his own guesthouse. Rubbing her eyes, she got out of bed and padded to the en suite bathroom for a quick shower, aware of the soft drumming in her chest. She still couldn’t believe that he had been willing to sleep outside the entire night so he could be around if she felt dizzy again.

  Well, she felt absolutely fine now. Refreshed and ready for a cappuccino before heading to Massimo’s villa for the first interview. She headed over to the closet and looked for something professional but also light and comfortable.

  She chose a pair of tropical-themed palazzo pants and a fuchsia silk top with short sleeves and slanted hemline. She put on a pair of cream wedge sandals and made her way out of the loft and down the spiral staircase.

  “Buongiorno, Ella.” Massimo nodded, his gaze sweeping over her. “Your cappuccino is ready.”

  “My goodness. I didn’t expect to be treated like royalty.” She crossed the living room and entered the adjoining
kitchen.

  Massimo laughed. “You would be an easy queen to please,” he said. “Not like the queen bee, who expects to be royally served with honey.”

  “Well, I don’t aspire to such extravagant tastes,” she replied with a fluttering of her lashes as she sat at the curved island. “I come from humble beginnings.”

  “Oh?” Massimo’s eyes narrowed as he set down her demitasse. “What exactly is your heritage?”

  Ella had a sip of her cappuccino. Why was she always saying things that she regretted? “Um, I’m Canadian.”

  “Are you sure?” he said, his mouth quirking. “You seemed to hesitate.”

  Ella laughed uneasily. “Well, you know us Canadians. We have a variety of cultures in our heritage.” She reached for a brioche from the plate he had prepared. “Thanks, by the way, for getting all this ready.”

  Massimo nodded. “Prego. I hoped you wouldn’t mind.”

  “It’s your guesthouse.”

  “Sì, but you’re the guest. It’s your space now.” He raised his eyebrows. “I trust you had a good sleep? The bed was comfortable enough?”

  The intensity of his dark eyes and the mention of his bed, where she had imagined him sleeping, caused spears of heat to swirl through her. “Yes, thank you. It was such a beautiful night. The sky was amazing. I’ve never seen so many stars up there. And I actually saw a shooting star.” She stopped, realizing she was rambling.

  “Did you make a wish?”

  Ella’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh, do Italians do that, too?”

  “Yes, there is a feast day for a martyr on August tenth, La Festa di San Lorenzo. It coincides with a meteor shower, and the falling stars, or stelle cadenti, are said to be San Lorenzo’s tears.” He gazed at her intently. “So did you make a wish, Ella?”