A Guilty Affair

by Hamilton, Diana

  ‘Why the hurry, cara? We have plenty of time. Why rush back to England where it is sure to be raining? My homeland is beautiful—why don’t you relax, enjoy? Throw away your business hat; it’s very new, after all. Surely it pinches—just a little?’

  His smile was too tempting; it made her ache. Yet she wanted to tear those dark glasses away and read his expression. It would be mocking. He would be laughing at her for trying to stamp her professionalism on this meeting, still seeing her as that mousy creature who always did as she was told.

  He was getting more Italian by the moment. More dangerous. Or was the danger within herself, stemming from the way her senses responded to him like a tightly furled blossom unfolding towards the sun?

  ‘My time isn’t my own, remember?’ she got out past the sudden tightness in her throat. ‘The business is expanding and Mark and I both have venues to vet all over Europe; we can’t afford to spend too much time on a place that isn’t up and running yet. You’ll understand that.’

  Her green eyes all but begged him to understand, to allow her the small victory of retreat. She knew she wasn’t much good at hiding her real feelings and was suddenly truly desperate enough not to care.

  Her pride was no longer important—let him understand the way she was beginning to feel about him if that was what it took. No, her pride wasn’t important but her self-respect was. How could she live with herself if she didn’t limit the time she spent with him to the utmost minimum? If she allowed him time to make her feel things she shouldn’t feel, want things she shouldn’t want? And he could do that so easily, just by being there.

  He dipped his head just slightly, his smile enigmatic, then strode across the courtyard, leaving her to follow. She didn’t know if he intended to cooperate—to hurry things up and let her go—or not. Whether he thought it safer, wiser, because he knew she was falling in love—

  With a brutal spurt of mental energy she knocked the thought down. What he did to her was basic chemistry. A silly little innocent’s untutored reaction to the force of raw, primitive, shameless sex appeal. She was in love with Tom, wasn’t she? What she felt for Vaccari was nothing more elevated than lust, the temptation of the forbidden.

  She closed her eyes briefly, a knot in her throat, rooted to the spot as sudden lethargy rolled over her in waves. The temptation to do what he had suggested—relax and enjoy—was immense. The warmth of the sun stroked her body, the golden heat tempered by the soft, herb-scented breeze. Her hazy eyes fastened on him as he walked away, and clung, devouring the strong, elegant lines of him, and she knew it would be all too easy to stay, go with the drift of the moment, take what might happen...

  But she was stronger than that. She walked after him, trying to push everything out of her mind except the need to put one foot in front of the other, and caught up with him as he opened a narrow door set into the much larger, heavy oak main entrance.

  Thick, honey-coloured stone walls created a dim tunnel, emerging into a blaze of light that was a central courtyard, with stone towers at each corner and the arches of a cool loggia stretching in between.

  It was like stepping into a fantasy world... dangerous—as dangerous as the man at her side, because what he could make her feel was a fantasy too. She gave a sigh that was next-of-kin to a sob of relief as a rotund lady in black emerged from between one of the arches—she was no longer alone with him in this magical place, pulled to him by the dark enchantment that she was determined to will out of existence if she could.

  But the relief was short-lived. He spoke to the woman in rapid Italian and she responded with what looked suspiciously like a bobbing curtsey then trotted away, so she couldn’t be, as Bess had initially thought, his cousin, Emilia.

  ‘Chiara will bring us something cool to drink,’ he told her. ‘Come.’ The casual sweep of his hand indicated the direction and she went unwillingly, achingly conscious of him at her side as they passed through the shade of the loggia and into a great vaulted hall where the marble slabs were cool and echoing beneath her feet.

  There was a staircase that seemed to soar to the ceiling, two massive stone fireplaces, and stone doorways which eventually led to yet another sunny loggia, this one open to the view of the countryside and the garden upon which the castle had seemed to float when she’d seen it from the road.

  He led the way over the marble paving slabs to a group of upholstered cane chairs and a long, low table which already bore a tall jug of iced lemonade and a bowl of fruit.

  ‘Your employer will allow you to rest for ten minutes, take a little refreshment?’ A lean hand gestured sweepingly to one of the chairs and Bess knew he was mocking her, taking her earlier words and stuffing them, oh, so elegantly, down her throat.

  There was nothing she could do to counter that. She would make herself look ridiculous if she refused. Besides, she was thirsty. Taking care to sound calm and collected, she sank into the chair and remarked, ‘This is beautiful. Like a lovely outdoor room.’ There were statues along the terrace and a rampant mass of wistaria, cascades of soft pink roses tumbling over the edge, foaming into the garden below.

  But her surroundings faded into nothing as she raised her eyes to find him watching her. He was so beautiful. She wanted to reach out and touch him, trace the sensual line of his mouth with her fingers, close those tarnished-silver eyes with hot kisses ...

  Her fingers curled into her palms and her breath snagged in her throat because what she was feeling was insanity. He belonged to Helen and she belonged to Tom ...

  But she didn’t want Tom ...

  ‘I’m glad you’ve found something of which you can approve,’ he said drily, and she forced her mind back from the brink, fixing her eyes on the view as he took the chair opposite hers, stretching out his long legs. She tried to batten down panic as he added, ‘But don’t reach for your clipboard yet. There is ample time.’

  Time to compound her own foolishness, she thought grimly. Time was what she didn’t want. With every second she spent in his company the tug of his physical magnetism grew stronger, drawing her into the abyss.

  She had to get away, and soon. The fluttery panic was intensifying. She forced some lemonade down, the ice clinking against the side of the glass—an audible testament to her shaky hands—and told him, ‘I’d like to meet your cousin now and make a start on what I’m here to do.’

  And she felt as if she’d been punched in her stomach when he gave her that devastating, lazy smile and said, ‘Didn’t I explain? Emilia is in Switzerland for het health. The death of her husband, her stubborn determination to be independent and tussles with the planning authorities left her in a state of collapse. So she is away, resting, leaving me to do the honours.’ As he got languidly to his feet Bess wrapped her arms tightly around her body, holding herself together.

  The silver innocence of those eyes didn’t fool her. Of course he hadn’t told her they’d be here alone.

  She’d cope, though. She would have to. The only person she had to fear was herself. There was no real danger from him. So he’d kissed her, been more familiar than he had any right to be. And he couldn’t help flirting; it was in his Italian genes. But he didn’t mean anything by it. How could he be remotely interested in her when he would soon be marrying her gorgeous sister?

  She looked at him from deeply troubled eyes as he said, ‘Scusi. There’s something I have to attend to before we make a start.’

  He walked away and she closed her eyes to stop them devouring the lithe and economical movements of his body, then snapped them open and stood up, wanting to get herself sorted out for his return.

  After trying unsuccessfully to smooth the creases from her skirt, she resignedly gave up and smoothed down her hair instead, twisting the wayward coppery curls and securing them firmly with the pins, and took some pride in the way she was able to take her notepad in her hand and start to walk towards him as soon as he reappeared at the end of the terrace.

  ‘Perhaps you would show me the plans?’ she su
ggested levelly, refusing to allow herself the luxury of looking at him directly, pinning her gaze on one of the statues instead. ‘That’s all I need to do at this stage. There can be a proper inspection when it’s fully functioning as a hotel.’

  Neat, she told herself. Very neat. A sensiblesounding way of making her time here as short as possible.

  And she didn’t suspect a thing when he told her, ‘I have Mark on the phone for you. In the small salone. Come, I’ll show you the way.’

  It was an airy room with a painted, carved-wood ceiling, and she took up the receiver, sure that her boss was merely checking that she’d arrived safely, had everything in hand, possibly having instructions for what he wanted her to do on Monday, back at the office—especially if he intended to be away.

  But two seconds into the conversation was enough to have the colour draining from her face, her knuckles showing white through her skin as her grip tightened on the instrument.

  ‘Listen—I gather you’ve got the idea you can only afford to spend a couple of hours on the Vaccari job. Well, you can forget that, Bess.’ He sounded far from pleased and she caught a definite . threat in his voice as he added, ‘Apart from the distinct possibility of the property becoming a valuable asset on our lists, the man’s goodwill is vitally important to us at this stage. He’s to be given total co-operation. Get that? If he wants you to stay a week, going over everything with a magnifying glass, then you’ll do it. And that’s an order.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  BESS was angry. Scorchingly angry. Did he get a kick out of making her dance to his tune? Could he guess what was happening to her? Did he think it was funny?

  She was also angry with herself for getting into a situation where it actually mattered!

  She spun on the heels of her sensible flat shoes, but there was nothing sensible at all about the way she snapped at him, ‘Been telling tales, have you? What wouldn’t you stoop to to get your own way? You could have cost me my job, do you realise that?’

  As soon as the words erupted she knew they were way over the top, and the loose shrug he gave her, the eloquent way he spread his hands, was a silent, humiliating confirmation.

  ‘You do me an injustice, cara.’ The words slid out like warm dark honey, sending rough shivers down her back, and his eyes were laughing. ‘I wanted to put your mind at rest, that was all. You appeared to believe you’re expected to rush around like a tornado, while I knew Mark would want you to take your time, make a thorough inspection.’

  He shot her his sudden, wickedly irresistible smile. ‘Regard the time you spend here as a working holiday. And, while you’re at it, try to relax. You’re doing just fine. When you turned out to be Jenson’s PA I wanted to give you a medal. And that initial meeting confirmed what I’d suspected—you’re bright as a button and not afraid of concentrated work. Mark didn’t hire you to make the tea, so he’s not going to fire you for one error of judgement.’

  And who was responsible for that error of judgement? she fumed inwardly. He was!

  He had picked her out from the crowd, tormented her, teased her, flattered and flirted, scrambled her brain and made her feel things she didn’t want to feel, had no right to feel.

  So it was all his fault!

  And his patronising ‘I wanted to give you a medal’ had hit a raw nerve and she ground out, without thinking, ‘No need to pat yourself on the back. I didn’t take the job with Mark because of anything you said, so don’t think it! And if you’re thinking of repeating your advice—’ she invested the word with withering scorn ‘—that I break with Tom you can save your breath because it’s none of your business, is it?’

  And, too late, she wished she’d held her tongue because he grinned at her, his arms folded over his impressive chest, murmuring throatily, ‘Take note—I didn’t mention your dull fiancé. You did. It is something we’re going to have to work on. Together. And now we have the time, don’t we?’ His devilish smile widened. ‘All the time we need. But one step at a time. I rush nothing. Nothing—you understand?’

  All the while he’d been speaking his eyes had made a languid inspection of her body, mentally stripping away her crumpled, unappealing clothes, so she’d have had to be brain-dead not to understand, wouldn’t she?

  He intended to continue the flirting game. Because it amused him? Amused him to see his mousy soon-to-be-sister-in-law go all dewy-eyed and weak at the knees? Or was he intending to put another notch on his bedpost while he was still legally, if not morally, free to do so?

  The very thought of that started a conflagration deep inside her. She hated him for the power he had and wondered wildly if, in the years to come, he would smile at her at some family gathering, his eyes inviting her to remember...

  ‘Cara—what’s wrong?’

  She came out of the storm of her raging thoughts to drown in the silver of his eyes. Compassionate eyes. And regretful? Whatever, she couldn’t stand it. He reached out a hand to touch her face and she flung her head back savagely, not daring to accept the contact, and managed, ‘I’m annoyed over the way you pushed me into spending more time here than I can afford. But don’t worry, I can live with that.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said drily, in the same breath adding, ‘The arrangements you’d made for this weekend and had to cancel—did they include Tom?’

  ‘As it happens, yes.’

  ‘And that troubles you? Makes you unable to relax?’

  ‘No. It doesn’t trouble me.’ And that, she recognised, was the truth.

  It had bothered her to begin with, given her sleepless nights. Having to explain she’d be away when Tom had expressly asked her to be home this weekend had troubled her deeply. But it had suddenly occurred to her that Tom would never have cancelled a meeting with a client—no matter how exasperating the client or inconvenient the timing—on her account. Business was business, as he’d always maintained. So at least she no longer felt guilty about that.

  What she did feel guilty about was the way this man could make her feel.

  Pushing that go-nowhere thought aside, she fished her car keys from her handbag and tossed them to him, her mouth tight with annoyance as she said, ‘So I’m staying. It’s no big deal. Bring the suitcase from the boot and then you can show me my room. I’d like to freshen up since there’s apparently no hurry to get down to work.’

  For the first time in their odd relationship she actually had the upper hand, she thought spikily as she watched him walk away, tossing the keys idly from one hand to the other.

  If only she could keep it up. To keep herself safe from the shocking power he wielded over her senses, to keep her integrity intact, she had to put him in his place and very firmly keep him there.

  But thinking about it, watching him, there was something suspicious about that lazy, slightly swaggering walk. Something that clanged a few warning bells, imprinted a puzzled frown between her brows.

  And all was made clear when, a few minutes later, a wrinkle-faced little man trotted towards her with her suitcase in one hand and her briefcase in the other, and it was Chiara who emerged to show her to her room, introducing Alfredo as her husband, imparting in her fractured English, ‘Signor Vaccari is saying you to—to—must rest. To wait on him for la cena—più tardi—capire?’

  She tipped her head on one side, wrinkling her nose at Bess’s baffled incomprehension, before a big beaming smile lit up her friendly face. ‘Food. L’ora—nove.’ She held up nine fingers, nodding, willing Bess to understand.

  She did, and nodded bleakly. So much for getting the upper hand. She was to hang around until he condescended to see her again—for the evening meal at nine o’clock!

  He had effectually taught her not to toss orders at him and expect him to knuckle under.

  He was in control, and knowing that did nothing to settle her racing pulses, but the room she had been given was beautiful, and she made herself concentrate on that to take her mind off him and his wicked manipulations.

  The board
s beneath her feet had been polished to a high gloss and sunlight shimmered on white walls, while the wooden ceiling was richly painted with strange birds and flowers, and the headboard of the enormous bed was ornately gilded and decorated with cherubs, roses and spectacularly wellendowed naked ladies.

  And if it hadn’t been so obviously a priceless antique she would probably have blushed to the roots of her hair.

  The silent, mental battle she’d been waging against the forbidden attraction, the desperately dangerous slide into becoming deeply infatuated with Luke Vaccari, had depleted her energy until it was virtually non-existent and the bed looked so inviting, so wickedly, decadently sumptuous, and she had hours to kill...

  Knowing she should be firm with herself and use the time to finish writing up her notes on the Florence trip wasn’t enough to stop her stretching out on the white counterpane, just for a moment or two, closing her eyes to rest them for a few seconds, and opening them drowsily to find the room shrouded in blue dusk, the only illumination the soft glow of a bedside lamp, the diffused light lovingly delineating the features that stopped her heart, the tall, powerful body that made primitive need kick into raw life deep inside her.

  Luke. She didn’t know whether she breathed his name out loud; she only knew that the battle had been fought and lost.

  She was in love with the man who was about to marry her sister.

  She had committed the ultimate folly. The feeling swamped her. The pain was sharp, physical, inescapable, and she turned her head into the pillow to stifle the building sob of anguished self-disgust, but he leaned forward, long fingers capturing her chin, his touch sending charges of electrical current through her bones, his voice lapping her with warmth, with a desperate longing to reach out for him as he told her, ‘Chiara is busy with dinner. I came to show you the way down. You must have been exhausted, cara, to sleep so soundly.’

  Idly almost, he stroked the smooth curve of her cheek with the backs of his fingers and a long, trembling shudder built up deep inside her body. She gritted her teeth, barely able to contain the spiralling ache of yearning.