‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Ma Brown insisted. ‘I’m taking charge of this,’ she said as she snatched the banknote out of Callie’s hand.
‘Think of it as an early Christmas present from your father,’ Rosie soothed when she saw Callie’s distress. ‘Ma will do something sensible with it.’
‘It would be the first gift he’d ever given her,’ Ma Brown grumbled. ‘And as for doing something sensible with it?’ She winked. ‘I’ve got other ideas.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Callie said with a weak smile, hoping the subject would go away now.
Knowing her friend was upset beneath her humour, Rosie quickly changed the subject and it wasn’t spoken of again. The next Callie heard of their surprise find was at supper with the Browns. When the girls had finished clearing up, Ma Brown folded her arms and beamed, a sure sign of an announcement.
‘Now then, our Callie, before you say anything, we know you don’t gamble and we know why you don’t gamble, but just this once you’re going to take something from me, and say thank you and nothing else.’
Callie tensed when she saw the five-pound scratch card Ma Brown was holding out.
‘You’ll need something to scratch the card,’ Pa observed matter-of-factly as he dug in his pocket for some loose change.
‘Close your eyes and imagine where all that money’s going to take you,’ Rosie urged, glancing at the other Browns to will them to persuade Callie that this could be a good thing if she got lucky.
‘All what money?’ Callie had to smile when the Browns fell silent. Silence was such a rare occurrence in this household, she couldn’t let them down.
‘It’s time for a change of luck,’ Rosie pressed. ‘What have you got to lose?’
The Browns had been nothing but kind. The money she’d get from the scratch card would likely take her as far as the hearth to toss it in the fire when it proved a dud. ‘Close my eyes and imagine myself somewhere I’ve always dreamed of...’
‘Open your eyes and scratch the bloody card,’ Ma Brown insisted.
As everyone burst out laughing Callie sat down at the table and started scratching the surface of the card.
‘Well?’ Ma Brown prompted. ‘Don’t tease us. Tell us what you’ve got.’
‘Five. Thousand. Pounds.’
No one said a word. Seconds ticked by. ‘What did you say?’ Rosie prompted.
‘I’ve won five thousand pounds.’
The Browns exploded with excitement, and the next few hours were spent in a fury of mad ideas. Opening a pie and peas shop next to the pub, a sandwich bar to serve the local business park. ‘I want to give my money to you,’ Callie insisted.
‘Not a chance.’ Ma Brown crossed her capable arms across her capacious chest, and that was the end of it.
Callie made up her mind to put some of it aside for them, anyway.
‘You could buy all the rescue dogs in the world,’ one young Brown called Tom said optimistically.
‘Or a second-hand car,’ another boy exclaimed.
‘Why don’t you spend it all on clothes?’ one of the girls proposed. ‘You’ll never get another chance to fill your wardrobe.’
What wardrobe? Callie thought. Her worldly possessions were contained in a zip-up bag, but she smiled and went along with this idea and they all had some fun with it for a while.
‘It isn’t a fortune and our Callie should do something that makes her happy,’ Pa Brown said. ‘It should be something she’s always dreamed of, that she will remember for ever. She’s had little enough fun in her life up to now, and this is her chance.’
The room went quiet. No one had heard Pa Brown give such a long speech before. Ma Brown always spoke for him, if the dogs and his brood weren’t drowning him out.
‘Well, our Callie,’ Ma Brown prompted. ‘Have you got any thoughts on the subject?’
‘Yes, I do,’ Callie said, surprising herself as she thought of it.
‘Not Blackpool,’ Rosie said, rolling her eyes. ‘We can go there any weekend we like.’
‘Well?’ the Browns chorused, craning forward.
Reaching for the television guide, Callie opened it out flat on the table. There was a double-page spread, a travel feature, showing vibrant green lemon groves hung heavily with yellow fruit. A young family of husband, wife and two children capered across the grass, staring out towards unimaginable adventures. The headline read: Visit Italy.
‘Why not?’ Callie said as all the Browns fell silent. ‘I can dream, can’t I?’
‘You can more than dream now,’ Ma Brown pointed out with her usual common sense.
But by this time, Callie was already putting her dream on the back burner in favour of a far more realistic plan. Perhaps a weekend in a small coastal resort nearby. She could look for a job while she was there.
‘Think big. Think Italy,’ Rosie insisted.
‘That would be a proper memory, all right,’ Pa Brown agreed.
Callie stared out of the window at a grey, dismal scene. Like the rented house where she’d grown up, the Browns’ opened out onto the street, but the people passing by outside had their shoulders hunched against the cold. The photo in the magazine promised something very different. Rather than traffic fumes and bed socks, there’d be sunshine and fruit trees. She glanced at the page again. It was like a window opening onto another world. The colours were extraordinary. The people in the shot might be models, but they surely couldn’t fake that happiness, or the sense of freedom on their faces.
‘Italy,’ Ma Brown commented, her lips pressing down as she thought about it. ‘You’ll need some new clothes for that. Don’t look so worried, our Callie. You won’t need to spend much. You can do very well on the high street.’
Rosie clearly had other ideas and frowned at her mother. ‘This is Callie’s chance to have something special,’ she whispered.
‘And she should,’ Pa Brown agreed, picking up on this. ‘Goodness knows, she’s gone without long enough.’
‘A mix, then,’ Ma Brown conceded. ‘High Street with designer flourishes.’ And with that healing remark the family was content.
‘Amalfi,’ Callie breathed as copying the idea in the magazine took shape in her mind. The thought of a short trip to Italy made her head reel with excitement. A change of scene was what she needed before she started the next phase of her life, and the win had made it possible.
‘All that wonderful sunshine and delicious food, not to mention the music,’ Rosie commented with her hand on her heart as she thought about it.
All that romance and the Italian men, Callie’s inner devil whispered seductively. She blanked out the voice. She had always been cautious when it came to romance. She’d had too many duties at home to be frivolous, and too many opportunities to witness first-hand how violent men could be.
‘Come on, our Callie. Where’s your sense of adventure?’ Ma Brown demanded as all the Browns murmured encouragement.
She was free to do as she liked, so why not don a glamorous dress and designer heels for once? A few days of being not Callie was more than tempting, it was a possibility now. Just this once, the good girl could unleash her fun side—if she could still find it.
CHAPTER TWO
HE NOTICED THE woman sitting at the bar right away. Even from behind she was attractive. It was something in the way she held herself, and her relaxed manner with his friend, Marco, the barman. He’d just ended a call with Max, and was in the worst of moods. Max had lost no time in Luca’s absence causing unrest in Fabrizio. Max had been a thorn in his side since they were boys. Thanks to his mischief, Luca should not be visiting his beautiful lemon groves on the Amalfi coast, but should return immediately to Fabrizio, but this was an annual pilgrimage to a place he loved amidst people he cared for, and nothing, not even Max, could distract him from that. Though on this occasion, he could only spare a couple of nights here.
The woman was a distraction. She was watching everyone come in through the mirrors behind the bar. Was she waiti
ng for a lover? He felt a stab of jealousy and wondered why he cared when she could just as easily be waiting for a family member, or for a friend.
He’d dropped by the hotel to invite Marco to the annual celebrations at the start of the lemon-picking season. He and Marco had grown up together, as Marco’s father had worked for the late Prince. Standing at the end of the bar where he could talk discreetly to Marco when he was free, he saw the woman clearly for the first time. She was confident and perky, and obviously enjoying the chance to trial the Italian language. Laughter lit her face when she got something wrong and Marco corrected her.
Feeling mildly irritated by their obvious rapport, he returned to working her out. Her profile was exquisite, though she seemed unaware of this, just as she seemed unaware of the appeal of her slight, though voluptuous body. She was understated, unlike his usual, sophisticated type. He couldn’t help but be intrigued. Dressed impeccably, though plainly for this setting in one of the coast’s most famous hotels, as if she was playing a role, she was almost too perfect. Her red hair was lush and shiny, cut short for practicality, rather than fashion, he guessed. Her eyes were green and up-tilted, giving her a faintly exotic look. A light tan and freckles suggested she’d been here no more than a week and lived somewhere cooler.
This was a lot of thought to expend on a woman who seemed unaware of his interest. Or was she? His groin tightened when she turned to stare at him boldly and was in no hurry to look away.
Interesting.
‘Good evening.’ After politely acknowledging the woman, he gave Marco a look that left his friend in no doubt that Luca wished to remain incognito.
Sensing mischief afoot, Marco grinned. They exchanged the usual complicated handshake, while the woman looked on with interest. She was even more beautiful than he’d first thought. Her scent was intoxicating. Wildflowers. How appropriate, he thought as Marco left them to go and serve another customer. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’
She levelled a stare on his face. ‘Do I know you?’
The bluntness of her question took him by surprise, as did her forthright tone. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marco lift a brow. His friend would call security if Luca gave the word, and the woman would be politely moved on. An almost imperceptible shake of Luca’s head knocked that idea out of court.
‘My name is Luca,’ he told her as he extended his hand in greeting.
She ignored his hand. Intelligent eyes, framed by long black eyelashes, viewed him with suspicion.
‘I don’t believe we’ve met,’ he pressed, waiting for her to volunteer her name. ‘I don’t bite,’ he added when she continued to withhold her hand.
‘But you’re very persistent,’ she said, making it clear there would be no physical contact between them.
Persistent? Outwardly, he remained deadpan. Inwardly, he cracked up. Women referred to his charm and thought him attentive. Clearly, this woman had other ideas. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘Fizzy water, please,’ she replied.
Turning to Marco, he murmured, ‘Aqua frizzante per la signorina, e lo stesso per me, per favore.’
‘Sì, signor,’ Marco replied, serving up two sparkling waters.
Her gaze remained steady on his as she took her first sip. There wasn’t a hint of simpering or recognition in her eyes, just that desirable mouth smiling faintly. Even now she’d had time to think about it, he was a man in a bar and that was it. She had no idea who he was, and would trust him as far as a glass of water was concerned, but no further. If she was unaware that his face had been plastered all over the news lately, since he’d ascended the throne of Fabrizio, something big must have happened in her life.
So, beautiful mystery woman, he mused as she returned his interest coolly, who are you, and what are you doing in Amalfi?
* * *
Straightening the short silk skirt on her designer dress, Callie wished she had worn the Capri pants Rosie had insisted were essential to Callie’s Italian adventure instead. So chic, Rosie had said as Callie had turned full circle, wishing she could get away with a new pair of jeans and a top. The Capris were still in the wardrobe upstairs in the hotel, as she’d been unsure which shoes to wear with them.
At least Capris would have been decent. The dress was anything but. Far too short, it was enticing. She could only imagine what this incredible-looking man had thought when he’d first seen her perched at the bar. How could she convey the fact that she wasn’t here for that type of business, and that this was, in fact, a holiday? The thought of an Italian adventure had excited her, but she hadn’t envisaged such a dynamite opening scene. She fell well short compared to the other, more sophisticated women in the bar. There was barely enough fabric in her skirt to cover her fundamentals. She couldn’t move for fear of it riding up, and with her naked thigh so close to the man’s denim-clad muscles, that was a pressing concern.
‘You didn’t tell me your name.’
She turned to look at him as the dark velvet voice, with its seductive hint of an Italian accent, rolled over her. Strange how sound could send shivers spinning up and down her spine. Her chin felt as if it had half a universe to travel, as she moved from scrutinising his muscular thighs, to staring into a pair of mesmerising black eyes. Mesmerising and amused, she noticed now. He hadn’t missed her fascination with the area below his belt. Her cheeks burned as she volunteered with a direct stare into his eyes, ‘My name is Callista.’
His lips pressed down in the most attractive way, drawing her attention to the fact that his mouth was almost as expressive and beautiful as his eyes. ‘Greek for most beautiful,’ he remarked. ‘That explains everything.’
‘Really?’ She did her best to simper and then hardened her tone. ‘I’ve heard of people being born with silver spoons in their mouths, but yours must have been coated in sugar.’
He laughed, and then affected a wounded expression. ‘I’m crushed,’ he exclaimed, holding both hands to his powerful chest.
‘No, you’re not,’ she insisted good-humouredly, starting to like him more now he’d proved to have a sense of humour. ‘You’re the most together person I’ve ever met.’
He smiled. ‘So what is Callista the huntress doing on her own in a hotel bar?’
‘Not what you think,’ she flashed back.
‘What I think?’ he queried.
‘What are you doing on your own in the bar?’ she countered.
He laughed again, a blinding flash of strong white teeth against his impressive tan. ‘I’m here to see the barman. What’s your excuse?’
‘A holiday.’ She levelled a stare on his face. ‘What do you do for a living?’
The bluntness of her question seemed to take him by surprise, but he soon recovered. ‘This and that.’
‘This and that, what?’ she pressed.
‘I guess you could call me a representative.’
‘What do you sell?’
‘I promote a country’s interests, its culture, industry and people.’
‘Ah, so you’re in the tourism business,’ she exclaimed. ‘That’s nice.’ And when he nodded, she asked, ‘Which country do you represent?’
‘Are you staying here long?’ he asked, changing the subject.
The fact he’d ignored her question didn’t escape her notice and she gave him a suspicious look. Then, obviously deciding it couldn’t do any harm to tell him a little more, she added, ‘Not long enough.’
She was enjoying the man’s company and decided to prolong the exchange. He excited her. It was no use pretending when every nerve ending she possessed was responding with enthusiasm to the wicked expression in his laughing black eyes. She’d never flirted before, and was surprised to find she rather liked it. This man could turn her insides warm and needy with a look.
‘Have you been dancing yet?’ he enquired, shooting her an interested look.
‘Is that an invitation?’
‘Do you want it to be?’
‘No, sadly.’ She gave him a c
rooked smile. ‘These shoes are killing me.’ Twirling a foot, she stared ruefully at the delicate designer shoes with their stratospheric spiky heels. Could anyone walk in them?
‘You could always slip them off and dance,’ he suggested.
As he spoke a band struck up for the evening’s entertainment somewhere outside on the terrace. Imagine dancing beneath a canopy of stars, she thought. How romantic. She glanced at her companion, and immediately wished she hadn’t. He really did have the wickedest black eyes, which, for some reason, made her think of slowly stripping off her clothes while he watched. She shivered inwardly at the thought. What she should be doing was making it clear that she didn’t pick up men in bars. She should collect up her things, get down from the stool and walk away. It was that easy.
Sex with him would be fun. And seriously good.
What was wrong with her? This wasn’t the type of simmering heat she’d read about in novels and magazines, but hot, feral lust, that promised very adult pleasures indeed.
‘You are extremely entertaining, signorina.’
‘Really?’ Goodness, she hadn’t meant to be. He certainly was. Sensuality emanated from him. If she embarked on her Italian adventure with Luca, it could only lead to one place. Fantastic! Callie’s inner harlot rejoiced, so now the thought of lying close to him, skin to skin, with those strong, lean hands controlling her pleasure—
‘Signorina?’
‘Yes?’ She blinked and refocused on his eyes...his disturbingly experienced eyes. However attractive and compelling she found him, she had to be careful not to take these newfound flirting skills too far. So the adventure of a lifetime is over before it begins? The adventure of a lifetime was great in theory, but in practice it threatened all sorts of unknown pleasures—dangers, Callie corrected her inner demon firmly. She had more sense than to let things go too far. Concentrating fiercely on her glass of water, she tried not to notice Luca’s brutal masculinity as it warred with her inner prude. She gave up in the end. He’d won this point. He was far better at flirting than she was.
A Night of Royal Consequences Page 2