by Penny Jordan
His mother called out something from the hotel foyer in Italian. His reply was in Italian also. Despite only knowing limited Italian, Veronica gleaned it was about dinner tonight.
‘Haven’t you been home for a while?’ she asked as he handed over her sunglasses, which she popped into her shoulder bag. Their eyes met again and something lurched inside her. He just stared at her for a long moment, and she stared right back, thinking how beautiful he was. Not just handsome. Beautiful.
Oh, dear…
‘It’s been a month since my last visit,’ he said at last.
Not so very long ago, Veronica thought. She’d been imagining it must have been much longer, judging by the prodigious joy of his parents’ welcome. Clearly, Leonardo was the apple of his mamma’s and papa’s eyes.
‘This way,’ he said, then took off through the paved pergola, pulling her case behind him. Veronica had to hurry to keep up with him, his stride fast and long.
‘It was my father’s seventy-fifth birthday,’ he tossed over his shoulder. ‘It was also the weekend before Laurence died. Now, watch your step on this path. It’s very steep but it’s the quickest way up to your villa from here. There’s another road for deliveries and such, but you have to drive a fair way round to get to it, and I don’t keep a car on the island.’
It was steep, but she was fit and didn’t have much trouble with the incline, or the rather uneven stone steps. Clearly, they’d been there a long time, as had the inhabitants of this island. Franco had given her a history lesson this morning during her sightseeing tour, telling her how the Roman emperor Tiberius had moved to Capri ages ago and had used the Blue Grotto as his private swimming pool. She’d possibly heard the same story when she’d been here before as a tourist but she’d long forgotten it. But she hadn’t forgotten how impressed she was by all the beautiful white villas which dotted the island. Now one of them belonged to her. For a while, at least.
Her eyes lifted but the villa was hidden from view by a grove of olive trees. She could just glimpse the roof, which had terracotta tiles just like the Hotel Fabrizzi.
‘Did you see Laurence that weekend?’ she asked, glad to return her attention to the reason why she was here. Which wasn’t to go gaga over Leonardo but to find out all she could about her father.
‘I did,’ was all he said.
‘And?’ she prompted.
‘I’ve been trying to recall what we talked about. I knew you’d ask me,’ he added with a wry glance over his shoulder.
‘And?’
He stopped walking and turned to face her. ‘It’s difficult to remember. We spent many hours together over the last few years, Laurence and I. He taught me to play chess. But I never could beat him. He was way too good.’
‘I’ve never played chess.’
‘It’s not an easy game to master,’ he said, and started walking up the steps again, this time by her side rather than in front.
‘Do you like red wine?’
‘Not really.’
‘Laurence was a red wine buff. He has the most incredible cellar.’
‘I noticed he left you his wine collection in his will. Have you collected it yet?’
‘No need. You’re selling me the villa, remember?’
‘Oh, yes. Yes, of course. I forgot. Oh!’ Veronica exclaimed in surprise as the villa came into view.
It wasn’t what she’d been imagining. Somehow she’d been picturing a smaller version of the Hotel Fabrizzi. But it wasn’t like that at all. Yes, it was mainly white. And, yes, the roof tiles were terracotta. But that was where any resemblance ended. The building was rectangular, and all on the one level, with a cloistered veranda which ran the entire length at the front. Beyond this shaded area, the main wall of the house had a lot of sliding glass doors with no obvious front door.
‘Come,’ Leonardo said, and led her up a small cement ramp onto the wonderfully cool veranda. Once there, Veronica stopped and turned to gaze out at the Mediterranean.
‘Oh, Leonardo,’ she said with a sigh of both amazement and contentment. The olive grove stopped one looking down and perhaps having the magnificent vista spoiled by the sight of buses, towns and tourists. All you could see from where she was standing was crystal blue water all the way to the horizon, with just the occasional sailboat or yacht, which hardly seemed to be moving. Everything was peaceful, soothing and, oh, so beautiful.
‘Perhaps now you understand why I want to buy this place.’
‘Yes indeed,’ she said, aware that he’d moved to stand close to her, so close that she could smell his aftershave, or his cologne, or whatever that wonderful scent was which emanated from his skin. She’d smelt it before in the car but had done her best to ignore the effect it had on her.
Ignoring it again, she turned and looked up at him.
‘And if I decide not to sell it to you?’
For a split second, anger zoomed into his eyes. But then he laughed. ‘You can’t afford not to. The taxes on this place will be considerable.’
‘Not so considerable if I can prove I’m Laurence’s biological daughter.’
‘And how do you plan to do that? He’s been cremated, according to his wishes. You would need his DNA.’
‘There must be something of his DNA in this place. A hairbrush, perhaps? Or a toothbrush?’
‘Perhaps…’
‘Don’t look so worried, Leonardo. I will sell you the villa, but only after I’ve got what I came here to find out.’
‘Which is what, exactly?’
‘What my father looked like, for starters. There was a small article about him on the Internet, but no photos. Mum didn’t have any photos, either. But, more importantly, I want to find out what kind of man he was.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
LEONARDO LOOKED DEEP into Veronica’s lovely violet eyes and wondered if she’d be happy with what she found out. Laurence’s looks wouldn’t present a problem, since he had been a male version of her. But Laurence hadn’t always been an easy man to warm to.
He’d been somewhat introverted, for starters, a typical scientist. Brilliant, but not the most sensitive of men. Leonardo imagined that as a young man emotions were not something Laurence had been familiar with.
His obsessive love for his wife must have thrown him for a loop. Because it clearly hadn’t been in Laurence’s nature to love like that. Her death had derailed him for a long time. Ruth had been the more social of the pair. She’d loved going to parties and entertaining at home.
It was obvious Laurence had just gone along with her wishes to keep her happy. After she’d gone, he’d sunk into a deep depression and had refused to accept any invitations, other than at Christmas, when Leonardo’s mamma would force him to come down to the Hotel Fabrizzi for Christmas dinner. Even then, he’d been a right misery, leaving the table as soon as it was polite and sitting by himself, not talking to anyone.
Leonardo couldn’t help having felt sorry for him, priding himself on having been the person to drag Laurence out of his mourning. Every time he’d come home to visit his parents, he’d made the effort to visit him up at his villa, their friendship deepening when Leonardo had broken his ankle rock climbing a couple of years back and had come home to recuperate. Laurence had become frustrated with watching Leonardo struggle up the path on crutches to visit him and had insisted he move in with him until his ankle healed.
It was during that time together that their real friendship had begun, Leonardo having confided to Laurence over a bottle of wine one night how devastated he had been when he’d been forced to retire early from competitive skiing. No one in his family had ever understood how upset he’d been at the time. His parents had simply been pleased that he was no longer risking his neck on the slopes. Uncle Stephano had been of a similar mind-set, saying there was just as much satisfaction in succeeding in business as in sport.
None of the
m had had a clue.
But Laurence had. He’d understood totally, his empathy coming as a surprise.
‘There is nothing worse for a man, Leonardo,’ he’d said gently, ‘than to have a goal snatched away from him, right when it is within reach. I know how that feels. I was on the verge of making a huge scientific discovery when all my funding for that particular research was suddenly cancelled. There was nothing I could do at the time. It was at the start of my career and I had no reputation to fall back on. I felt quite suicidal. Fortunately, I met Ruth around that time, and she made me see that there was more to life than science. One day, my boy, you will find a new dream, one which you can fulfil. Meanwhile, try to enjoy what you have, which is a lot.’
It had been sound advice. Looking back, Leonardo could see that their mutual confidences had resulted in an affection for each other that was unconditional. Leonardo had accepted Laurence’s flaws, and vice versa. It had made for an ease of companionship which hadn’t required the usual male tendency to try to impress. With Laurence, Leonardo had been able to be himself. He missed that.
‘Laurence was a good man, but he was basically a loner,’ he told Veronica, couching his words carefully. ‘Most scientists are, I would imagine. Their work is a huge part of their life. Ruth used to get him to socialise. She liked entertaining and having guests to stay. But after she died he reverted to type. Mamma often invited him to dinner and to parties but he usually declined, except at Christmas. I guess I knew him better than anyone on Capri. He was very open with me. But, even then, it’s obvious he had his secrets.’
‘You’re talking about me,’ she said.
‘Yes. You came as a shock, I can tell you.’ In more ways than one. Over the phone she’d come across as brusque and spinsterish, so he’d been expecting a plain woman. But Veronica was anything but plain. She was utterly gorgeous. Leonardo suspected that he would have difficulty keeping his hands off. Already he wanted to run his fingers through her hair, to pull her to him and kiss her until she forgot all about what her father had been like. Leonardo knew he could make women forget all sorts of things, especially once he got them into bed. Make himself forget too. Sex soothed the dissatisfied beast in him. That, and gazing out at this hypnotic and wonderfully relaxing view.
Leonardo turned to gaze out across the sea for a long moment. Soon Laurence’s villa—and this view—would be his. But until then he’d have to make do with other methods of relaxation.
He turned back to face Veronica with his most charming smile in place, the one which always melted the ladies and made it oh, so easy when he came across a female he fancied. And he fancied this one. More than he had in a long time, Leonardo conceded. She actually reminded him of a girl he’d come across one night many years ago. A girl very similar to Veronica in looks. A girl who’d caught his eye but who’d rejected his drunken invitation with the disdain it had probably deserved.
She’d been Australian too, he suddenly recalled.
His brows drew together as he stared at her again. Surely not?
His eyes searched hers, then travelled down her delectable body and up again. It was a long time ago, and he’d never known her name. All he’d known was that she was Australian and that she’d worked as a masseuse at a neighbouring ski resort. Sven had raved about her and asked her to one of their after-competition parties. Leonardo’s retirement party, as it had turned out.
‘This might seem an odd question,’ he said, ‘but did you ever work as a masseur in a ski resort in Switzerland? About seven or eight years ago, it would have been…’
* * *
Veronica’s stomach flipped right over. She hadn’t expected him to recognise her. Not on such a brief acquaintance so many years ago. They hadn’t even been properly introduced.
But it seemed he had recognised her. Or almost had. What to do? Lie, or tell the truth?
She did so hate lies. Jerome had lied to her. A lot.
‘I didn’t think you’d recognise me,’ she said simply. ‘It was so long ago.’
He blinked his surprise, then smiled a rather rueful smile. ‘That’s how you knew I was a skier,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she agreed. Not to mention a playboy.
‘Why didn’t you tell me we’d met before?’ he demanded to know, not angrily, but in a rather puzzled tone.
‘I thought you might find the circumstances…embarrassing.’
He laughed. Not a loud, in-your-face belly laugh. Or an amused chuckle. More of a harsh bark.
‘I admit, it wasn’t one of my finer moments.’
‘Really? I got the impression it was your usual après ski behaviour. None of the other people there seemed surprised.’
‘I can’t say I noticed. I was very drunk, Veronica. My career as a downhill racer had ended that day and I didn’t take it well. One injury too many, I was told,’ he added with a flash of remembered pain in his eyes.
She just stood there in a stiff silence, not prepared to excuse his behaviour that night so easily.
He laughed again, this time with a flash of dry humour. ‘I can still remember what you said to me. In your dreams, mate.’
‘Yes, well, when I go to bed with a guy,’ she said rather tartly, ‘I like to have his total attention. I’m not big on sharing.’ And wasn’t that the truth!
‘Believe it or not, I am usually a one-woman-at-a-time man.’
‘If you say so.’
He smiled a crooked smile. ‘You must have a very bad opinion of me. First, from that night. And then from what I told you about the business today in Rome.’
Veronica didn’t want to offend the man, but she was way past letting him whitewash his behaviour. It galled her to think he imagined she would fall for his ‘poor little me’ act.
‘Leonardo,’ she said firmly. ‘Let’s not pretend. Your reputation precedes you. It always has, even back in your downhill racing days. You’re a player. You change your girlfriends as often as you do your clothes. I’ve seen dozens of photos of you on social media. But never with the same girl on your arm.’
His eyebrows lifted, his dark eyes glittering with the most irritating satisfaction.
‘You checked me out on the Internet?’
Veronica heaved an exasperated sigh. Trust him to take her admission as a measure of sexual interest.
‘Of course I did,’ she told him in a matter-of-fact manner. ‘I’m not a fool, Leonardo. I wanted to know what kind of man you were these days. I wanted to see if you could be trusted.’
‘And?’ He still didn’t seem offended or worried, that twinkle staying in his eyes.
‘As a businessman, your reputation is spotless.’
‘But not as a boyfriend,’ he said with laughter in his eyes.
‘Well…’
‘Come, come—don’t quibble. Australians are well known for being straight shooters. Tell me what you think of me as a boyfriend.’
Veronica straightened her spine. ‘I would say you weren’t a very good bet in that regard. Not if a woman wanted commitment.’
‘That would depend on the woman,’ he countered. ‘I have no objection to commitment when the time—and the woman—is right. But then, not every woman is looking for commitment. Take you, for instance…’
‘What? Me?’
‘Yes, you.’
‘What about me?’ she demanded to know, angling her head to one side as she glared up at him.
He smiled. ‘You are in your late twenties and have no one serious in your life. Yet you are a very beautiful woman. I can only conclude that you have chosen to stay—what is the term?—footloose and fancy free.’
Veronica hadn’t blushed in years and she didn’t blush now. But she felt quite hot inside her body, the kind of heat which came from being turned on. He was turning her on, this devilishly handsome Italian, with his verbal foreplay and his suggestive smiles.
All of a sudden she thought about what it would be like to have sex with him. Would he be as good a lover as he obviously thought he was?
Yes, she decided, a decidedly erotic shiver rippling down her spine.
Sex wasn’t something that had ever been that important to Veronica. It was the romance she enjoyed. The love. Orgasms for her had always been in short supply, even with Jerome, who’d been more than competent in bed. But he hadn’t been all that passionate.
Naturally not, she thought bitterly. His passion—and his love—had lain elsewhere.
Veronica stared up into Leonardo’s dark, sexy eyes and just knew he’d be passionate in bed. Passionate, uninhibited and extremely imaginative. There wouldn’t be a form of foreplay or a sexual position he hadn’t tried and revelled in. Any man who could have offered a threesome so casually was into anything. Orgies as well, no doubt.
Such thoughts made it difficult to speak at all, let alone find the right reply. Veronica licked her dry lips, then swallowed.
‘I haven’t been lucky when it comes to men,’ she said quite truthfully.
‘That is sad. But you are still young. There is no need to panic yet.’
Now it was her turn to laugh. ‘That’s a matter of opinion. It seems only yesterday that I was twenty. Now, in two years, I’ll be thirty.’
‘You wish to get married and have children?’
Veronica shrugged. Once upon a time, she would have said yes in a heartbeat. Now, she wasn’t so sure. Marriage didn’t seem as straightforward as it once had. She suspected that falling in love again would be difficult for her, for starters. And, without love, marriage was out of the question.
‘Only if I meet the right man,’ she said. Which certainly won’t be someone like you, she thought, despite the desire Leonardo could evoke in her with shocking ease.
‘When you sell me this villa,’ he replied, ‘You will be rich. And men will be chasing you like mad. Possibly not the right kind of man, though, so you will have to be careful. Come,’ he said, and retrieved a key from one of the large pots full of geraniums that sat along the sunny edge of the veranda. ‘Time for you to see your inheritance from the inside.’