She started the little car and spun along the elegant drive lined with orange and lemon trees and turned right at the main gates on to the road down into Sorrento. She was singing softly to herself as she swung the wheel expertly around the first of half a dozen hairpin bends that zig-zagged down the hillside, only to gasp as, with lightning speed, a black Bugatti sports car swerved violently to pass her, only missing her car by inches.
The same blasted car again! Stupid macho oaf, she thought scathingly, as she registered the brief outline of a dark, greying man behind the wheel of the gleaming monster of a car. But, once more steadily driving along, she had the same uncomfortable feeling that there was something vaguely familiar about the driver of the Bugatti. She had seen the car a few times in the past few months. It was hard to miss; at first she had thought the driver might have been a guest at some time. But the hotel was small—only twenty luxuriously appointed suites, strictly for the very wealthy and discerning traveller, and she knew virtually all the guests, past and present.
She had never actually got a good look at the driver. But somehow she had the strangest feeling she knew the man on a more personal basis. Which was ridiculous when she thought about it; people with the sort of wealth that could afford a Bugatti were not in her social circle. Dante, her boyfriend, was comfortably off, owning two jewellery shops—one in Sorrento and another in Amalfi. He was a good, hard-working, serious-minded man and would make her an excellent husband and father to her children.
A shadow darkened her violet eyes, as she realised with a sense of shock it would be exactly five years tonight since she had lost her child. She had never completely got over the miscarriage, and sometimes in her darkest moods she couldn’t help asking herself if she had finally instigated divorce proceedings herself and was contemplating marrying Dante, more because she still had a desperate longing for a child, than through any great love for the man himself.
She dismissed the unsettling thought from her mind. Anyway, Dante hadn’t actually proposed yet, she smiled wryly, counting her chickens again! A bad policy, she remonstrated with herself, as she manoeuvred the car through the hectic lunch-time traffic in Sorrento and down to the Marina Piccolae. She had arranged to meet Dante at the Dolphin restaurant, a long wooden structure that stretched out on wooden stilts from the steep cliffs into the sea and served excellent fish dishes. She parked the car on a small cobbled side-lane and walked around the curve of the old port.
A tender smile curved the corners of her full mouth as she watched the local children playing in the sea. It didn’t seem to bother them that there were fishing boats tied up haphazardly around the water’s edge; in fact it appeared to add to their enjoyment as, like fish themselves, they jumped and dived off the boats.
Sorrento was a stunning town, built over a flat plateau that rose precipitously from the sea. On the top of the steep cliffs the big hotels had lifts cut through the rock and down to the base and the sea. Small beaches with large rectangular wooden pontoons greatly increased the available sunbathing areas and, for the swimmer, access to the sea itself, but at quite a substantial charge to the public. Certainly more than local children could pay.
Lexi glanced at her watch. Oh, hell! She was late. Putting a spurt on, she dashed the last hundred yards to the restaurant, and breathlessly walked through the dining-room and out on to the open-air deck. She glanced around and smiled as she caught sight of Dante. He had not seen her and for a moment she allowed her gaze to linger on his downbent head. He was such a nice man. At forty-two he was beginning to get a little heavy, maybe, but nothing could take away from his friendly smiling face as he looked up and caught her gaze. Of medium height, with the black curling locks of a true Neapolitan and huge thick-lashed dark brown eyes, he reminded Lexi of some lovely cuddly spaniel.
He stood up as she approached. ‘Late again, cara.’ And holding out her chair for her he brushed her cheek with his lips. ‘But you are worth the wait.’
She had not seen him for over a week and his husky compliment did wonders for her self-esteem. She sat down with a contented sigh, and looked out over the sea with complete satisfaction. Yes, she had made the right decision. England had no appeal for her any more. Her life now was in Italy with Dante and in a few weeks she would be free to marry him, and turning her attention to her companion she smiled brilliantly. ‘Dante, have I ever told you? You are a truly lovely man.’
His broad, tanned face split in a huge grin. ‘In that case, let’s eat quick and go back to my place for siesta.’
She chuckled. ‘You never miss a chance.’
Suddenly serious, Dante caught her hand in his across the table. ‘I don’t intend to, I’ve waited months for you. Have you heard from England?’
Lexi withdrew her hand from his as the waiter arrived with two plates of superbly grilled langoustines in garlic butter. Dante knew her taste so well and had already ordered. ‘Yes, yes, I have, and I’ve checked the law with my solicitor and he has told me that in a few weeks’ time, when the separation has lasted five years, I can have a divorce with or without my husband’s consent. I got a letter this morning and the wheels have already been set in motion. No problem.’
‘You’re sure?’ he demanded sceptically.
‘Absolutely,’ she confirmed.
‘In that case, how about a November wedding? Most of the tourists have left by then and we can take an extended honeymoon.’
Not the most romantic proposal in the world, she thought, her lips twitching in a wry grin, but in the past few months Dante had let her know in countless ways that marriage was on his mind. Which was why she had finally got the courage to apply for a divorce herself. After all, five years without sight or sound of her husband was enough proof for any court in the land that the marriage was over. But until meeting Dante she had been reluctant to do anything about it, perhaps deep down she had been afraid of maybe having to face her ex-husband again. Stupid, she knew, but even now she still couldn’t seem to throw off a niggling unease...
Dante was watching her with dark, pleading eyes; his proposal might have sounded casual, but she knew he was a hundred per cent sincere. ‘Yes’ was such a simple word, but suddenly Lexi shivered. A ghost walking over her grave; it couldn’t be anything else—the temperature was a boiling ninety-five degrees. But somehow, with the mention of honeymoon and the thought of the irrevocable step she was about to take, she was no longer so sure.
‘Cara, say something.’
‘Yes, yes, that will be fine. November.’ She said the words and smiled as Dante reached across the table and, catching her hand in his, gently squeezed her fingers, before planting a kiss on the back of her hand.
‘Thank you, cara, I promise you won’t ever regret marrying me.’ Then his lips parted in a cheeky grin. ‘Signor Monicelli will be delighted to stand with you; I took the liberty of asking him, on your behalf, last week.’ And, letting go of her hand, he picked up his fork and continued eating.
Lexi shook her head, and smiled at his confidence, then followed suit, but her mind wasn’t on her food, delicious though it was. The mention of Signor Monicelli had sent her thoughts spinning back to when she had arrived in Sorrento for the first time. She had stayed in London one night with her friend Cathy, after the painful betrayal by Jake. The following day Cathy had whisked her off to her parents’ house in Surrey, and two days later Lexi had found herself travelling with Cathy’s parents to Italy, where Cathy’s father was taking up the post as British consul in Naples. Mr Clarke-Smythe had introduced her to Signor Monicelli, the owner of the Piccolo Paradiso and the Italian, once assured of her gift for languages and former brief stint in the Forest Manor hotel, had given her a job as a receptionist...
She had been lucky. Because of the haste of her first marriage her passport had not been changed from her maiden name of Miss Alexandra Laughton, consequently, with the exception of Signor Monicelli—she had mentioned it to him because it had seemed the right thing to do—and Dante, of course, no one
else knew she had once been married.
Dante had been, and still was, a great friend of Signor Monicelli’s son Marco, and that was how Lexi had got to know him. Up until last year Marco had been the hotel manager until a horrific car smash had left him paralysed from the waist down. Now he lived on the paradise island of Ischia with his parents and Lexi had been promoted to manage the hotel. But she knew Signor Monicelli was in the process of selling the hotel. Still, she thought musingly, even if the worst scenario occurred and the new owners did not want to employ her as manager, would it matter that much, now she was committed to marrying Dante?
She would regret losing her job, and she knew without any false pride that she was very good at what she did. But as there was some hope, if Signor Monicelli took his son to America, of Marco being taught to walk again, and he wanted to give Marco every chance, her own worries about unemployment were of no account.
* * *
Later, as dusk was falling, Lexi manoeuvred her little car back up the road to home, if not exactly ecstatic, she was feeling happily content at the future before her. Dante adored her. Admittedly, his kisses did not set her on fire, but they were loving and pleasurable, and she had no doubt when they finally married she would discover that his lovemaking was equally nice. Much as he teased her about going to bed with him, he was quite content to wait until they were married. Another big plus in his favour.
She shook her head as she got out of the car at the entrance to the hotel. What was she thinking about, adding up the plus signs like an accountant? And with a light step she ran up the stairs and into the foyer. It was a shame Dante had had to curtail their day out, but unfortunately the manager of his Amalfi shop had taken suddenly ill and Dante had to leave her to go and look after the shop himself.
Actually, she was relieved in a way; tonight she had a feeling she would not have been the best of company, as thoughts of the past flickered through her mind again. She stopped at the reception desk with a smile for Franco that did not quite reach her eyes and asked automatically, ‘Any messages?’
Somehow all day she had been swinging between the past and present with alarming frequency, and she knew the cause; it was the same every year on the anniversary of her miscarriage, she thought ruefully, knowing she was being stupidly sentimental. Turning all her attention on Franco, she listened as he told her Signor Monicelli wanted her to call him urgently.
Picking up the telephone on Reception, she quickly dialled her boss’s number. Five minutes later she replaced the receiver her lovely face wreathed in smiles. Apparently, the hotel sale had gone through, and the good news was that all the staff, herself included, were to remain in their jobs. She did not question why only minutes earlier she had accepted that she would leave work on her remarriage. She didn’t dare admit even to herself the possibility that she loved her work more than Dante, but the lightness in her heart told its own story as she turned back to Franco, still grinning. ‘Everything else OK?’ she asked.’ No more double-booking, I hope!’ she teased with a mock frown.
Poor Franco, only the week before, had discovered a booking made by Anna, a junior, for a honeymoon couple registered to stay in a suite already occupied by a very important Arab guest. Luckily Lexi had been able to sort it out, but she had had to give her own, the manager’s suite to the young couple, and spend the next few days sharing a room with Anna, the trainee receptionist.
‘Not double-booked exactly.’ Franco replied quite seriously.
‘What? You haven’t, not again!’ Lexi’s eyes narrowed keenly on his attractive face. When it came to business she was a hundred per cent efficient and she expected the same from her staff. Piccolo Paradiso was a favourite of a few seriously rich clients. People who appreciated the peace and quiet, the first-class service and absolute discretion of the management.
‘No, no,’ Franco responded, but Lexi noticed he avoided her eyes. ‘But the gentleman was most insistent about seeing you...’
‘I wouldn’t take no for an answer,’ a deep harsh voice echoed in her head.
Lexi swung around and the air left her lungs in a rush; she paled beneath her tan, her small hand reaching out to curl around the edge of the reception desk to give herself some support as her eyes widened to their fullest, extent in horror on the man before her. Of course, she should have known; it was the man in the black Bugatti. Jake...her husband.
‘Why the surprise, Lexi? Surely you must have been expecting me,’ he opined hardly, his dark blue eyes, as cold as the arctic wastes, sweeping her from head to toe with insulting sexual insolence. ‘The curt note from your solicitor to mine informing me you were divorcing me was bound to elicit a response. That was your intention, was it not?’
She straightened her shoulders and let go of the desk. ‘No, Mr Taylor.’ Her chin tilted defensively as she held his hard gaze. ‘In fact, I’m amazed you even know about the divorce.’
‘My solicitor heard from yours yesterday, and immediately faxed me. What did you expect?’ His smile was chilling. ‘That’d I’d let you?’ he drawled, and a frisson of alarm skidded down her spine.
‘I never expected to see you again.’ Her eyes dropped, slanting over his tall frame. If anything, he was even more arresting then she remembered. His handsome face was a little thinner, the lines bracketing his sensuous mouth slightly deeper, and his once night-black hair was now lightly sprinkled with grey, but it did nothing to detract from the potent, almost animal sexuality of the man. His broad shoulders and fine-honed frame were clad in hip-hugging jeans and a soft-knit shirt that only served to reinforce his lethal attraction.
A shiver of, not fear, but something more shaming made the fine hair on her skin stand erect. She felt nineteen again and stunned at the immensity of her reaction to this man. She hated him, but was horrified to realise he was still able to elicit an instant sexual response in her feminine body.
She was suddenly conscious of her skimpy blue jersey dress and bare legs, her long hair falling down her back in wild disarray. She knew she looked as though she had just walked off the beach and wished like hell she was attired in her uniform, a neat black suit and crisp white shirt. With a shaking hand she defensively tucked a few wild tendrils of hair behind her ear.
‘Do I pass?’
His deep voice rasped along her overstretched nerves. She couldn’t believe what a fool she had been! It had never occurred to her that Jake would respond to her solicitor’s formal notification of the impending divorce in person. Her brows drew together in a puzzled frown. Why on earth would he want to? They had had no contact in almost five years. Surely Jake would be as happy as her at the ending of the marriage.
‘If that frown is anything to go by, don’t bother to answer—I probably wouldn’t like your reply. Instead, let’s find somewhere to talk.’ He stepped towards her. Lexi tried to step back, his great height intimidating her, but was brought up hard against the reception desk.
‘That will not be necessary,’ Lexi managed in a taut voice. ‘We have nothing to say to each other.’ Her gaze once more met his and her violet eyes widened at the dark threat she saw in the deep blue depths of Jake’s.
‘You might find my presence abhorrent, Lexi, but I, I am not finished with you, not by a long way,’ he told her in a hateful drawl. ‘The next few weeks should be entertaining.’
‘If you were thinking of staying here, Mr Taylor...the hotel is full.’ She desperately tried to hang on to her business persona, but the shock to her system made her voice shake.
‘So you say, but...’
‘I am the manager, I know...’ Her violet eyes sparkled with barely controlled anger, as some of her self-control returned. ‘I think you should leave.’ She gestured with her hand towards the entrance, and she bit her lip as Jake’s strong hand caught her wrist in a painful grip.
‘Let me go,’ she hissed, her eyes stormy with pent-up anger as she tried to wrench her arm free.
‘Nobody dismisses me with the wave of a hand, and certainly not a merc
enary little bitch like you...’ Jake snarled. His face hardened into an expression that made Lexi wish she hadn’t tried so cavalierly to dismiss him as he continued. ‘Now, if you wish to discuss our marriage in the foyer of the hotel, I really don’t mind,’ he informed her ruthlessly. ‘I’m sure the rest of the guests will enjoy it.’
A chill shivered its way down the length of her spine as he dropped her wrist. With her other hand she rubbed where he had touched her, and what did he mean, mercenary? She didn’t have a mercenary bone in her body, and she had never taken a penny from Jake since the day she left him.
‘Is everything all right, Signorina Lexi?’ Franco’s voice intruded warily.
‘Yes. Yes, fine,’ Lexi confirmed swiftly as she glanced quickly around. Oh, God! The guests were on their way to dinner, and here she was looking like something the cat dragged in, arguing in the middle of Reception.
‘Signorina Lexi... Odd, I could have sworn you were my wife,’ Jake prompted with sardonic cynicism. ‘Still, I suppose I should be grateful you appear to be working for a living. I fully expected you to have some wealthy lover looking after you.’
Lexi’s head swung back to look at Jake, her mouth falling open in stunned amazement. ‘Why, you...’ Words failed her, which was probably just as well, she thought a moment later, remembering where she was.
‘Or perhaps you’re between keepers, hmm?’
Lexi registered the gasp of astonishment from Franco behind the desk. ‘You are married to this man?’ Franco exclaimed, and then broke out in a torrent of Italian, mostly about what Dante would say.
Lexi groaned inwardly and tried in a few words to calm her excitable assistant down. But finally she had no other course than to admit Jake was her husband.
‘When you two have quite finished.’ Jake’s curt command stopped them both, his piercing gaze fixed on Franco. ‘Perhaps you would arrange for my luggage to be taken to my wife’s suite.’
Nothing Changes Love Page 5