They played tennis for a couple of hours before going back to Helen's and making themselves hamburgers. It was almost three o'clock in the afternoon by the time Sophie set off for home. She really couldn't delay any longer. She would have to change before meeting Luke Vittorio.
Her stepmother would be furious if she presented .herself in T-shirt and tight jeans, and her hair was completely wild from her exertions on the tennis court. Her face was completely bare of makeup, her skin smooth and creamy, her Bps a healthy pink, her violet eyes glowing as she enjoyed her ride back to her home.
She enjoyed the ride back much more than the ride to Helen's, freewheeling down the long hill that had taken such effort to get up before lunch. What breeze there was whipped through her long silver blond hair, her eyes glowing with pleasure.
She was almost on top of the car turning out of the side road before she saw it, and she felt sure the driver of the Mercedes hadn't seen her at all. The car was turning in from the right, and she swerved precariously to avoid it, crashing up the grass verge to land in an undignified heap in a newly plowed field.
The ground was soft to land on, but nevertheless Sophie felt shaken by the fall, peering over the tiny hedgerow at her bicycle, the wheels still spinning noisily. She sat up, rubbing her elbows, which seemed to have taken the main pressure of her fall.
She looked up as a shadow fell across her, unaware of the dusty marks on her now pale cheeks. Her eyes widened with shock as she recognized the driver of the car she had swerved to avoid. Luke Vittorio!
There could be no mistaking that muscular physique clothed in fitted black silk shirt and thigh-hugging black trousers, the forbidding mouth with the full sensuous bottom lip, the hawklike nose, the magnetic brown eyes, and the dark, overlong hair. He was much taller than she had imagined—well over six feet—and his skin was naturally dark instead of tanned. There could be no doubt that this was indeed Luke Vittorio.
Sophie scrambled to her feet, hurriedly brushing down her jeans so that she didn't have to look into that dark compelling face.
"You are unhurt?" His voice was deep and husky, strongly accented despite his having lived in England and America for the last twenty years.
"Only a little bruised," she muttered, her head bent as she studiously brushed off every bit of dust on her jeans.
Nothing had prepared her for the flesh-and-blood sensuality of this man, the blatant sexuality that must surely affect every woman he came into contact with, the deep husky voice that had sexy intonations. There was some-, thing wholly primitive about the man, something untamed and untamable, and he had shaken her more than falling off her bicycle had done.
One long sensitive hand had came out to grasp her forearm, his shirt sleeves turned back to just below his elbows to reveal the dark hairs against his swarthy skin, made to look even darker by the broad gold wristwatch on his arm. Sophie couldn't take her eyes off his hand, a long tapered hand with thin sensitive fingers—an artist's hand.
"You are sure you are unharmed?'' he persisted.
Sophie looked up to meet the blaze of his mesmerizing brown eyes head on, deep brown eyes with a lighter brown circle around the iris. "I'm fine," she said breathlessly.
“I just didn't see you until it was too late."
The hand dropped away from her arm. "I am well aware of that." His voice was curt, losing its silky quality. "You were completely out of control as you came down that hill. I am only surprised there was not more damage done than there was.”
His censure angered Sophie, all the more so because she knew he was right. "To me or to your car?" she asked sarcastically, her head thrown back, her hair streaming her back.
"Both," he answered abruptly. "Is your bicycle still workable?"
She picked it up, noticing the slightly bent handlebars but determined not to tell this arrogant man. "It seems all right to me, "she told him moodily.
He nodded impatiently. "Would you like me to drive you anywhere?"
Sophie frowned. "What for?"
Luke Vittorio sighed. "I did not know if you felt too shaken to cycle the rest of the way to your home. You live on one of the hillside farms, perhaps?"
She almost laughed at his wrong assessment of her. He obviously considered her to be a simple farm girl, the thought of her being the daughter of Simon and Rosemary Ford not even crossing his mind. It wasn't surprising considering her clothes and the fact that she was riding a dilapidated bicycle, but nevertheless she found his condescension annoying, and was determined not to tell of her identity and surprise him at dinner this evening, would love to see this man squirm, and perhaps this incident had given her the ammunition to do just that.
"I live not far from here," she evaded. "I can make it there all right."
"Perhaps you had better give me your address, anyway."
She raised her eyebrows.'' Why? "
"You may suffer some delayed injury. I will, of course, check up on your health."
Sophie smiled, a taunting smile that held little,humor. "If I suffer any delayed injury, you can be sure I'll let you know, Mr. Vittorio."
His brown eyes narrowed speculatively, sweeping over her slender figure, violet eyes and long silver blond hair with slow insolence. "You know who I am?"
She gave a short laugh. "It would be hard not to. You're a celebrity."
He appeared unimpressed by her attempt at breathless adoration. "Nevertheless, I think it would be better if I
knew where you live."
"There's really no need," she concentrated on checking her cycle over, her hair falling forward in a straight gleaming curtain. "There's really nothing wrong with me."
"Perhaps," he agreed. "Your hair, is it natural?"
Her head shot up at the unexpectedness of his question. "Well, it isn't dyed, if that's what you mean," she said resentfully.
"And violet eyes," he mused.
She was surprised he had noticed her hair, let alone the color of her eyes. The artist in him again, she supposed. "They are natural, too, I'm afraid," she answered tauntingly.
'I did not presume they were not."
"But you doubt the naturalness of my hair."
He shrugged his shoulders. "I was merely curious."
Sophie's attention was caught by the girl stepping elegantly out of the passenger side of the Mercedes, a girl who was instantly recognizable as Eve Jeffers, This girl was so 1, her features so perfect, her hair a black shining cap and her figure faultless, that she almost didn't look real.
She came to stand next to Luke Vittorio, her lacquered nails resting intimately in the crook of his arm. "It's getting late, Luke, darling," she purred in a voice that grated on Sophie's nerves. "We should be on our way." Sophie bristled angrily. No concern for her health here, not even a polite query. This girl may be beautiful, but there was something about her that Sophie didn't like. Perhaps it was the coldness in her eyes or the faint hardness to her mouth, but whatever it was, she didn't like her.
Luke Vittorio nodded. "You go back to the car. I will be with you in a moment."
We wouldn't want to keep our beautiful hostess waiting." Eve arched an eyebrow at him. "I'm sure she's just longing for you to arrive."
Luke's mouth tightened. "Go back to" the car, Eve. I want no more of your innuendos today," he added harshly.
“I'm sure Rosemary wouldn't consider them innuendos," she purred. "And then there's that brat of hers to look at," she taunted before walking gracefully back to the car.
Sophie's anger had been increasing by the second. What this girl mean by these remarks about her stepmother?
Of course Rosemary was looking forward to her weekend, guests arrival, but why should the model imply that she especially looking forward to Luke Vittorio being there? She didn't like the implication behind that at all—or implication that she was a brat.
He turned back to her. "So you will not tell me where you live?"
“There is no need." He would know soon enough! And so would Eve Jeffers, altho
ugh she felt sure the other girl wouldn't care.
"Very well." He nodded curtly before turning and walking away.
Sophie watched the car speed out of sight before making some attempt to straighten the handlebars on her bicycle. They wouldn't straighten up completely, but at least it was ridable now. She would get Martin to have a look at it when she reached home.
The Mercedes was parked alongside several other cars in the driveway as she pedaled around to the back of the house to enter through the kitchen. Her stepmother would never forgive her if she let any of the guests see her like this.
Joycy was arranging the tea things as she came into the room, stopping what she was doing to stare at Sophie. "What happened to you?"
Sophie put a self-conscious hand up to her hair. "Nothing. Why?"
"Your face is covered in dirt. What have you been doing?"
"I had a slight accident on my bicycle," Sophie admitted sheepishly.
"Again?" Joycy shook her head. "I've told you so many times not to use that contraption. It wobbles terribly and the brakes don't work properly."
She knew that now. If the brakes had been working properly she wouldn't have come off the damn thing.
"Perhaps Martin could take a look at it for me." Martin was Joycy's husband, and her father's chauffeur and butler.
Joycy laughed. "If I remember correctly, the last time he looked at it he told you h was ready for the scrap heap."
"But I have to have transport of some kind."
"Martin is the chauffeur."
"Transport of my own," Sophie said patiently. "While take the tea things into the lounge I think I'll try to sneak up to my room." She ran one of her dusty hands down her jeans. "I'm not really presentable."
"You certainly aren't. You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"
"Only dented my pride a little. Flying over the handlebars of a bike isn't exactly the height of elegance."
Joycy frowned." Are you sure you're all right? You
Look a little pale." Sophie grinned. "Well, I wouldn't mind one or two of your delicious scones to tide me over until dinner."
"There can't be much wrong with you if you still have appetite." She picked up the tray in preparation of leaving. "You know where they are."
Sophie took two of the still warm scones out of the tin, buttering them hurriedly before making her way to her room.
She was going to look her very best tonight, show
Luke Vittorio exactly what he would be turning down when he refused to paint her. She would show him that it wasn't only women like Eve Jeffers and her stepmother who could look beautiful. She could look quite attractive herself if she really tried, and tonight she intended to try.
She washed her hair first, drying it before she took a long leisurely bath. She came out of the bathroom smelling deliciously of pine bath oil, the delicate perfume absorbed into her skin. The next thing to do was curl and style her almost waist-length hair. The natural straightness of it soon took on a more attractive wave, two wings of hair pulled back at her temples from the center part to be secured loosely by two gold barrettes. The simplicity of the style emphasized her high cheekbones and enlarged her wide violet eyes.
She wasn't the sort of girl who usually bothered with all the feminine foibles, having spent most of her life as a tomboy, but today she was making a special effort. Before applying a light powdering of makeup, she manicured and painted her nails a light peach color. The lip gloss she wore exactly matched the nail polish and the gown she had decided to wear. Her eyelashes were naturally long and dark, and she also applied a light dusting of brown shadow to add depth to her eyes.
The peach gown was one her stepmother had bought for her on one of Sophie's rare visits up to see her in town. Rosemary had indulged her for once, preening visibly as the saleswoman assumed them to be sisters.
The gown was Grecian in style, a wide band of silver brocade surrounding her narrow waist. The light tan she had acquired the .last couple of months was shown to advantage against the peach chiffon. A thin delicate gold chain about her throat was the only jewelry she wore.
What her stepmother and father would make of this transition she could only guess, but for all her natural poise and confidence it took great effort to go down to dinner that evening.
She smiled politely at several of the people she recognized who were gathered in the lounge, accepting the sherry Martin handed her with a broad wink in his direction. He frowned at her levity before turning away. Dear Martin, how she loved to tease him.
Luke Vittorio was already deeply engrossed in conversation with a group of people on the other side of the room, although perhaps that wasn't quite the right description. There was a tolerant smile on his dark face, but Sophie felt sure he regarded the woman talking to him with amused contempt. It was there in his eyes, in his very stance, and Sophie felt sorry for the woman as she obviously tried to make a good impression on him.
He looked even more attractive than he had this afternoon, the blue velvet jacket fitting tautly across his wide powerful shoulders, the white shirt flamboyantly frilled at the front although not effeminately so. He wore black trousers, his legs long and muscular beneath the fitted material.
"So we meet again after all."
She turned sharply at the sound of that huskily accented voice. The man she had been talking to drifted off, as he knew himself Overshadowed by the artist. As she had been standing with her back toward him, she had no idea how Luke Vittorio had known it was her.
She gave him a cool nod. "Mr. Vittorio.''
"Please, call me Luke," he invited smoothly. "And I
may call you?''
"You may call me—"
"Ah, Luke." Her stepmother came over to them, extraordinarily beautiful in the flowing red figure-hugging gown. "I see you've met my little Sophie.”
Sophie cringed, feeling about five years old. But then Rosemary would probably have preferred it if she were, because then she would be younger. She looked up into the narrowed brown eyes of Luke Vittorio with defiance. "Mr. Vittorio and I haven't yet introduced ourselves, mommy." She gave him a challenging smile.
CHAPTER TWO
SHE HAD FELT SURE he was taken aback by her identity, but there was no evidence of it now in his chillingly handsome face. "This is your daughter, Rosemary?" he queried softly.
Her stepmother gave a brittle laugh. "This is my stepdaughter, yes."
Those deep brown eyes were leveled on Sophie again. "I did not realize."
"Do introduce yourself properly, Sophie." Rosemary glared at her angrily. "I have to go and save your father from Monty again. He will insist on talking for hours about horse racing," she explained to Luke. "And Simon has no interest in it at all."
"You did not think it necessary to introduce yourself this afternoon?" Luke .Vittorio asked abruptly once her stepmother had left them in a haze of her cloying perfume.
Sophie placed her empty sherry glass down on the side table with relaxed calm. "Should I have?"
"I would have thought it polite, considering you know my reason for being here."
She arched her eyebrows. "Do I?"
"I would have thought so," he said coolly.
Her mouth twisted as she remembered the way her step mother had said this man was going to "look her over."
"I'm not exactly what you expected, am I?" she challenged.
His head was held at a haughty angle, his eyes narrowed. "And what did I expect?"
"I believe Miss Jeffers described me as a… brat?"
"I am not Miss Jeffers." His voice was distinctly cool now.
Sophie laughed lightly. "I'm aware of that. But I believe you expected someone a little… younger?"
He nodded distantly, the black sheen of his hair catching the overhead light.
"Perhaps."
There was no perhaps about it. She had known as soon as Eve Jeffers had called her a brat that they were expecting a much younger girl, possibly someone of ten or eleven. "And what do you
think now?"
He shrugged his broad shoulders, the movement rippling his velvet jacket. "Your age is irrelevant as to whether I paint you or not. As a matter of interest, how old are you?"
"I'm not sure my stepmother would want me to tell you that. She is just old enough to be my real mother."
He smiled mockingly. "I am sure you are right when you say Rosemary would not like me to know that. She has a way of looking constantly young." His admiring eyes followed her stepmother as she flitted about the room talking to her guests.
"And a stepdaughter of nineteen isn't very flattering," she said abruptly, not liking the way he was looking at Rosemary. It brought back the feeling of uneasiness she had felt at Eve Jeffers's disparaging remarks about Rosemary that afternoon.
He smiled fully now, showing his firm even white teeth, "I am sure Rosemary would not think so."
Sophie's resentment grew, but she was prevented from making any reply by the arrival of Eve Jeffers at Luke Vittorio's side, the pebble green eyes flicking over her speculatively. That brief glance was enough to show Sophie that she wasn't considered a rival.
"Sorry I'm late down, Luke, darling," she said throatily, her hand in the crook of his arm. "I haven't missed anything, have I?" she asked maliciously.
Sophie revised her earlier opinion of this woman being beautiful. There was too much hardness about her and a cruel twist to her painted lips for her to merit such a description. Not that she didn't look pure perfection in the green gypsy style evening gown; there was just a hardness' about her that marred that beauty.
"You have missed being introduced to Miss Bedford," he informed her.
The black eyebrows arched. "The brat?" She looked around. "Has she been sent to bed already? Oh, well, spoiled kids aren't among my favorite people, anyway." She looked back at Sophie. "Do I know you? "
"N9," Sophie said stiffly.
Eve frowned. "I've seen you before, I'm sure of it. Are you a model, too?"
"You flatter me."
"Sophie!" She looked up as she heard her name called, and saw Nicholas Sedgwick-Jones making his way toward her. She groaned inwardly as he beamed down at her, waiting for his opening line as she always did. "You're looking particularly beautiful tonight," he gushed.
Carole Mortimer - The Flame of Desire Page 2