The Italian's Demand

by Sara Wood

  Silently Vittore lay down his paper, watching her tensely as she sat by Lio’s car seat, rhythmically stroking his forehead.

  ‘Hush,’ she whispered. ‘Hush. Go to sleep, sweetheart. I’m here.’

  She knew Lio fidgeted in his sleep sometimes, and wasn’t really awake. So she sang to him softly till he fell asleep again and she curled up in the reclining seat beside him, making no comment when Vittore draped a blanket over her and switched off the cabin light.

  ‘Verity.’

  Her eyes flew open to find him bending over her, his face very close to hers. Automatically she cringed back in the seat. Instantly he moved back, his dark eyes veiled.

  ‘This is not an attack on your virtue,’ he said drily. ‘You’ve been asleep. Time to wake up. We’re coming in to land.’

  He snapped her up into the upright position and as she muzzily fumbled for the seat belt she found that he was already fastening it. He must have washed and shaved, because she caught a drift of expensive cologne, and his jaw was smooth and satiny.

  Trickles of pleasure curled through her veins. And her pulses went crazy when he dropped a kiss on her sleepy mouth. As he drew back, the suppressed joy in his face silenced her protest.

  ‘Forgive me. I couldn’t resist it. I’m bursting with happiness!’ he whispered.

  ‘Well, burst over someone else,’ she muttered.

  ‘I would,’ he countered, ‘but there’s only the pilot or the steward apart from you and they’d sue me if I kissed them.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on it. They both looked gaga when you grinned at them,’ she grumbled, and he laughed.

  Vittore was still chuckling when he leant over to check that Lio was safely secured. And as he gazed at his son, back came the look of sheer radiant joy that once again caught at Verity’s heart.

  ‘Nearly home, Lio,’ he said in choked tones.

  Then he turned as if to hide his face from her and with his eyes resolutely cast down, he fixed his own seat belt.

  She felt shaken by his fervour. It occurred to her that he was so eager to reclaim his son that he might try to rush things with Lio. She would need to monitor Vittore very carefully. She braced herself for a bumpy ride.

  Their arrival, of course, was beautifully smooth. An official met them on the tarmac, gave a cursory glance at their documents and waved them on, even pausing to admire the oblivious Lio, and to help Vittore clip the baby seat into the back of the waiting Mercedes.

  Verity found herself trembling. Lio’s happiness was her responsibility. And now they were in Italy, she might have a battle royal on her hands with Vittore. All her self-confidence ebbed away. Here she was reliant on him for everything: a roof over her head, food, interpreting the language…

  ‘Do we have a long way to go?’ she asked in a subdued tone, as he cheerfully started the car.

  ‘Not far in actual distance, though it’ll take a while because of the twisting mountain roads. At the moment we’re in Napoli.’

  ‘Naples?’ she queried.

  ‘That’s right. We’re driving to the coast, near Amalfi.’ His voice softened noticeably. ‘It is very beautiful there, Verity. I think you will appreciate it. And life will be much easier for you because my staff will do everything for us so you can concentrate on Lio.’

  ‘He won’t like people lurking about!’ she protested.

  ‘They’ll keep a low profile till Lio is settled,’ Vittore assured her. ‘You have my word on that. Dishes will be washed, meals cooked, beds made—and you’ll never see those people responsible.’

  It was like a fairy tale. All the domestic chores done as if by magic. Very appealing!

  But she fell silent, wondering how she’d cope with living in a billionaire’s mansion. Vittore seemed very happy and utterly relaxed. He might well be. He was on his home ground. She, however, felt as if her nerves were jangling like a thousand cracked bells.

  At first, once they’d left Naples, they sped along a motorway. She must have slept again because the next time she stared out of the window the road had turned into a corkscrew, that twisted hectically around the edge of a mountain. Sheer drops were on one side and brutal rock on the other, both dramatic options picked out starkly by the car’s powerful headlights.

  The stars hung above them, more brilliant than she’d ever known, the Milky Way a beautiful mist across the velvety sky. Occasionally a light would flicker from a remote building and she wondered who would be up and awake at this early hour in the morning. A farmer perhaps, or a mother tending to a fretful baby.

  ‘You won’t let anyone keep me from Lio, will you?’ she asked, suddenly afraid of Vittore’s intentions. ‘And you’ll let me manage him in my own way?’

  ‘I care about him,’ he answered gravely. ‘That’s why you’re here—because he needs you. You have to trust me on this.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she said miserably.

  ‘I know. But you will. Try to relax and only bite me if I bite you.’

  ‘Not likely! I’d get the plague,’ she muttered.

  Vittore grinned with delight. ‘What a woman!’ he marvelled and she made a note not to be so smart.

  ‘I think I can see the sea,’ she claimed, adroitly changing the subject.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said, his voice husky and loving. ‘The Divine Coast.’

  In the glimmer of the first dawn light, she saw umbrella pines, silhouetted against a grey mass that moved and shimmered with soft lights. As they drove along, the grey-ness turned first gold then became a rose pink sea as the dawn rolled back the darkness and heralded a new day.

  Verity could now make out rolling hills covered in pine-woods and olive trees. And they were driving along a vicious, tortuous road hacked out of solid rock which flung them in one direction and then another as they sped around dozens of hairpin bends.

  ‘Oh, my life!’

  Startled, she gripped the edge of her seat as they swung out, seemingly towards the edge of a precipitous cliff with the sea far below.

  ‘You’re not too nervous? It’s perfectly safe if you know what you’re doing, and I’m driving very carefully. I have a precious cargo on board,’ he assured her gently.

  She blinked, surprised to find that she felt excited, and turned bright eyes on Vittore, totally captivated by the breathtaking view. Divine indeed. The coast. His enraptured face.

  She bit her lip and found a scrap of common sense from somewhere. ‘The road doesn’t worry me. It’s just breathtaking. I’ve never seen anywhere more beautiful!’ she exclaimed in awe.

  ‘The bluest sea in the world. The most stunning scenery,’ he said happily. ‘I’d stop for us to admire it, but I want to get home before Lio wakes.’

  His voice had shaken. Verity’s heart lurched. ‘This must mean a great deal to you,’ she said quietly, thinking of the return journey when Vittore would be sending his child back to England. Something stabbed at her chest, as if shards of glass had impaled themselves in her ribs.

  ‘It means everything. There are no words to express what is in my heart.’

  He swallowed and she knew he couldn’t say any more. Once again, her own tender heart was being won over. There was a lump in her own throat as she gazed at the sea, which was turning a lapis lazuli before her very eyes.

  It was all too seductive, she thought apprehensively. And the happiness that shone in Vittore’s face and energised his entire body, was tugging unfairly at her emotions.

  She was being swayed by a father’s natural love for his son, for the flesh and blood tie that bound them. And it was hard to hold on to the fact that Linda had not wanted Vittore to take care of Lio. She had to discover the reason. She must.

  In the meantime, she turned her attention to a tumble of houses ahead which seemed to be cascading down to the sea. In the harbour, brightly coloured boats bobbed on the azure water and others were drawn up on the sandy cove.

  Enchanted, she wound the window down and caught the tang of salt on the breeze and the heady perf
ume from the orange trees which clung perilously to the slopes. She inhaled and finally relaxed, dazed by the beauty of it all as a bell began to toll, echoing out across the peach-coloured buildings.

  Too perfect, she thought, her heart hammering loudly. Too alluring.

  ‘This is San Lorenzo,’ Vittore said huskily and she felt that he was seeing it with different eyes because he was bringing his beloved son back home. ‘I live just beyond the town.’

  ‘It looks impossibly picturesque,’ she observed, wishing she didn’t find it quite so appealing.

  ‘That’s because it has evolved naturally over the centuries,’ he replied lovingly. ‘We have an eye for beauty.’ He smiled at her then flicked his eyes back to the road. ‘There were only mule tracks until relatively recently. Access was mainly from the sea, so the town’s defences are concentrated there. Look, you can see one of the gates and the line of the medieval walls.’

  ‘You’d need powerful thigh muscles and a touch of madness to mount an attack up that steep slope,’ she mused.

  Vittore smiled. ‘I think the Saracen pirates were tough enough for the challenge.’

  He shifted his leg and she found herself staring at the outline of his thigh beneath the fine linen. She’d had some experience of his strength. If he wanted, he could overpower her.

  Once he’d said that he was very controlled except when his passions were engaged. And…his passion was considerable. Had he…? No. It was unthinkable that he would have forced Linda against her will. Vittore had a gentle side, a tenderness that she’d admired.

  And also a fiery passion.

  The question nagged in her mind as they drove slowly through a huge stone arch and into canyons of narrow streets. She felt a flicker of panic. Linda had fled this Paradise. And she badly needed to find out why.

  ‘Cold?’ he asked, lightly touching the goosebumps on her arms.

  She jammed her finger on the button beside her and closed the window, jerking her arm and its goosebumps away and pretending the heat in her loins didn’t exist.

  ‘Bit fresh,’ she said meaningfully.

  He chuckled and suddenly they were out of the narrow streets and in a pretty little piazza. Vittore pointed out the Chiesa San Lorenzo, the local church, and its thirteenth-century tower whose sonorous bell she’d heard earlier.

  In the small street leading from the piazza she spotted bijou jewellers, a chocolate shop and an elegant store apparently selling nothing but silk.

  ‘I thought it would be quaint and olde worlde, not full of exclusive boutiques,’ she exclaimed in surprise, turning this way and that.

  ‘Italians are earthy and passionate and have a love for beautiful things. Food, buildings, clothes…women.’

  She ignored that, though the apparent contradictions intrigued her. ‘Earthy and sophisticated,’ she mused.

  ‘The town is a shopaholic’s delight. There’s a baby boutique to the left, and several famous designer outlets you’d like,’ Vittore agreed rather cynically, seeing how she seemed fascinated by the shops.

  ‘Designers? Me? They’d have a fit if I wandered in wearing one of my second-hand outfits!’ she declared. ‘I don’t shop in the normal sense. I just press my nose against windows and look wistful till someone offers me a penny to go away,’ she joked. Vittore laughed and she felt stupidly pleased. ‘My budget doesn’t stretch to luxuries,’ she added, bringing herself back to earth.

  Or even essentials, she thought, suddenly alarmed at the potential expense of living in such a glamorous location. Frantically she scrabbled in her purse. The few small denomination notes in there looked lonely.

  ‘I—I’ll have to change some money,’ she continued. ‘I don’t have much because I spent my savings on things for Lio—’

  ‘Please.’

  His hand briefly touched her thigh, drying her mouth immediately so she couldn’t speak without betraying herself. And causing her body to tense up and set off all kinds of reactions in some highly personal regions.

  Why did it do that? she thought crossly. Why couldn’t she be immune to his wretched hand? It was just flesh and blood and bone—and yet it had the power to heat her up like an oven turned up to Gas Mark 5.

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t touch me!’ she complained, producing a weird, gravelly voice. She hoped she’d sounded cross, rather than husky.

  ‘I’m sorry. It was to reassure you,’ he told her smoothly. ‘I don’t want you to worry about money. You have protected Lio over these past weeks and unselfishly changed your life for his sake. I know it must have been hard to do this all on your own, with no previous experience. I want to express my thanks in practical terms. You’ll be well paid while you’re here. And if you refuse to accept my money,’ he said with a grin, ‘then I’ll bundle you back on the plane. Your services are of great value, Verity. I don’t expect to get them for nothing.’

  She looked surprised. ‘But I can’t—!’

  His hand melted into her thigh again. She found her body soaring up to oven temperature again.

  ‘No buts,’ he insisted. ‘I owe you a debt that can never be properly paid. Don’t put me further in your debt. Allow me to pay you a salary.’

  She sat there, sizzling, and tried to think rationally. Yes, she was out of pocket. She did need some essentials. And if he saw her as an employee, then their relationship might become more formal.

  Nanny and employer.

  Her mouth curved into an amused smile. Still in her old cotton dress the colour of violets, its slightly shrunken shape clinging from bosom to ankle, and with her hair tousled into gypsy curls by the wind, she was the least likely nanny anyone could imagine!

  ‘OK. I’ll accept your offer—so long as I don’t have to call you “sir”. Thank you,’ she said, unable to suppress a giggle.

  ‘Joke?’ he murmured.

  ‘Oh, only that I’m not nanny material. Your mother will have a fit.’

  His teeth flashed white in his olive-skinned face.

  ‘Don’t be too sure. Wait till you meet her!’ he said, in tones of amused despair.

  ‘Why? Is she awful?’ Verity laughed.

  ‘Wonderful,’ he replied. ‘But nothing like a mother. You, however, have all the qualities a woman and mother should possess.’

  ‘Italians exaggerate horribly,’ she countered, rather appalled by her pleasure at his flattery. She knew he was flirting, that silken compliments came naturally to him, but she wanted to hear them, nevertheless. How stupid of her. How weak and desperate!

  ‘We do exaggerate,’ he admitted, immediately reducing her ego to a manageable size. ‘It adds pleasure to life and makes people feel good about themselves. But in your case I mean what I say.’

  He might as well know the truth, she thought with a sigh.

  ‘I’m untidy, unorthodox and stubborn. I can’t make cakes the shape of cute bunnies or steam trains, would prefer to be gardening rather than ironing and the thought of talking with other mothers about potty training fills me with horror.’

  ‘Exactly. As I said. Perfect.’

  Surreptitiously, Verity stole a glance at him. His face had softened and become heart-achingly tender. When he’d spoken, it had been with great sincerity and the low-pitched sound of his voice had seeped beguilingly into every treacherously eager cell of her body.

  She sniffed indignantly. He was definitely trying to seduce her. And making a very good job of it, if her stratospheric pulse rate was any guide.

  ‘Stop trying so hard to charm me,’ she said caustically. ‘It won’t work.’

  ‘Who’s trying?’ His hands described his innocence. ‘I’m stating facts. You are unusually beautiful, warm, passionate and caring. You have a directness, a wonderful sense of humour and a disconcerting honesty. I feel I can trust you. And I have found it impossible to trust any woman—other than those I’ve known all my life—since Linda took Lio away.’

  She frowned, glowing from the rather unreal picture he’d painted of her.

  ‘I’
d like to know what happened between you two,’ she said quietly.

  In an instant his face grew dark. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  Verity gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘You said you wanted me to discover what kind of man you are. How can I, if—?’

  ‘By observation. Not gossip,’ he said shortly.

  ‘Vittore, it won’t be gossip if you tell me—’

  ‘No!’ he muttered. ‘It’s in the past. Forget it.’

  But she knew she couldn’t. A question mark hung over him and his behaviour. And until she learned the truth, she’d never trust him.

  His mood had changed. He brooded, his eyes fierce beneath lowered brows, his mouth drawn into a tight, uncompromising line.

  ‘That’s my house.’

  Curt and formal, he nodded towards a large and elegant building above the sea, its terraced grounds running down to a sandy beach.

  ‘House? Good grief! More like a palace!’ she exclaimed, sitting forwards uncertainly.

  ‘It was.’ He seemed remote from her, his joy evaporated as he said in clipped tones, ‘The Palazzo di Fiorenzi. The palace of the Florentine princes. They built it in the eighteenth century as a winter retreat.’

  Verity fell silent, oddly disturbed by his coldness and stunned by the grandeur of his palazzo. She reflected that he’d brought Linda here as a bride. Her adoptive sister had had everything wealth could buy and yet she had run from it.

  She shivered, even more afraid of what he’d done to drive the luxury-loving, materialistic Linda from a life of unparalleled comfort.

  Apprehensively she watched a pair of huge iron gates swing open at a flick of Vittore’s remote controller, and then she turned around fearfully as the gates closed with a loud clang.

  Now she was a virtual prisoner, she thought, her heart beginning to pound.

  ‘Will I have one of those?’ she asked nervously, indicating the controller.

  ‘If you drive. Otherwise you’ll use the citofono—the entry phone.’

  ‘So I’ll be able to go out if I want?’ she asked doubtfully.