His icy, knowing smile made her stomach flip over. She glared at him but he held her gaze.
‘I like playing games as much as the next man, cara, but you don’t have to play games with me anymore. And this is a game, isn’t it? You holding out for more and me giving you what you really want?’
She stared at him in silence. His blue eyes were as deep and tempting as the Tyrrhenian Sea.
‘Come on, cara,’ he said softly. ‘Umberto was a rich man, but accept my offer and you’ll be a far richer woman.’
Flora stared at the envelope in silence. A rich woman! She could almost picture the cheque: could see that authoritative swirling signature.
He watched with grim satisfaction as she hesitated momentarily and then took it from him. ‘Aren’t you going to open it?’
She looked up at him, hating the note of triumph in his voice. ‘No,’ she said quietly, her eyes fixed on his face. And then with slow deliberation she tore the envelope in two and threw it at him. ‘I don’t need to. You see, there’s nothing you can offer me that I will ever want. Except never to see your vile, arrogant face again!’
And before he even had a chance to reply she turned and darted through an archway and vanished as a light breeze blew the pieces of envelope and cheque across the flagstones.
CHAPTER TWO
MASSIMO STARED AFTER her in confusion. What the hell had just happened? Had she really just taken his cheque and ripped it up? Without even looking at it?
His stomach contracted. Everything he’d wanted had been almost in his grasp and now he felt stupid and out of place—almost as though she’d left him standing at the altar, with the pieces of envelope fluttering around his feet like discarded confetti. His breathing quickened. Damn her!
‘Mr Sforza?’ At the sound of Giorgio’s voice he turned sharply. Looking pale and flustered, his lawyer hurried across the flagstones. ‘I’m sorry I took so long. This place is like a maze. But I heard voices.’ His eyes popped slightly as finally he seemed to register his shirtless boss, and then he looked quickly away. ‘Er...is everything okay? I mean—’
Massimo’s face darkened. He was well aware of how he must look, standing there half-naked and alone like some spurned suitor. His confusion was gone, replaced by a rage so pure, so absolute, that it seemed to fill his entire body.
‘Everything is fine,’ he snapped. ‘I just thought I’d have a quick sunbathe.’
The lawyer gazed at him uncertainly. ‘Really...?’
Massimo shook his head in exasperation, his body seething with a frustration that took him straight back to his childhood. ‘No, Giorgio. Of course not. I was—’ Grimacing, he shook his head again. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Breathing out slowly, he picked up his shirt and slid his arms into it. ‘You can tell Lisi she was right, though. She is volatile.’
‘That’s the impression I was given, sir.’ Giorgio nodded, a look of relief sliding over his face. ‘That’s why I think we should cut our losses and walk away before...’ He glanced furtively across at his boss, who was buttoning up his shirt with swift precision. ‘Before this gets any more out of hand.’
Massimo whirled towards him. ‘Walk away?’ Snatching up his jacket, he shrugged it on carelessly, his voice colder than marble. ‘Oh, I’ve got no intention of walking away, Giorgio. Not before I’ve taught Miss Golding a long and clearly overdue lesson in manners. Come with me.’
He turned and began to walk swiftly in the direction that Flora had just taken. Ducking under the archway, both men came to an abrupt stop as they emerged onto a neatly trimmed grass lawn. Across the lawn a high yew hedge rose out of the ground, in the centre of which was another archway. There was no sign of Flora—
‘This is getting ridiculous,’ Massimo muttered. ‘How many gardens does one palazzo need?’
They crossed the lawn and stopped in front of the archway. It wasn’t a garden.
‘It’s a maze!’ Giorgio gazed uncertainly at a small rusting sign. He looked up at his boss, his expression a mixture of astonishment and dismay. ‘Do you think she’s in there?’
Massimo scowled. Of course she was in there. No doubt laughing her pretty little head off at their expense.
He sighed. ‘I should have ripped the damned house down with her in it. I know I said this before, but I’m going to sort this out once and for all and then I’ll be back. And this time I really won’t be long. After all, how difficult can it be to find her?’
The answer to that question was really difficult, he decided some twenty minutes later, after he’d turned yet another corner to find yet another dead end. With a groan of frustration, he ran his hands through his hair and cursed Flora loudly.
‘I may not be a lady, but even I wouldn’t use words like that!’
His body froze as her voice, fizzing with malice, cut sharply through his tirade.
‘What’s the matter, Mr Sforza? Don’t you like hide and seek? I thought you liked playing games “as much as the next man”.’
He spun round, his gaze boring into the thick, dark leaves. ‘Oh, very funny. This is very amusing, I’m sure. But you can’t hide from me for ever!’
‘Probably not! But I’ve got a funny feeling that after an hour...’ she paused, and sighed elaborately ‘...or four spent wandering around in here, you might just want to go home. If a bullying, greedy monster like you actually has a home.’
He gritted his teeth and then his pupils flared as from somewhere behind the high green hedge, he heard a twig snap. Gotcha! Slowly, with delicate steps, his heart hammering with excitement, he crept towards the end of the path and stepped swiftly around the corner. But there was no one there.
‘You might as well give up and go home.’
Her voice floated through the foliage, the crisp, cool words acting like salt on his wounded pride. And yet despite his irritation part of him was enjoying this game they were playing.
His mouth curved into an almost-smile. ‘If you knew me better, cara, you’d know that I never give up or give in.’
‘Thankfully I will never know you at all. Anyway, carry on looking if you want, but I should warn you there’s over a thousand metres of paths and only one of them will take you to the centre. Still...happy hunting!’
Massimo glanced up at the sky, and his breathing slowed. She was going to pay for this. And a lot sooner than she thought. Reaching into his trouser pocket, he pulled out his mobile phone and punched in a number.
Flora stared up at the thick, yew bushes and felt a surge of satisfaction. The maze had been designed by Umberto and had a particularly fiendish layout. Massimo Sforza would be stuck wandering around between its high, impenetrable hedges hopefully until the sun set. She smiled happily. Which should give him ample time to ponder the ethics of harassment and bribery.
Her smile faded. His casual, unfounded assumption that her reason for staying at the palazzo was to squeeze more money out of him and his stupid company made her skin tighten with anger.
If only there was some way to get rid of him for good. But like most rich, powerful men, he was used to getting his own way.
She felt suddenly tired. Was it so much to ask to keep her home? But it was always the same. Even reasonable, well-adjusted men seemed to assume that a woman could and should change her life to fit in with their plans.
Remembering James’s angry disbelief when she’d refused to upend her life for his, she felt an ache spread inside of her. And it had been the same with Thomas too. He’d been bewildered and then furious with her for pursuing her own goals instead of supporting him.
Her lip trembled. Then of course there was her dad and her brother, Freddie. They’d always been protective but since her mother’s death, they’d treated her like she was a child; an adorable but foolish child who needed protecting from herself.
Still, at least they love
d her and cared about her. Massimo Sforza, on the other hand, only cared about himself. But just because he was rich and used to getting his own way didn’t mean she should give up her home so he could turn it into a stupid hotel.
She shivered. The stone bench on which she’d taken refuge was cold, and even though the sun was gleaming like a huge pearl in the flawless blue sky the seven-foot hedges meant that little of its heat was reaching her.
Damn Gianni! It was all his fault. If only Umberto hadn’t left him the estate. And if only his feckless, greedy brother hadn’t sold it on as soon as the deeds were in his hands, she wouldn’t be here, hiding like a criminal on the run.
A twig cracked nearby, and she froze momentarily—then relaxed. It was probably just a lizard or a bird. Massimo Sforza might be rich and powerful but he’d need x-ray vision or wings to find her in here.
Her head jerked up abruptly. Above her, a Marsh harrier gave a shrill screech and, frowning, she slid off the bench, a shiver of apprehension scuttling down her spine. It might have been muted by the hedges, but it had definitely been a warning call. But before she could even ponder as to what might have caused the bird’s alarm she heard a faint droning noise, and then a shadow fell across her upturned face and the droning become a loud rhythmic ‘whumping’.
Open-mouthed, Flora stared up in astonishment at a large, sleek white helicopter. Where had it come from? And then she gave a sudden cry of rage. Sforza! It had to be. She’d assumed he’d driven to the palazzo, but who else would have such a showy boy’s toy? She must have been swimming under the water in the pond when he’d flown over—
There was a crunch of footsteps on gravel behind her, and her heart leaping in her chest, she turned, knowing before she did so that it would be him.
‘Thanks, Paolo. Yeah, I think I can find my way out. But I’ll call you if I need your help.’ Massimo clicked off his phone and examined her face, his eyes glittering with malice. ‘So. We meet again.’ He glanced at his watch and frowned. ‘Not quite fifteen minutes!’
‘Only because you cheated!’ Hands curling into fists, Flora stepped backwards. Her calves collided painfully with the stone bench, but it was nothing compared to the injuries she would inflict on Massimo if she stood too close to him.
He shook his head. ‘You’re not going to have a tantrum about losing, are you, cara? I told you—I don’t give up and I don’t give in. And, besides, I hate waiting.’
She shivered as his face shifted, grew harder and colder than the marble bench pressing against her legs.
‘And I never, ever lose.’
Flora stared at him stonily. ‘What a wonderful mantra for life. Your parents must be so proud of you.’
His eyes flared, and nervously she realised that his broad body was blocking her only way of escape.
There was a short, tense silence and then he shrugged. ‘And what about your parents, cara? Were they proud that their daughter was shacked up with a man old enough to be her grandfather?’ He paused, his lip curling, his teeth bared so that for a moment he seemed to resemble a large, dangerous animal more than a man.
She lifted her chin and met his gaze. ‘We can stand here all day and trade insults, if you want,’ she said stiffly. ‘But it won’t alter the fact that I have a legal right to stay here as a tenant for as long as I wish. Nothing you can do or say will change that fact.’
For a long moment he stared at her steadily and then, to her astonishment, he smiled without rancour. ‘That’s true.’
She waited tensely as he continued to study her, his abrupt change of mood almost as unsettling as the growing realisation that they were only inches apart, alone, separated from the rest of the world by seven-foot hedges. Goosebumps tiptoed over her skin, and she swallowed uneasily. Why was he looking at her like that? It reminded her of the way buyers used to look at Umberto’s paintings: cool, assessing, critical.
She shivered again, and he frowned slightly. ‘You’re cold! Of course, you must be.’
Before she could reply, he had pulled off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. His hand grazed her skin, and she shivered once more, this time from the heat of his touch.
Feeling somehow disloyal—although to what or to whom, she wasn’t sure—she tried to shrug it off, but he shook his head.
‘It’s just a jacket, cara. Not a white flag.’
Blushing, wondering how or when her thoughts became so transparent, she nodded mutely. She felt hot. Impatient. Restless. But where had all her anger and outrage gone? Wrapping her arms tightly across her chest, she stared mutinously past his head. He was making her feel like this. His tantalising nearness seemed to have driven all rational thought from her mind. And now, wearing his jacket, with the warmth of his body still clinging to the fabric, she felt even more confused.
Still staring straight ahead and desperate to at least appear cool and calm, she cleared her throat. ‘I’ll walk you out.’ His gaze was burning her skin and, turning, her heart shivered as her eyes collided with his.
He nodded slowly. ‘Then I won’t charge you for the loan of my jacket.’ Her eyes widened and he grinned. ‘I’m kidding. Look. I can find my own way out—’
She rolled her eyes. ‘No you can’t. Come on. It’ll only take a few minutes.’
It took seven. Giorgio was waiting at the entrance. He glanced anxiously at their faces. ‘Ah, there you are. There you both are—’
Massimo interrupted him smoothly. ‘Giorgio. I don’t believe you’ve met Miss Golding. Miss Golding, this is my chief legal advisor, Giorgio Caselli. Our business is done here, Giorgio. I’ll see you back at the helicopter.’
Looking both astonished and respectful, the lawyer nodded. ‘It is? Excellent. Wonderful. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Golding.’
Flora stared after him, a sense of foreboding creeping over her skin. Was that it, then? After all these months of harassment, was he just going to give up and walk away?
She turned to face him. ‘I don’t understand. Are you saying I can stay? Or is this some game? Because I don’t know how to play.’
His mouth curved at the edges. ‘This isn’t a game.’
‘But it doesn’t make any sense,’ she replied fiercely. ‘One minute you’re jack-booting around like some crazed dictator on a rampage, and now you’re being—’ She stopped.
‘What? What am I being?’
His blue eyes were fixed on her animated features and she frowned. ‘I don’t know—reasonable, nice!’
He winced. ‘Reasonable! Nice? I don’t think anyone has ever accused me of being that before!’ His tone was teasing.
‘I don’t suppose they have,’ she said cautiously.
He grinned, his handsome face softening. ‘It’s a low blow! Arrogant, ruthless, crazed...I can handle. Niceness, though... That’s dangerous! Whoever heard of a nice CEO?’
She bit her lip.
He frowned. ‘I’m serious. You have to promise me: what happens in the maze, stays in the maze. I can’t have my reputation as a “bullying, greedy monster” ruined.’
Recognising her words, Flora blushed. ‘You were a bit bullying,’ she said carefully. ‘But I suppose that doesn’t matter now.’
He was watching her thoughtfully. ‘I’d like to think it doesn’t.’ Pausing, he glanced across the lawn. ‘Are there more gardens over there?’
Surprised by the change of subject, she nodded.
‘I’d like to see them. Will you show me?’ he asked simply.
Breathing in the drifting scents of blossom and warm earth, Massimo was surprised—impressed, even—by the scale and diversity of the gardens. He was no horticulturist, but even he could see that in stark contrast to the palazzo it looked as though someone was taking care of them.
Between narrow gravel-filled paths edged with meticulously trimmed bay hedges, the nea
t, square beds were filled with lavender, thyme, rosemary and sage, while espaliered fruit trees mingled with climbing roses, jasmine, honeysuckle and wisteria on the walls and arches.
Massimo ran his hand lightly over a topiary spiral. No doubt Bassani had taken up gardening when his career as an artist had begun to fade. Squinting into the sunlight, his face tightened. It was pretty, but gardening—like all hobbies—seemed a complete waste of time to him. He worked out with a personal trainer five mornings a week, but work fulfilled all his needs except rest and relaxation, which was why, in his leisure time, he liked to sleep and have sex.
His lip curled—although not necessarily in that order.
‘It’s beautiful,’ he said finally. ‘I didn’t know Bassani was such a keen horticulturist.’
Flora looked up at him, her mouth curving into a pout, and he felt his groin tighten almost imperceptibly. How to describe those lips? Not red, not pink— He smiled grimly as the words came to him from school art lessons: rose madder. He stared at her critically. A tiny scar just above her eyebrow and a sprinkling of freckles over her nose and cheeks contrasted with the classical symmetry of her face and saved her from being just another pretty girl. But that mouth was a work of art: a mixture of challenge and seduction, determination and—surrender.
An image of Flora, soft-eyed, her body melting against his, those lips parting, exploded inside his head.
Struggling to keep himself from touching the plump cushion of her lower lip, he gestured offhandedly towards a cluster of dark red peonies. ‘Did he choose everything?’
Flora shook her head slowly. ‘Umberto didn’t have anything to do with the gardens—’ She checked herself. ‘He liked sitting in them, of course, but he knew absolutely nothing about plants.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘He couldn’t tell a weed from a wallflower!’
Watching her eyes mist over as she talked about her lover, Massimo felt something twist inside him. The thought of Flora and Umberto together, her bewitching young body pressed against the older man’s, made him want to snap the heads off the flowers—
A Deal Sealed by Passion Page 3