‘Romans call it “the wedding cake”,’ Andrew told her, only the slight roughness of his voice betraying that he was affected in any way.
‘I can see why.’ She was proud of the steadiness of her own reply.
When they reached the sluggish, weed-choked Tiber, Andrew paid off the driver, adding a generous tip, and helped Bel down.
‘Ready to do a spot of sightseeing on foot?’
‘Yes, I’d like to stretch my legs.’
Nodding his approval, he said, ‘If you start to get tired we can pick up a taxi on the way back.’
For Bel, the remainder of the afternoon flew by in a kaleidoscope of wonderful colours and impressions, sights and sounds. It was almost six-thirty before they reached the Via Veneto, and walked up the famous street to the Villa Borghese, Rome’s major public park.
The sun still shone, but it had lost its daytime fierceness and a cool, early-evening breeze rustled through the leaves and carried the sharp, resinous scent of the billowing umbrella pines.
Apart from the roads that traversed it, the park was quiet, and they had walked for some minutes before a woman appeared. She was preceded by a small, highspirited boy running full tilt as he alternately kicked and chased a bright red ball.
His mother had just called out a warning when he tripped, letting out a bellow of anguish as he went sprawling on the gravelly path.
Before Bel could move, Andrew had picked the child up and was crouching on his haunches, talking soothingly, reassuringly.
By the time the boy’s mother reached them his sobs had died and he was leaning against Andrew’s knee, confiding that he intended to be a footballer when he grew up.
‘Grazie,’ the woman said gratefully.
As they resumed their stroll Bel glanced at her companion. She hadn’t put him down as a man who would take kindly to children, and his reaction to the little incident, his genuine warmth and kindness, had surprised her.
‘Hungry?’ he queried, intercepting her glance.
‘Ravenous,’ she admitted cheerfully.
‘Then we’ll have dinner now, and that will give me time to show you a little of Rome by night before I take you home.’
The words ‘before I take you home’ rang a warning bell. Pushing the problem of how to prevent that happening to the back of her mind to be dealt with later, she mentioned, ‘I’m hardly dressed for dining out.’
‘You look fine to me.’
Instead of turning back towards the Via Veneto, with its many and varied restaurants, as Bel had expected, he headed further into the park.
Seeing she looked puzzled, he explained, ‘I have somewhere special in mind, and if we stroll this way it should be easier to pick up a taxi.’
‘Oh…so where are we going?’ she queried.
He named a wealthy and select district beyond the Villa Borghese.
With the faintest stirring of unease, she said, ‘But I understood that was a mainly residential area.’
‘So it is, but it boasts some of Rome’s finest hotels and restaurants, quite a few select shops and boutiques, and the best ice-cream bar in the city…’ As he spoke he hailed an approaching taxi, which did a tyrescreeching U-turn and stopped beside them.
Andrew handed Bel in and, having given the driver an address she didn’t catch, climbed in beside her.
This time, prepared, she had moved along the seat to leave a good foot of space between them.
He lifted a dark, mocking brow. ‘Sure you have enough room?’
Determined not to be teased, she answered calmly, ‘Yes, thank you.’
As though to punish her, he stretched a lazy arm along the back of the seat and stroked the side of her neck with his fingertips.
Her whole being concentrated on that light but sensuous caress, she was held in thrall until the taxi drew up outside tall, black wrought-iron gates, and he opened the door and helped her out.
Standing on the cobblestoned pavement, she glanced up and down what appeared to be a quiet, tree-shaded street of widely spaced private houses, most of them dating from an earlier, more elegant period.
Having paid the driver, who seemed in no hurry to be off, Andrew took Bel’s arm. Opening the ornamental iron gates, he led her into a walled garden where a fountain played and a mass of scarlet geraniums glowed amongst tubs of dark green laurel and aromatic myrtle.
Guarded by gnarled cypress trees, the house stood sideways on to the road. Its walls were of ochre stucco set with asymmetrical windows, and its roof, adorned by turrets and cupolas, hung at unpredictable angles. Two ornate second-floor roofed balconies were enclosed by fancy grilles and supported by twisted columns.
‘This is the Villa Dolce far Niente,’ Andrew informed her.
Gazing at it in fascinated awe, she remarked, ‘The outside’s absolutely fantastic.’
‘Then I hope you’ll like the inside.’
As he opened the heavy door she hung back, suddenly suspicious. ‘This looks more like a private house than a restaurant’
‘It is a private house.’
Realisation dawned belatedly. ‘It’s yours!’
Even as the accusation left her lips Bel knew she was mistaken. Any house of his would be functional and coolly elegant. This eccentric, whimsical, wholly charming villa wasn’t at all the kind of thing a sophis ticated man like Andrew would own.
But he was admitting that it was his, adding easily. ‘I thought you might like to see it’
Not on your life! It smacked too much of, ‘Will you walk into my parlour?’ said the spider to the fly…
As if she’d spoken the thought aloud, he murmured, blue-grey eyes gleaming with mockery, ‘The closest thing I’ve got to a winding stair is a spiral staircase.’
‘Too close for comfort,’ she informed him crisply, and wondered how on earth he could read her mind with such devastating accuracy. It made her feel both threatened and defenceless.
He laughed. ‘Then I’ll get Maria to show you upstairs.’
She would have baulked at the ‘upstairs’ if the reference to ‘Maria’ hadn’t tripped her up first. ‘Who is Maria?’ she asked warily.
‘My housekeeper…’
And mistress?
But he was going on wryly, ‘A formidable lady who’s capable of terrorising any poor male…’
Shaking her head, Bel totally rejected the image of Andrew being terrorised by any woman, let alone his own housekeeper.
‘She hates anyone being late for meals, so I’d rather not keep her waiting any longer.’
‘Keep her waiting?’ Bel echoed blankly.
‘She was expecting us to sit down to eat at seven o’clock and it’s almost twenty minutes past now.’
Somewhat reassured by the knowledge that they wouldn’t be alone, Bel was about to let him usher her inside when the absurdity of that latter statement struck her. ‘That’s ridiculous…’ she blurted out.
For a moment he said nothing, but a sardonic smile touched his lips as he waited for the silence to suggest that she was making a fool of herself.
‘How could your housekeeper be expecting us?’ But now Bel sounded less sure of herself.
His voice full of sweet reason, he explained, ‘Earlier, when we stopped for a drink and you went to freshen up, I had time to phone and tell her I’d be bringing a guest for dinner.’
Preceding him into a surprisingly spacious hall, where a beautiful staircase curved in a spiral up to the second floor, Bel asked crossly, ‘Why didn’t you tell me at the time?’
He closed the door behind them, and asked with a glint in his eye, ‘Why do you think?’
Because he knew quite well she would have jibbed at coming to his house to eat. It had been so much simpler and easier to make her believe they were having dinner in a restaurant.
Oh, but he was expert when it came to dissembling, to playing his devious games…Unscrupulous when it came to getting what he wanted. Prepared to coerce and, even if only by implication, lie…
S
he was about to tell him in no uncertain terms what she thought of his tactics, when a woman appeared at the end of the hallway.
Dressed in decent black, her grey hair pulled back in a bun, she looked every bit as formidable as Andrew had suggested.
Bel found the sight oddly reassuring.
‘Buona sera.’ The housekeeper’s greeting was uttered with a thin-lipped civility that barely cloaked her displeasure.
Andrew gave Bel a comical ‘what did I tell you?’ glance, and said briskly, ‘Buona sera, Maria. I’m sorry we’re late. If you’ll please show Miss Grant upstairs, I’ll be up myself in a moment.’
Without a word the tall, spare housekeeper led Bel up the curving staircase and across a wide, sunny landing.
Throwing open double doors into what was clearly the main living area, she announced curtly, ‘Dinner is waiting on the balcony, signorina. If you would like to wash your hands first, there is a bathroom on the left’ ‘Grazie.’
But, scarcely waiting to be thanked, the housekeeper was retreating down the stairs.
After a moment’s hesitation, Bel decided that even at the risk of upsetting the woman further she did need to freshen up.
There were two doors on the left. The first opened into an oyster and gold bedroom, with a blue and gold canopied four-poster bed and billowing muslin curtains at the open French windows.
Closing it hastily, Bel tried the second, which proved to be a large and luxuriously fitted bathroom with another door leading into the bedroom.
As quickly as possible she washed her face and hands and then, noticing that the rose, which she had slipped through the clasp of her bag, was now wilting badly, she put it in a toothglass half full of water. Having fished out some pins, she ran a comb through her hair and twisted it into a smooth chignon, before hurrying back to the living room.
There was still no sign of Andrew, and Bel glanced around her curiously. The walls were painted ivory and the ceiling rose to form a dome, giving the room a cool, airy feel.
Furnished by someone with an eye for unusual and beautiful things, it held an eclectic mix of what appeared to be individually chosen items of interest and antiques. Only the comfortable-looking leather suite was unashamedly modern.
The doors leading to the balcony stood open wide, and Bel could see an oval table set with dazzling white linen, a centrepiece of fresh flowers and crystal wine goblets. Through the balcony railing, bathed in the golden light of evening, was a spectacular view of Rome.
When Andrew suddenly appeared at her side she jumped nervously, not having heard his soft-footed approach.
‘So what do you think of my house?’
He had changed into slim-fitting trousers and a dark silk shirt, open at the neck, which clothed his toughness with an air of cool elegance and added to his already potent attraction. His chin was smooth, his hair still slightly damp, and she guessed he’d made time for a quick shower and shave.
Feeling at a disadvantage, she asked a shade tartly, ‘Do you care what anyone else thinks?’
‘Not as a rule,’ he answered serenely as he led her out onto the balcony and seated her at the table. ‘But it’s the kind of house that one either loves or hates.’
‘Would it hurt your feelings if I said I hated it?’
‘No. But I would be disappointed. I’m convinced we’re soul mates and share the same tastes.’
‘I shouldn’t bet on it,’ she retorted crisply.
Having poured the wine, without waiting for the housekeeper to reappear, Andrew moved to a heated trolley and began to serve the meal.
‘Gnocchi Verdi,’ he told her, ladling out what appeared to be small green dumplings, ‘Maria’s speciality.’
When Bel had finished the last mouthful, she said, ‘They were heavenly—the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.’
‘Don’t say that until you’ve tried the sweet.’
He produced two glass bowls of Tiramisu, some fresh fruit and a pot of coffee.
Sampling a spoonful of the delectable cream and chocolate concoction, Bel murmured, ‘Mmm…I see what you mean.’
‘Maria’s cooking helps to make up for the fact that she’s seldom amiable,’ he remarked dryly.
‘Are good cooks hard to come by?’
‘Not if one can afford to pay the going rate.’
Knowing she wouldn’t have put him down as a man to suffer fools, or grumpy housekeepers, gladly, Bel asked curiously, ‘Then why do you keep her?’
He answered simply, ‘She’s a widow with a bedridden daughter to support and take care of.’
‘Oh…’ Her thoughts skittering like pearls on ice, Bel queried, ‘Does her daughter live here as well?’
‘No.’ He poured coffee for them both. ‘Maria has a small house on the outskirts of the city.’
Since the housekeeper had hurried down the stairs there hadn’t been a sound, and Andrew had served the meal himself…
In a half-strangled voice, Bel said, ‘She’s gone home…’
Though it was a statement rather than a question, Andrew answered, ‘I sent her off in the taxi. But there’s no need to look quite so alarmed. I’m not planning to spring on you.’
‘What are you planning?’
‘A pleasant evening together.’
‘Followed by a spot of seduction, no doubt?’ Agitation made her heart start to race. ‘Well, you’re wasting your time. I don’t intend to indulge in a holiday fling…or anything else for that matter.’
‘Why not?’ he asked, suddenly serious. ‘You want me as much as I want you.’
It was the truth and she was unable to deny it. From their first meeting the desire sparking between them had been mutual. But, though the flame burnt fiercely, common sense told her it could be no more than a passing sexual attraction.
‘That’s just a physical thing,’ she said dismissively. ‘What about deeper feelings? We don’t even like, let alone love, one another.’
Unruffled, he suggested, ‘You might grow to like me, or even—’
‘I could never love you!’ she broke in sharply, emphatically, determined to make it clear to herself as well as him.
His grey eyes ironic, he asked, ‘And are you romantic enough to believe that no relationship can really succeed unless the partners love one another?’
Flushing, she lied, ‘Of course not, but there has to be something…’
‘You’ve already admitted that there’s a very strong sexual attraction.’
‘But if it’s just a question of sex, why me? There must be plenty of women who would jump at the chance to share your bed.’
‘I don’t want “plenty of women”. I want you.’
Frightened out of her wits, she cried a little wildly, ‘But I don’t know anything about you.’
‘I think I can say that, apart from whistling off key and liking to shower à deux, I have no nasty habits, and my faults, though many, are relatively minor.’
Just the thought of that bronzed, muscular body naked next to hers in the shower struck her dumb and made heat run through her.
As if he knew, he gave her an amused, slightly taunting look that threatened to destroy what was left of her composure.
Somehow she found her voice and informed him raggedly, ‘If you were Mr Perfect himself the answer would still be no.’
Jumping to her feet, she added with what she hoped sounded like cool determination, ‘So, if you’ll please call me a taxi, I’d like to go home now.’
‘Very well.’ With a slight shrug, he followed her into the living room and, his broad back turned to her, picked up the phone and proceeded to do her bidding.
As she stared at the back of his neck, at the arrogant tilt of that well-shaped head, the neatly set ears, the way the dark hair curled a little into his nape, something struck a chord…
‘About fifteen minutes.’ Replacing the receiver, he turned towards her.
She looked hastily away, the fleeting memory vanishing like some wraith.
; ‘Are you intending to hover until it arrives?’ he asked sardonically. ‘Or will you sit down again?’
Feeling safer on her feet, she took a step towards the French windows and, looking out to where the sun had lost its grip and was slipping below the horizon in a glorious blaze of crimson and gold, said mendaciously, ‘I was admiring your view.’
Her strategy backfired disastrously.
He came to stand behind her. Iron bands tightened around her chest and she heard her own struggle to breathe as, holding her upper arms lightly, he drew her back against him and bent his head so that his cheek touched hers. ‘If you look a little to the left, you can see right down to the Tiber.’
She stood transfixed, seeing nothing, aware only of the warm strength of that lean, lithe body, the feel of his cheek against hers and the cool, masculine smell of his aftershave.
If she turned to face him their bodies would fit together as if they belonged, two halves of a whole, male to female, soft curves to hard muscle. There would be a wild, singing sweetness, a rightness…
But she wouldn’t. Couldn’t. It was far too dangerous.
Swallowing, she croaked, ‘The taxi should be here soon.’ It was a prayer. Desperately, she added, ‘I ought to go down.’
‘Mmm…’ he agreed, his lips brushing her ear. ‘But not just yet.’
Bel took a shaky breath which ended in a silent gasp as kisses lighter than thistledown began to pattern her cheek and temple.
She was trying to find the strength to pull away, to put an end to this dreamy pleasure, when his mouth wandered to the angle of her jaw and down the side of her neck, kissing and nibbling, leaving little explosions of sensation wherever it touched.
Concentrating on what his mouth was doing to her, she was taken by surprise when she found one of his hands spread on her abdomen and the other lying across her midriff, his thumb just brushing the underside of her breast.
A sense of expectancy filled her, and her heart thudded hollowly against her ribs. This was madness, some vestige of common sense warned, but already the yearning to have him fondle her breasts was getting too strong to fight.
But somehow she had to fight it, to hold out against the insidious temptation of his mouth and hands. With a kind of despairing last-ditch attempt to defeat both his intention and her own desire, she bent her head and crossed her arms over her breasts.
First-Class Seduction Page 6