In the Italian's Sights (9 page)

‘You think I would suggest such a thing?’ If he had been angry before he was now livid. ‘What kind of man do you think I am? A monster? Is that it?’

If she answered that honestly it would do nothing to defuse the situation. ‘I don’t know,’ she said neutrally. ‘As you pointed out earlier, before today I hadn’t met you or Sophia. And, believe me, I wish I’d spent the night in the car rather than be in the middle of all this.’

He stared at her, and as he did so she watched him make a huge effort to control his temper. It was clear her words had reminded him she was a guest in his house when he said, ‘I must apologise, Cherry. Sophia was wrong to ask of you what she did, but this does not excuse my behaviour.’

His mastery of his emotions was impressive. Taken aback, she murmured awkwardly, ‘That’s all right. It—it was a shock. And I wanted to help. I still do. If you want me to stay until Sophia and Santo come—’

‘That will not be necessary.’ It was polite, but rage still simmered under the surface. ‘This is not your problem.’

She stood up and he rose too, his manners once again
impeccable. ‘Don’t push her away,’ Cherry said from the heart, without stopping to consider her words—because if she did she wouldn’t dare speak them. ‘She knows you’ll be disappointed and angry, but give her and Santo a chance to talk to you. She loves you very much and this is a time when she needs your help, not rejection. And Santo—he really has been led by her in this.’

‘You are asking me to keep my hands off Santo’s throat?’ he said with a spark of dark humour. ‘Is that it?’

‘Not just that. The person who said “sticks and stones may break your bones but names will never hurt you” didn’t know what they were on about. Words can do deeper harm than any physical blow.’ She knew. She had lived with her mother and Angela for many years before she’d been able to make her escape. ‘And once said, you can’t take them back.’

His eyes narrowed, and he reached out a hand and lifted her chin so she was forced to meet his gaze. ‘Why do you care so much about Sophia?’ he asked softly. ‘You barely know her.’

Her heart was thudding as she felt his strength and warmth flow into her through his fingers, and the delicious smell of him invaded her senses. It was in that moment that she realised it wasn’t so much the sister but the brother she was concerned about. Sophia would be fine. She had her Santo and the baby. But Vittorio… And then she told herself not to be so monumentally stupid. If anyone could stand on their own two feet and take what life dished out it was Vittorio Carella.

She shrugged. Vittorio seemed quite unaffected by her closeness, but his nearness was turning her insides to melted butter. ‘We’re all sisters under the skin,’ she managed fairly lightly. ‘And I like Sophia. That’s all.’

She didn’t expect him to bend his head towards her, or the hard sweet kiss that followed. And then he stepped back a pace, steadying her when she swayed slightly. ‘Go to bed, Cherry,’ he said expressionlessly, his hands leaving her body. ‘It has been a long day,
si
? Breakfast is at seven-thirty.’

Vittorio had not prolonged the kiss, so why was it that this man only had to touch her and a wild kind of exhilaration filled her? She didn’t even know if she liked him, for goodness’ sake. It was humiliating at best and dangerous at worst, but thank goodness he couldn’t read her mind.

‘Goodnight.’ She suddenly needed the safety of her room. ‘And—and thank you again for your hospitality.’

He smiled cynically. ‘In spite of the fact you would have preferred the peace and quiet of your little car?’

She’d asked for that one, she thought as she turned and left. She glanced back at him before walking into the house. He was standing where she’d left him, gazing over the dark grounds, his big figure dark and brooding.

Go to bed
, a little voice at the back of her mind spoke firmly.
You’ve done all you can. It’s up to them now.

Once in her bedroom she undressed and showered quickly, pulling on one of the two pairs of cotton pyjamas she’d brought with her for the trip before climbing into bed. It was extremely comfortable, but in spite of that she lay staring into the shadowed room, lit only by the moonlight streaming in through the windows. The night sky was black, with myriad tiny stars sparkling like diamonds, and the perfume of the Carella gardens drifted through the window, bathing the room in a soft rich scent. England seemed a million miles away, and Angela and Liam and all the heartache connected with
them might have happened in another lifetime. All her thoughts and emotions were tied up with the tall dark man standing, waiting on the veranda, and she found herself praying desperately he wouldn’t do or say anything he would regret.

What happened in this family shouldn’t really matter. They were nothing to her after all. She had only known Vittorio and his sister for a matter of hours, and she hadn’t even met Santo, but in spite of telling herself this over and over again she couldn’t deny the fact it did matter. Terribly. Which was crazy. She wrinkled her nose at herself. Crazy woman, that was her.

She lay, her ears straining for any sound which would indicate Sophia and Santo were downstairs, but the night was quiet. Maybe Sophia had gone to see Santo and he wasn’t at home? Or perhaps she had told him about the baby and he wanted nothing to do with her? Or it could be that the pair of them had come to the house and Vittorio had thrown Santo off the property? But she would have heard the sound of raised voices, surely? Or maybe Sophia was too frightened to return?

These and a hundred and one other possibilities went round and round in her head until it began to ache. Giving up all hope of sleep, she slid out of bed and walked over to the windows, stepping out on to the balcony which was still warm from the heat of the day. Sitting down, she sighed softly. It was beautiful and so peaceful here, she thought idly. Not like the
pensioni
in Lecce, where the suitor of the young Italian girl in the house next door had used to rev up his Vespa under her window each night before leaving, presumably to impress her. This followed the same philosophy of every young Italian male to prove his voice, motor-bicycle or radio to be louder than anyone
else’s—the necessity of cutting a dash was of prime importance, she reflected ruefully.

Cherry shifted in the chair, leaning her elbows on the stone surround of the balcony as she drank in the perfumed air.

But then, she thought on, it was hardly surprising that the Italians were a people of strong emotions, living as they did in a land of such powerfully distinct colours. Azure sky, cobalt sea, golden sunshine, silver olives, green vines, red brick, white marble—the list was endless. She had read somewhere before starting on her journey that the three major active volcanoes on the entire continent were all situated in Italy, and since arriving on its shores that didn’t surprise her. In fact it was fitting for such a fiery, passionate race. She just hoped the simmering volcano in the shape of Vittorio downstairs didn’t explode tonight.

She sat on for another hour or more, until she found herself dozing in the chair and returned to bed. She was on the verge of falling asleep when she heard a soft knock at her door. Sure it was Sophia, she flung back the light covers and padded barefoot across the room, opening the door quietly.

‘Did I wake you?’ Vittorio was leaning against the far wall, hands thrust in his pockets and his expression hidden in the shadows. ‘Were you asleep?’

So surprised her voice came out in a squeak, she managed to say, ‘No, I wasn’t quite asleep,’ and she wished with all her heart she was wearing an alluring feminine nightie rather than her sensible cotton pyjamas dotted with fat little teddy bears. She must look like a schoolgirl.

‘In view of your concern for Sophia I thought you might still be awake.’ His voice was soft, but he didn’t
move from his position some feet away. ‘I wanted to reassure you that Santo has left the house intact. Just,’ he added darkly.

‘They came to see you? I didn’t hear them,’ she said guilelessly, before blushing as she realised she’d given away her desire to eavesdrop. Great spy she’d make.

If he’d noticed, he didn’t comment. ‘There is to be a meeting of the two families tomorrow, but that is not what I came to tell you.’ He levered himself off the wall and came closer, and it was all she could do not to step back a pace. ‘Sophia wishes you to stay for a while.’ His eyes were black in the shadows, his handsome face without expression. ‘There is a great deal to arrange very quickly if she is going to marry Santo before her condition becomes obvious, and the enormity of it has overwhelmed her. She has no mother or sister, no female confidante, and at such a time…’ He shrugged. ‘She does not have the rapport with my housekeeper, and in the matter of shopping for a wedding dress, a trousseau…’

Shock rendered her speechless for a moment. Swallowing hard, she looked at him wide-eyed. ‘But she must have friends? And didn’t you say there is a grandmother?’

‘Our grandmother is ninety years old,’ he said drily, ‘and, whilst she would not thank me for saying so, arrangements of this kind would be beyond her. As for friends—’ again the shrug ‘—Sophia wants you. I understand she is to put the request to you tomorrow morning, but I felt it only fair that you have some time to consider such an undertaking. I am very aware this is your holiday, but your remark about being sisters under the skin…’

Again his voice died away, but this time Cherry peered at him more closely. If she wasn’t mistaken, her soft heart was being played on here. ‘But…’ She paused, hopelessly
out of her depth. ‘Sophia doesn’t
know
me.’ The suggestion was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, so why was she considering it for even a second?

He shifted position slightly and every nerve in her body responded. ‘Do you not think that sometimes you can know more about someone in five minutes than five years with someone else?’ he murmured very, very gently.

He was so close now the warm fragrance of the aftershave she’d smelt earlier was teasing her senses. ‘I’m—I’m not even Italian,’ she protested, as though that was news to him.

He brushed aside the feeble prevarication. ‘That is of no importance. Sophia knows what will be required. You would merely provide a helping hand, listen to any problems and support her—even lend a shoulder to cry on if necessary. I understand women can get very emotional at such an important time, and in view of her condition it is best she is kept as calm as possible,
si
? But of course the decision is yours.’

She stared at him. This man was sex on legs, and if she wasn’t careful she could find herself in a whole heap of trouble here—a case of out of Liam’s frying pan and into Vittorio’s fire. Because one thing was certain. Vittorio Carella could have any woman he wanted with a click of his aristocratic fingers, and if—
if
—he was of a mind to dally a little with her, it wouldn’t mean a thing to him.

Of course she could be completely on the wrong track. Nevertheless… ‘I don’t think—’

‘Do not make your decision now, Cherry.’ He straightened, and her stomach muscles clenched. ‘Sleep on it. Isn’t that what you English say?’

‘Vittorio—’

‘And do not be influenced by the fact that Sophia is
all alone at such a time,’ he continued, with what Cherry considered shameless manipulation. ‘She will manage. Somehow.’

From breathing fire and damnation he had done a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn, hadn’t he? Forcing herself to ignore the tantalising glimpse of dark body hair where the first couple of buttons of his shirt were undone, she said, ‘Do I take it you are prepared to give Sophia and Santo your blessing?’

The firm mouth hardened for a moment. ‘Blessing is stretching my benevolence somewhat. But…’ He hesitated. ‘I do not want to lose her. Or, as you pointed out, my nephew or niece. Santo…’ again he hesitated ‘… is not strong enough for her. Sophia is a Carella. She is obstinate and headstrong and sure she is always right. These qualities have taken the males in my family to a position of wealth and power, but Sophia is a woman. She must see Santo as the head of the family or the marriage will not be happy.’

Cherry reared up as though she’d been bitten. ‘Excuse
me
?’ she said hotly. ‘You aren’t seriously saying that Sophia has to treat Santo as her lord and master once they’re married, are you?’

Vittorio surveyed her coolly. ‘I am saying that I would have preferred Sophia to make a match that is more equal. A man has to know how to handle someone like Sophia, and I am not sure yet that Santo can.’

‘They love each other. Surely that is all that matters in the long run? They’ll sort out their relationship in their own way.’ She glared at him. ‘It might not be exactly how you think it should be, but you could actually be wrong, you know.’

‘My, my, my.’ His voice was soft, silky, but with an
edge to it. ‘Is this one of the things you are passionate about,
mia piccola
? Along with animals, reading, and eating out with friends, of course.’

Sarcastic swine. Refusing to be drawn, she took a deep breath and told herself to calm down. ‘I believe men and women are equal, if that’s what you are asking.’

‘This is good. I, too, think this.’

‘You?’ How could he have the nerve to say that?

‘But of course. The sexes are different—different needs, different strengths and weaknesses—but in a perfect union the two fit together as one and complement the whole. Each has their role to play.’

Cherry stared at him suspiciously. ‘You said Sophia should regard Santo as the head; that’s not equality.’

‘I disagree.’ He propped one arm against the doorpost, his fingers splayed next to her head.

His rich masculine fragrance invaded her space and caused her nerves to jolt, even as she told herself to keep perfectly still and composed.

‘Santo will love and honour Sophia and put her before anyone, even their children, and Sophia will respect and support him in his role of husband and father and understand that the responsibility for taking care of her and their family can be a heavy one. That is how it should be.’ His voice dropped an octave and he bent a little closer. ‘You think differently?’