In the Italian's Sights (15 page)

Ignoring the latter words, he said fiercely, ‘I do not
have
to escort you tonight. I want to, and that is different.’ He bent his head quickly and kissed her before she realised his intention. A hard kiss, unapologetically hungry but over in a moment.

Nevertheless, everything changed and the night was magical again as he opened the car door and walked round to her door to help her alight. And this time she refused to acknowledge the little warning light in the back of her mind that was glowing red.

CHAPTER TEN

T
HEIR
table for two was in a prime position at the edge of the dance floor. The nightclub was crowded and clearly popular, but a bottle of champagne was on ice at their table and within moments of their arrival Vittorio’s friend, Domenico, was at their side, greeting them effusively as he poured the champagne.

Initial introductions over, Domenico—who was as portly and small as Vittorio was lean and tall—beamed at Cherry. ‘I hear all about you,’ he declared somewhat dramatically. ‘You help Sophia,
si
? Ah, Sophia—so like her mother in looks but with her father’s spirit, eh, Vittorio?’

‘Unfortunately this is so,’ Vittorio drawled drily.

Cherry surmised—rightly—that Domenico was acquainted with the full facts regarding the hasty wedding, but thought it prudent merely to smile.

‘And this Santo. He is a good boy at heart, I hear, Cherry? You think this also?’ Domenico asked, as though her opinion mattered. ‘You think he will take good care of Sophia?’

Taken aback, she nodded. ‘Santo’s great,’ she said warmly, ‘and I’m sure they’ll be very happy together.’

‘This is good. I would not like my old friend to go grey before his time, eh, Vittorio?’ Domenico gave a
belly laugh. Then, turning to Cherry again, he added, ‘He has been the best brother a sister could have, but now he needs to find a good woman and have plenty of
bambini
to keep him busy, eh? What do you say, Cherry?’

‘She says she does not think my private life is any of your concern,’ Vittorio interrupted, but without heat. ‘You look after Maria and your own
bambini
and leave me to sort out my own life.’

Domenico grinned, clearly not offended. ‘Talking of which, there will be a new arrival just after Christmas,’ he said contentedly. ‘Or an early Christmas present, perhaps.’

‘Another?’ Vittorio stood up and hugged his friend before saying to Cherry as he sat down again, ‘This will be
bambino
number seven. I am surprised Maria has not insisted on separate bedrooms before this.’

‘It is Maria who has set her heart on a girl,’ Domenico protested. ‘She has had the name chosen for the last three pregnancies. Crista Maria, and she will be beautiful.’

‘You have six boys?’ Cherry stared at Domenico in amazement.

‘Si.’
Domenico couldn’t hide his pride. He was clearly an out-and-out family man. ‘You like children, Cherry?’

Somewhat bemused, she nodded, sipping her champagne.

‘Then Vittorio must bring you to meet them one day soon,
si
? Maria, she will be pleased to show her
bambini
to you.’

Cherry smiled and nodded, but again said nothing. She was beginning to wonder if Vittorio’s friend had got the wrong idea about her staying at the Carella villa and her relationship with its charismatic owner.

After a few more words Domenico disappeared, and
Vittorio leaned forward and touched her hand. ‘He does not mean anything. He is the good friend, that is all,’ he said softly. ‘Do not be concerned, Cherry.’

She wasn’t exactly concerned. In fact she had been wishing that things were different—that this was a real date, that she was a nice Italian girl, the sort of woman Vittorio was eventually bound to marry, being so fiercely Latin. She forced a smile. ‘I think your friend is charming,’ she said with patent sincerity. ‘He clearly thinks the world of you.’

Vittorio smiled back. ‘We have been through some good and bad times together,’ he agreed quietly. ‘Domenico lost his parents and brother when he was a small child and came here from San Severo to live with his grandparents. But he spent most of his time with my family when we became friends. He is more than a friend, he is like a brother, and the three of us—Domenico, another friend, Lorenzo, and myself—were inseparable. It is good to have such friends, I think.’

Lorenzo. That was the man who had married Vittorio’s fiancée, wasn’t it? The thought was barely there when Vittorio’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at a point over her shoulder and swore very softly under his breath.

Before Cherry could even turn her head she was aware of a blast of heavy sickly perfume as a woman came up behind her and paused at their table. ‘Vittorio…’

The woman was beautiful, dark and glossy, and very Italian. Her cocktail dress in vivid peacock-blue fitted every curve and dip of her fabulous body, and the plunging neckline was so daring it made Cherry wonder what on earth she’d been worrying about earlier. She watched as Vittorio rose to his feet, at which point the woman
literally draped herself all over him, and then became aware of the tall, good-looking man who was with her.

Vittorio disentangled himself with polite firmness, kissed the woman coolly on both cheeks and then reached out and took the man’s hand with genuine warmth. ‘Lorenzo, how are you? May I introduce my guest? This is Cherry—she is staying at the villa for a while. Cherry, this is my good friend Lorenzo Giordano, and his wife, Caterina.’

She had known. Even before he had said the name she had known it was her. Cherry pulled herself together and somehow managed to smile naturally and speak calmly. ‘How do you do?’ she said, purposely looking first at Caterina, who was staring at her with hostile amber-brown eyes. When the other woman merely inclined her head, Cherry showed no reaction, turning to Lorenzo and adding, ‘So you are the third of the three musketeers? Vittorio has told me about you and Domenico and himself.’

Lorenzo smiled, showing even white teeth, and then took her hand and raised it to his lips in a gesture of respect. ‘It is very good to meet you,’ he said, as though he meant it. ‘Vittorio mentioned you were staying with him while you are in our beautiful country. I am sure Sophia appreciates a female friend to help her with all the preparations for her wedding.’

So Vittorio was still close enough to his friend to have spoken to him about Sophia’s wedding and her part in it. Had he explained the full story? But that didn’t matter.

Cherry smiled back at Lorenzo, liking him as much as she disliked his wife. ‘I’m having a wonderful time,’ she said warmly. ‘Sophia and I are spending Vittorio’s money as though it’s water and he never objects.’

‘You are staying at Casa Carella?’ It was clearly news to Caterina. Unwelcome news. ‘You did not tell me this,’ she said to her husband, her voice clipped.

Lorenzo shrugged. ‘It must have slipped my mind,’ he said flatly, his countenance changing as he looked at his wife.

Silence reigned for an infinitesimal moment—an awkward moment, full of things unsaid.

She still loves Vittorio and Lorenzo knows it.
Cherry felt as though a bucket of cold water had just been poured over her head, but she had no time to dwell on the revelation because Vittorio was saying cordially, but in a manner which made it clear the conversation was at an end, ‘Enjoy your evening,’ as he resumed his seat without glancing at Caterina again. ‘I will speak to you tomorrow about the new contract,’ he added to Lorenzo, again with a warm smile.

His friend nodded, taking Caterina’s arm and virtually pushing her forward when she would have remained at their side. As the couple walked to a table on the other side of the dance floor, Vittorio said quietly, ‘Lorenzo has an export business and he and I work together on occasion.’

Cherry didn’t know what to say. Ridiculously she felt like crying. Caterina was everything she wasn’t—beautiful, elegant, sophisticated and quite stunning—totally the sort of woman she would expect Vittorio to be with, in fact. And it had been Caterina who’d left him when he wouldn’t send Sophia off to be cared for by relatives—did he still love her deep down? It was possible. More than possible. Was Caterina the real reason he hadn’t settled down with someone else?

Drawing on every scrap of her will-power, she managed
a smile. ‘He seems nice.’ It was weak but it would have to do.

‘He is.’ Vittorio hesitated for a second. ‘The Italian girl I spoke of earlier—the one I was betrothed to—she married Lorenzo after we had gone our separate ways.’

She wanted to ask if he’d minded, although it was too personal. She asked anyway. ‘That must have been difficult for you.’

‘It was awkward for a time.’

When he didn’t elaborate, she felt compelled to say, ‘She is very beautiful.’

‘
Si
, Caterina is beautiful.’ There was another silence.

His attitude was confirming all her fears, but now a welcome flood of pride was welling up, stiffening her back and banishing the momentary weakness of tears. She was blowed if she was going to ask him anything more. He clearly didn’t want to talk about it and that was fine—just fine. She was just the hired help after all, and—as he’d already made clear—outings like this one were payment for her services to his sister.

She raised her head, glancing round the room as she said, ‘This is a fabulous place. Domenico has clearly made a success of the business.’

‘Cherry—’

Whatever Vittorio had been about to say was interrupted by the waiter bustling up to their table, exchanging pleasantries with Vittorio, who clearly was a regular visitor, then placing two embossed menus in their hands, before topping up their glasses although Vittorio had barely touched his.

Feeling in need of some sustenance, Cherry took a healthy gulp. She was going to get through this evening with a smile on her face and dignity intact, no matter
what, she told herself grittily. She couldn’t compete with an out-and-out beauty like Caterina and she wasn’t going to try.

She was facing the table where Lorenzo and Caterina were sitting. Lorenzo was sideways on, but Cherry noticed Caterina had positioned herself so she had a clear view of them, and that the Italian woman had barely taken her eyes off her since she’d sat down. Deliberately now she glanced across the room and met the amber-brown gaze. She didn’t smile, and neither did Caterina, and for a few moments their gaze interlocked. Then Lorenzo’s wife lowered her eyes, her face stormy.

It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. The waiter had made himself scarce presumably to give them time to choose, and Vittorio said quietly, ‘Would you like me to order for you?’

She glanced at the menu. It was in Italian and there were no prices. Great. ‘Thank you.’ She kept her voice polite and light. This evening was just getting better and better, she thought a trifle hysterically. It only needed Angela and her mother to appear like genii out of a bottle to emphasise she was totally out of her depth and didn’t belong here.

She found she had drained her glass without meaning to, and as Vittorio filled it with the sparkling champagne she warned herself to restrain from drinking any more until she had had something to eat. If ever she needed to keep her wits about her, it was tonight.

‘Perhaps
cannelloni ripieni
to begin with,’ Vittorio suggested. ‘It is particularly good here. Or
parmigiano di melanzane
—aubergine baked with cheese and tomato sauce. It is a local speciality. And lobster to follow I think.’

Cherry nodded. She didn’t care what she ate. Since Caterina had arrived she’d lost her appetite.

The waiter reappeared with a plate of olives and anchovies, warm bread and fine olive oil for dipping for them to share, and then bustled off again after taking their order.

A small band was playing melodious Latin music at the back of the dance floor on a tiny raised stage, and already a few couples were dancing. Everyone was having a wonderful time, she thought bitterly—and then she froze in horror as Vittorio stood in one fluent movement and held out his hand to her.

‘Shall we?’

She stared at him, knowing it was quite beyond her to be on show to the rest of the diners—something the couples who were dancing seemed to be enjoying. She wasn’t Italian. She didn’t know all the Latin moves. But neither could she leave Vittorio standing there.

Somehow she found she was on her feet, and immediately Vittorio’s arm was round her waist and he had pulled her into him, holding her firmly and confidently as they began to dance. ‘Relax,’ he murmured softly against her hair. ‘It is not difficult. Just follow my lead. OK?’

So
not OK. She was going to make a fool of herself. She knew it. And then the fact that she was in his arms, her body moulded to his like a second skin, took over. Her reactions came automatically, naturally, and the feel and smell of him took her into a sensually satisfying world where the couples around them ceased to exist.

Vittorio was an excellent dancer in every way. No woman could fail to look graceful as his partner. It was the easiest thing in the world to follow his lead as he’d asked. She just let the powerful masculine body move
and guide her. A slow, dreamy number began and he drew her closer still, her face nestled under his chin, and her arms sliding up around his neck. She breathed him in, intoxicated not by the champagne but by his nearness. She could stay like this for ever, she thought wildly.

She felt the unmistakable hardening of his body and knew he was as aroused as she was, but his control was absolute. He didn’t falter in his steps, whereas by the time they had reached their table and he had gently delivered her into her seat her legs felt like jelly.

Their first course was waiting for them; Vittorio had obviously seen the waiter bring the dishes to the table, but for a moment Cherry stared at the aubergine blankly, her breathing still heavy and slow and her body aching with desire.

How could this man inspire such a flood of blistering sensation just by holding her in his arms? she asked herself faintly. He hadn’t been making love to her, they had been dancing, and yet…