glade.
He had followed in her footsteps. He didn’t know whether to be troubled or amused by the fact he was utterly besotted with some aspect of her. Maybe when he got to know her it would pass. There was that cynical voice again. She was seated on a garlanded swing that was suspended from a sturdy tree branch. Wasn’t that exactly where one might expect such a beautiful creature to be, in her beribboned short dress? The dress was exactly the same colour as the flowers of the vine that grew so profusely up the swing’s support chains, a porcelain pink.
He paused, looking towards her. ‘You couldn’t have found a more bewitching spot.’
‘Hello,’ she said simply. She didn’t seem at all surprised to see him. ‘You’re right. How did you know where to find me?’
He gave a self-mocking smile. ‘I just followed the magic petals. You did strew them for me, didn’t you?’
‘If that’s how you want to interpret it.’ Her glance held faint irony, as though she thought it wouldn’t hurt him to be taken down a peg.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said, moving over the daisy-flecked green turf towards her. ‘I did find you.’
‘You were looking.’ It wasn’t a question.
No point in denying it. He ran a hand through his shock of black hair, pushing back the unruly lock that had fallen forward onto his brow. ‘I’ve been trying to get to your side for hours.’
She began to swing, very gently. ‘How could you possibly fit me in between partners? You were never short of one.’ The minute it was out of her mouth, Daniela regretted it. It sounded as if she had been keeping an eye on him. She hadn’t been. Well, maybe she had directed a few glances.
‘That thing actually works?’ he asked, his gaze on the swing, wondering if it was safe. It looked more like a marvellous decorative element in the garden than functional.
‘You can see it does.’ She began to swing higher. ‘The garlands are a lovely idea, don’t you think? The flowers spring from these little planter boxes fixed to the base of the swing. See?’ She slowed to point them out. ‘It’s the most amazing garden. I love it. I expect fairies with wonderful sparkling wings hold midnight parties here.’
He could feel the impact of her—her beauty and mystique—in every cell of his body. ‘Do you suppose they ask mere mortals to join in? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to the wedding?’
She flew a little higher. ‘It didn’t seem to me we would meet again.’
‘Oddly, I don’t believe you.’ A good thing she was a featherweight, but he was still getting anxious. He didn’t want to see her fall.
Abruptly she slowed again. ‘Perhaps you’re too sure of yourself?’ She knew she sounded touchy, prickly, but she couldn’t seem to control it.
‘And the idea upsets you? What sort of man do you like?’ He moved, his hands reaching out for the flower-decked chains, testing them. They held very firm under pressure and he began to propel her forward.
‘I’ll recognise him if I ever find him!’ she exclaimed, sounding a little breathless.
‘Tell me. What’s a young woman like you doing here all by yourself on a swing?’
‘All by myself?’ Briefly she met his eyes. ‘I thought you were with me, pushing me?’
‘Aren’t I expected to in such a situation? Hold still for a moment,’ he cautioned, as on a downward motion a thick green tendril sprang out from the vine and hooked into her hair.
Immediately her small high-arched feet in their pretty high-heeled gilded sandals anchored her to the ground.
He freed her. A small thing, but it hit him hard. She put up a hand to smooth her hair a mere second before he drew his away.
Skin on skin. He could have been wrong, but it seemed like an effort for both of them to pull away. Was he crazy? He wanted to pull her off that swing, pull her into his arms, make love to her there and then. Such was his physical turmoil.
Perhaps something of what he was feeling got through to her, because she gave him a look that came close to a plea. ‘It’s better if we return to the reception.’
‘As you wish.’ He inclined his head. ‘Is there any particular reason you don’t want to be alone with me, Daniela?’
His use of her name affected her. He had a good voice. A voice to listen to. Voices were important to her. She slid off the seat of the swing, then stood to face him. ‘You flatter yourself, Mr Mastermann.’
‘I think not,’ he contradicted. ‘And it’s Linc. Or Carl, if you prefer.’ His mother had been the only one to call him Carl. ‘Lincoln was my mother’s maiden name. It’s something of a tradition within pastoral families to include the mother’s maiden name among the baptismal names.’
She tilted her luminous head. ‘I have heard of it, though I’ve never had the pleasure of mixing in such elevated circles. You say your friends call you Linc? I’ll call you Carl.’ She knew she was being perverse, but she felt a powerful warning to keep her feet very firmly on the ground. Linc Mastermann was a charmer, and a dangerous one. Not for a minute could she forget that. He wasn’t an easy man, either. She had already taken soundings of his depths.
‘So tell me about you?’ he was asking as they moved out of the glade. ‘All I know so far is you’re Daniela Adami. You’re home from London—your grandfather told me—where you were sous chef in a famous three Michelin star restaurant. Why did you come home, given you had such a great career going for you? Or do you plan to go back some time soon?’
She took her time answering. ‘I’m here to see my family. I’d been missing them so much. Italian families are like that. They crave togetherness. Besides, I haven’t had a vacation in quite some time.’
He wondered briefly, cynically, if his family were missing him. Chuck would be, but Chuck had found himself a girlfriend—Louise Martin. He couldn’t have been more pleased for them. Louise was a great girl. ‘You were born in Italy?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘I’m first-generation Australian. Everyone in my family loves Australia. We feel at home here, but my parents and my grandfather like to make a trip home to Italy at least every couple of years to see relatives.’
Again he had to bend his head beneath flowery boughs, while she passed beneath them unscathed. ‘I spent a whole year in Italy after I finished university. Rome, mostly,’ he told her.
‘They do say all roads lead there.’
‘Ecco Roma!’ he exclaimed, falling back effortlessly into Italian.
She paused to look up at him. He was so very much taller she had to tilt her head back. ‘Your accent is good.’
‘I must have a good ear,’ he said. ‘At least that’s what I was told. For someone born in Australia, you still retain a trace of your accent.’
‘I know.’ Just the merest flash of a smile. He all but missed it. ‘We’re bilingual as a family. Actually, I speak French as well. It’s been a
