whenever she came on a picture of any garment she considered too extreme while absently fondling Archie’s ear beneath his balloon collar. She was so very natural. What you saw was what you got from Lizzie Whitaker and he had totally misunderstood her. It was a sobering discovery for a male who prided himself on his ability to read others. He had made all too many assumptions about Lizzie, not least that she was a gold-digger, and now that he had discovered that she had been driven more by desperation than greed his innate curiosity about her was finally set free.
‘Why did you dye your hair brown?’ he asked her abruptly.
Lizzie twined a shining silver strand round a self-conscious finger and winced in evident embarrassment. ‘Andrew didn’t like my hair. He thought it attracted too much attention and that it looked white and made people think I was an old lady at first glance,’ she told him uncomfortably. ‘I could see his point.’
‘Did you really want to please him that much?’ Cesare pressed. ‘Your hair’s beautiful, unusual but undeniably beautiful, cara.’
Lizzie shrugged but her face glowed at the compliment. His lean, darkly handsome features held her intent gaze and she switched her attention back to the magazine, a pool of liquid heat gathering in her pelvis that made her squirm with chagrin. He was so very, very good-looking, it was natural for her to stare a little, she told herself ruefully, but she had to keep her feet on the ground and learn to distinguish between what was real and what was more probably fake.
The limousine that collected them from the airport in Italy wended its way along winding roads and through some spectacular scenery. It was late spring and the fields were green with fava beans and wheat dotted with yellow broom. Medieval villages in picturesque hilltop locations were ringed by vineyards and olive groves while the rolling hills were covered with groves of cypresses and umbrella pines. Lizzie was enchanted and plied Cesare with questions.
‘You still haven’t told me where we’re going,’ she complained.
‘We’re almost there.’
Lizzie stared out at the rustic stone farmhouse on the ridge of the hill and blinked because it was not what she expected. Cesare was so sophisticated that she had been convinced that they were heading for some exclusive spa. ‘It just doesn’t look like your style,’ she breathed helplessly.
‘I love old buildings. When I first saw it I was a student out hiking with friends. The roof had fallen in, the first floor had gone and the end wall had collapsed. We took shelter in the barn during a thunderstorm,’ Cesare explained as the driver turned down a dirt track that steadily climbed the hill. ‘I watched the sun go down over the valley and swore I’d buy it with my first million.’
‘Your first...million?’ she exclaimed.
‘It was a money pit,’ Cesare told her cheerfully, his dark eyes gleaming with rueful amusement. ‘I learnt that the hard way.’
The car drew up in a paved courtyard ornamented with urns full of tumbling flowers. As they climbed out, a rotund little woman in an apron hurried out to greet them. Her name was Maria and she was the housekeeper and, seemingly, Cesare’s biggest fan. Ushered into a great vaulted hall, Lizzie looked around herself with keen interest, glancing through to a gracious drawing room rejoicing in a vast pale stone fireplace and an array of vibrant turquoise sofas. The outside might be antique and rustic but the inside was all contemporary elegance.
Maria led her upstairs and into a glorious light-filled bedroom with a window overlooking the valley below. Lizzie fingered the fine white linen bedding and admired the beautifully draped bed while wondering where Cesare was planning to sleep. The driver brought their cases up, closely followed by Cesare, lean and lithe in khaki chinos and an open-necked shirt that screamed Italian designer style.
‘Where’s your room?’ Lizzie asked quietly.
‘We share,’ Cesare told her without skipping a beat.
‘I’m not sharing a bed with you!’ Lizzie gasped in consternation.
‘We’re supposed to be married. Let’s stay in role,’ Cesare fielded. ‘Having gone this far, it would be stupid to take risks by using separate bedrooms.’
Lizzie kicked off her shoes and mulled over that argument. ‘Maria’s not going to talk.’
‘She’s not the only member of staff with access to the upper floor,’ he shot back drily.
‘OK...’ Lizzie stood at the foot of the bed, prepared to admit that it was huge, but she was still doubtful that she could lose him in it. ‘But you have to stay on your side of the bed.’
‘Are we five years old now?’ Cesare quipped, studying her with incredulity. ‘You’re making a fuss about nothing.’
Lizzie settled glinting witch-green eyes on him. ‘I’m not used to sharing a bed. It’s not nothing to me.’
‘We’ll discuss it over dinner,’ Cesare decreed.
Lizzie threw her arms wide in emphasis, her temper mounting. ‘I don’t want to discuss it...I just don’t want to do it!’
‘Only forty-eight hours ago, you did,’ Cesare countered, lean, strong face hard, dark golden eyes smouldering with recollection and unforgotten hunger.
Lizzie reddened. ‘I was wondering how long it would take you to throw that back in my face. I was drunk, for goodness’ sake,’ she protested.
‘At least you know what you want when you’re drunk,’ he riposted.
Lizzie slammed shut the door lest they be overheard arguing. ‘That’s a horrible thing to say!’
‘Whether you like it or not, it’s the truth. You want me every bit as much as I want you. You just won’t admit it.’
Lizzie was so enraged by that arrogant statement that she walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind her to escape him. The fixtures took her breath away. An antique tub took up prime position by the window while rustic stone walls and a pale marble floor provided an effective frame.
‘And hiding in the bathroom isn’t going to persuade me otherwise!’ Cesare completed loudly outside the door.
Lizzie threw open the door again and marched out with compressed lips to drag one of the cases across the beautiful oak floor. ‘I was not hiding.’
Cesare snatched up the case and planted it on the bed, helpfully springing the locks for her.
Lizzie hovered, her colour high, her eyes veiled.
Cesare stalked closer like a predator about to spring and she tensed from head to toe. ‘Look at me, bellezza mia,’ he urged.
Almost involuntarily, Lizzie lifted her head, platinum hair flying back from her heart-shaped face. ‘Why?’ she said flatly.
Lean brown hands lifted to frame her cheekbones and turn her face up. A muscle pulled taut at the corner of his wide, sensual mouth. ‘I want to make a baby with you the normal way. I don’t want to use artificial insemination. If we’re going to become parents, let’s try the natural approach first.’
He had taken her entirely by surprise. Her entire face flamed and even
