his voice had grown cool. ‘I saw enough lying and deceit to put me off marriage for a lifetime. Surely you can understand that?’
Darcy nodded. Oh, yes, she understood all right. Just as she recognised that his words were a warning. A warning not to get too close. That just because she was here with him in the unfamiliar role of girlfriend, nothing had really changed. The smile she produced wasn’t as bright as usual, but it was good enough to convince him she didn’t care. ‘Shouldn’t we think about getting ready for lunch?’ she questioned, her voice growing a little unsteady as his hand moved from her breast to the dip of her belly. ‘Didn’t...didn’t Donato say it would be ready in an hour?’
The touch of her bare skin drove all thoughts from Renzo’s mind until he was left with only one kind of hunger. The best kind. The kind which obliterated everything except pleasure. He’d told her more than he usually told anyone and he put that down to the fact that usually she didn’t ask. But she needed to know that there would be no more confidences from now on. She needed to know that there was only one reason she was here—and the glint of expectation in her eyes told him that she was getting the message loud and clear. He felt his erection grow exquisitely hard as he looked at the little waitress who somehow knew how to handle him better than any other woman.
‘I employ Donato to work to my time frame, not his,’ he said arrogantly, bending his head and sucking at her nipple.
‘Oh, Renzo.’ Her eyes closed as she fell back against the pillow.
‘Renzo, what?’ he taunted.
‘Don’t make me beg.’
He slid his finger over her knee. ‘But I like it when you beg.’
‘I know you do.’
‘So?’
She groaned as her hips lifted hungrily towards his straying finger. ‘Please...’
‘That’s better.’ He gave a low and triumphant laugh as he pulled her towards him. ‘Lunch can wait,’ he added roughly, parting her thighs and positioning himself between them once more. ‘I’m afraid this can’t.’
‘THIS?’ DARCY HELD up a glimmering black sheath, then immediately waved a flouncy turquoise dress in front of it. ‘Or this?’
‘The black,’ Renzo said, flicking her a swift glance before continuing to button up his shirt.
Her skin now tanned a delicate shade of gold, Darcy slithered into the black dress, aware that Renzo was watching her reflection in the glass in the way a hungry dog might look at a butcher, but she didn’t care. She found herself wishing she had the ability to freeze time and that the weekend wasn’t drawing to a close because it had been the best few days of her life.
They’d explored his vast estate, scrambling up hilly roads to be rewarded with spectacular views of blue-green mountains and the terracotta smudge of tiny villages. Her hiking boots had come in useful after all! He’d taken her to a beautiful village called Panicale, where they’d drunk coffee in the cobbled square with church bells chiming in stereophonic all around them. And even though Renzo had assured her that May temperatures were too cold for swimming, Darcy wasn’t having any of it. She’d never been anywhere with a private pool before—let alone a pool as vast and inviting as the one at Vallombrosa.
Initially a little shy about appearing in her tiny bikini, she’d been quickly reassured by the darkening response in his eyes—though she’d been surprised when he’d changed his mind and decided to join her in the pool after all. And Renzo in sleek black swim shorts, olive skin gleaming as he shook water from his hair, was a vision which made her heart race. She could have spent all afternoon watching his powerful body ploughing through the silky water. But he’d brought her lazy swim to a swift conclusion with some explicit suggestions whispered in her ear and they had returned to his bedroom for sex which had felt even more incredible than usual.
Was it because her senses had been heightened by fresh air and sunshine that everything felt so amazing? Or because Renzo had seemed unusually accessible in this peaceful place which seemed a world away from the hustle and bustle of her normal life? Darcy kept reminding herself that the reasons why were irrelevant. Because this was only temporary. A last trip before she moved to Norfolk—which was probably the only reason he had invited her to join him. And tonight was their final dinner, when they were being joined by Renzo’s lawyer, who was buying the Sabatini estate.
Their eyes met in the mirror.
‘Will you zip me up?’
‘Certo.’
‘So tell me again,’ she said, feeling his fingers brushing against her bare skin as he slid the zip of the close-fitting dress all the way up. ‘The lawyer’s name is Cristiano Branzi and his girlfriend is Nicoletta—’
‘Ramelli.’ There was a moment of hesitation and his eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘And—just so you know—she and I used to have a thing a few years back.’
In the process of hooking in a dangly earring, Darcy’s fingers stilled. ‘A thing?’
‘You really are going to have to stop looking so shocked, cara. I’m thirty-five years old and in Rome, as in all cities, social circles are smaller than you might imagine. She and I were lovers for a few months, that’s all.’
That’s all. Darcy’s practised smile didn’t waver. Just like her. Great sex for a few months and then goodbye—was that his usual pattern? Had Nicoletta been rewarded with a trip abroad just before the affair ended? But as she followed Renzo downstairs she was determined not to spoil their last evening and took the champagne Stefania offered, hoping she displayed more confidence than she felt as she rose to greet their guests.
Cristiano was a powerfully built man with piercing blue eyes and Darcy thought Nicoletta the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. The Italian woman’s sleek dark hair was swept up into a sophisticated chignon and she wore a dress which was obviously designer made. Real diamond studs glittered at her ears, echoing the smaller diamonds which sparkled in a watch which was slightly too loose for her narrow wrist. Darcy watched as she presented each smooth cheek in turn to be kissed by Renzo, wondering why she hadn’t worn the turquoise dress after all. Why hadn’t she realised that of course the Italian woman would also wear black, leaving the two of them wide open for comparison? How cheap her own glimmering gown must seem in comparison—and how wild her untameable red curls as they spilled down over her shoulders towards breasts which were much too large by fashionable standards.
‘So...’ Nicoletta smiled as they sat down to prosciutto and slivers of iced melon at a candlelit table decorated with roses. ‘This is your first time in Italy, Darcy?’
‘It is,’ answered Darcy, with a smile.
‘But not your last, I hope?’
Darcy looked across the table at Renzo, thinking it might bring the mood down if she suddenly announced that they were in the process of splitting up.
‘Darcy isn’t much of a traveller,’ he said smoothly.
‘Oh?’
Something made her say it. Was it bravado or stupidity? Yet surely
