It was as if a situation was unfolding that she knew nothing about and yet she was in some way involved.
Her new sunglasses were pinching the bridge of her nose and she took them off and slipped them into her handbag before pulling off her straw hat so that her hair tumbled down her back. From behind her she heard a muffled growl and when she turned her head, her glance crashed into Torre’s hard-as-steel gaze. Once again something tugged in the pit of her stomach. She felt dizzy. But this time she could not blame the bright intensity of the sun for the scalding heat that raced like molten lava through her veins.
She tore her eyes from him, but not before she’d seen his sardonic expression as he watched Jules put his hand on her waist to usher her over to two vacant seats at the table.
Forget Torre, Orla commanded herself. But it was impossible when he walked around to the other side of the table and sat down directly opposite her. A waiter offered her a choice of wine to drink with the meal but she opted for water instead. She had picked up an unpleasant vomiting virus a few days before coming to Amalfi and although the sickness had thankfully stopped, her stomach still felt delicate. In fact, she rarely drank alcohol but she ruefully acknowledged that the idea of slipping into a drunken stupor where she would not notice Torre, much less imagine his darkly tanned hands on her body, seemed infinitely preferable to staring at the tablecloth.
Memories from eight years ago crowded her mind. Her mother had acted like a newly crowned queen following her secret wedding to Giuseppe, Orla remembered. At the party the guest list had mainly comprised Giuseppe’s cosmopolitan friends from across Europe. Most people had spoken English, and Orla had overheard their mocking comments speculating that Kimberly had married one of the richest men in Italy for his money. She had felt embarrassed but thankfully no one had taken any notice of her or seemed aware that she was Kimberly Connaught’s daughter.
Kimberly had spent the evening clinging to her new husband and hadn’t bothered to introduce Orla to any of the other guests. Orla had been about to return to her room, knowing that no one would miss her presence at the party, certainly not her mother. But she’d felt an odd, prickling sensation between her shoulder-blades that had compelled her to turn her head and look across the room.
Her eyes had been riveted on the man who had taken her breath away earlier in the day when she had arrived at Villa Romano with some of her mother’s girlfriends from London. As she’d climbed out of the taxi her attention had been drawn to the swimming pool that could be seen from the driveway, and she had watched the gorgeous hunk who had stepped out of the pool and raked his hands through his wet hair. His honed, muscular body had not gone unnoticed by her mother’s friends, but Orla hadn’t admitted to them that she was sexually inexperienced and had not understood most of their lewd comments as they’d speculated on his prowess as a lover.
‘He’s Giuseppe’s son,’ Kimberly had explained when she’d sauntered down the steps of the villa and greeted her friends with a great deal of air-kissing before casting a critical glance at Orla’s jeans and tee shirt. ‘Torre is a sexy beast, but he’s so arrogant the way he looks down his nose at me as if I belong in the gutter. I guess he’s mad because now that I’m married to his father I’ll inherit all Giuseppe’s money when he dies.’
At the party that evening Orla had stared at Torre Romano and supposed that he was her stepbrother. But that thought along with every other had flown from her mind when Torre had trapped her gaze and she’d felt scalding heat inside her as if an electrical current had shot through her body. She’d watched him stride across the room towards her, and the feral expression on his hard-boned face had warned her to turn and run.
It was a pity she had not listened to her instincts that day, Orla thought grimly. She picked at her plate of ricotta ravioli that had been served for a first course but her appetite was still poor after her recent gastric upset—although she suspected that Torre’s brooding presence opposite her was responsible for the knot of tension in her stomach.
Around the table the conversation was mainly in Italian and Orla was heartened that she could follow most of what was said. She had learned Italian at school and had practised speaking it during her visits to Villa Romano while her mother had lived there. Now she hoped that being fluent in the language might help persuade Giuseppe to give her a job.
‘You’re very quiet, Orla.’ Torre’s deep-timbred voice jolted her from her thoughts and she looked up to find him watching her from beneath his heavy-lidded eyes. Now that she’d had time to get over the initial impact of seeing him again she was able to study him more objectively, but unfortunately he was no less devastating. His cream shirt was open at the throat, and the sight of his darkly tanned skin and a few black chest hairs made the knot in her stomach tighten. He looked relaxed—the exact opposite of how she felt—and when he’d laughed at something Giuseppe had said a few moments ago the sound had made Orla think of molten honey.
He was waiting for her to reply. She quickly glanced at Jules for moral support and saw that he was deep in conversation with Giuseppe. ‘I’m tired after the journey,’ she said diffidently.
Torre’s brows rose. ‘It is a two-and-a-half-hour flight from London to Naples. I can’t imagine you found the journey that arduous.’
His sarcasm stung. ‘I didn’t realise that I’m supposed to entertain you,’ she said tightly. ‘What do you want me to talk about?’
The gleam in his eyes told her that she had fallen straight into the trap he had set. Her temper fizzed and she felt a strong urge to fling the contents of the water jug at his smug face. Forcing herself to breathe deeply, she tried to rationalise her response to him.
It was a long time since she had felt angry. She had learned that the only way to deal with David’s explosive temper had been to remain calm and try to mollify him. On the one occasion when she had attempted to stick up for herself he had physically assaulted her. Unconsciously she lifted her hand and ran her fingers over the scar above her eyebrow where a ring that David had been wearing had cut deep into her skin when he’d hit her. The wound had bled heavily and had required her to visit the accident and emergency department at the local hospital so that it could be stitched. Across the table she saw Torre’s eyes follow the movement of her hand and she quickly lowered it to her lap.
‘Why don’t you start by telling me about yourself? Eight years ago I recall that we did not spend very much time talking,’ he drawled.
Orla silently cursed her fair skin when she felt heat spread across her cheeks. Images flashed into her mind, of Torre sprawled on a bed, his body a symphony of sleek golden skin and honed muscles. When he had pulled her down on top of him, she’d marvelled at how hard his body had felt against her soft, feminine curves. She had never seen a naked man before and the sight of his arousal had made her apprehensive at first, but then he had kissed her and her doubts had been swept away by the onslaught of his fierce passion.
She swallowed hard, determined not to respond to his taunts. ‘What do you want to know?’
He shrugged his wide shoulders but Orla wasn’t fooled by his casual air. His eyes were focused intently on her in the way that a panther might watch its prey before springing to make a kill. ‘What do you do for a living?’
Her heart sank as she wondered if Torre had read the stories that had appeared in some sections of the English press after she’d ended her marriage. She’d had to wait until she had lived apart from David for two years before the divorce proceedings had gone ahead. A month ago the decree absolute had been granted, but her relief that she was finally free from her abusive husband had turned to shocked dismay when the tabloids had labelled her a greedy gold-digger who had demanded and won a huge financial settlement. Public support had been very much for David, while comparisons had been drawn between
