to see how homely this particular rental house looked.
It was built in the style of a traditional Italian farmhouse, and inside the old-fashioned brick ceilings had been restored and a tasteful degree of modernity added. The kitchen, bedrooms and bathrooms were particularly spacious, and the sea views spectacular.
Outside, at the front of the house, he could see that the earth in between the concrete slabs they’d had laid looked to be recently dug over, ready for planting. Already some bulbs had been bedded in and had started to sprout. There were tantalising glimpses of pink, blue and yellow blooms. Most of the frontage had been pragmatically concreted into a patio...they hadn’t had flowerbeds there for a long time.
Was Lily responsible for this very satisfying new arrangement? He knew Mario would never have taken it upon himself to do such a thing without discussing it with him first...
Rubbing a hand round his jaw, Bastian was still mulling over the changes as he nimbly negotiated the steps to the front door and was surprised to find it open. With a brisk knock against the wood panelling, he put his head round the door.
‘Anybody home?’ he called out, first in his native Italian and then in English.
‘Is that you, Alberto? Just give me a minute, will you? I’m in the middle of something...’
At the sound of the voice he hadn’t realised quite how much he’d been longing to hear, he stepped inside. His pretty tenant was seated with her back to him at the rustic chestnut desk he’d installed long ago, her pencil deftly moving across a large sheet of paper on a drawing board, clearly intent on concentrating.
Her sunlit hair was scooped up behind her head with a simply knotted scarf fashioned out of some emerald-green gauze, and it exposed the lovely ballerina-like slope of her neck. He stilled for a moment, aching to touch his lips to that flawless and inviting bare skin. Thankfully he controlled the impulse just in time, because Lily suddenly turned round and saw him.
Immediately colouring, she said, ‘Signor Carrera... I didn’t know you were back from your trip. When did you return?’
Dropping her pencil onto her sketch pad, she got to her feet, unconsciously smoothing her hand over her hair. Today she was wearing a sleeveless white top that exposed her delicately tanned slim arms, teamed with apricot silk palazzo pants that rippled like the gentlest of streams when she moved.
Bastian tried doubly hard to keep his desire at bay.
‘Yesterday...in the early hours of the morning.’
‘Then no doubt you must still be feeling quite tired?’
‘Not at all...the thought of coming home always helps revitalise me.’
‘Well, I...’ Flushing a little, she gestured towards the kitchen. ‘Can I get you a drink of something?’
‘No. There’s nothing I want right now.’ Except you, his mind flashed. ‘How do you like your new accommodation?’
‘I love it. I don’t know why I worried so much about moving.’
‘Good—that pleases me. I can see that you’re working. Mind if I take a look?’
‘Be my guest. It’s an illustration I’m doing for a new book,’
As she stood back to let him draw closer Bastian breathed in the intoxicating scent that indelibly clung to her. It reminded him of all the good things in life that he loved combined... How could he have forgotten it after the intimacy they had shared?
Even as his blood heated at the memory his gaze fell on the captivating sketch of a tortoiseshell cat with enormous green eyes and an exaggerated suggestion of determination on its face.
‘Is this for someone else’s story or one of your own?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Yes, I think it does. It’s very good, but I’d rather it was for one of yours.’
‘Why?’
He folded his arms and looked at her...really looked at her...almost as if for the very first time. His examining gaze reunited him with the reality of her beauty and grace and, whilst he’d never been possessive about women before, the pleasure and satisfaction that coursed through his veins at knowing he’d made her his, couldn’t be measured.
‘Two reasons. First because it reminds me of you, and I’m guessing any stories you write must equal your drawing talent, and second because it’s too good to give to someone else.’
Feeling undeniably self-conscious, she nodded. ‘Well, you’ve guessed right. I took your advice and this is an illustration for one of my own stories.’
‘So you have taken up your writing more seriously?’
‘Let’s say I’m trying to.’
‘And what’s this expression of determination on the cat’s face about?’ The corners of his mouth lifted in gentle amusement.
‘You’ll have to read the book to find out. That is if it’s published.’
‘Why wouldn’t it be when, going by this engaging illustration, you clearly know how to bring a children’s story to life? What’s the title?’
‘If I had my way I’d like it to be called There’s No Such Word as Can’t.’
‘Is that a piece of advice you were given growing up?’
With an awkward shrug of her slim shoulders Lily tried for a smile but didn’t quite manage it.
‘Yes...but I haven’t always been able to apply it. My teacher once said it to me on a school trip to France, when I woke her up in the middle of the night because I couldn’t sleep. I was afraid of the dark, you see. After telling me there was nothing to fear, and that soon I would be back home and wishing I’d enjoyed the trip more instead of worrying, she told me to go back to bed and try harder to get some sleep. That’s when I said, I can’t.’
‘How old were you at the time, Lily?’
‘About nine or ten.’
‘Being away from home at that age would be bound to make most children anxious. I’m sure you weren’t alone in feeling that.’
She frowned. ‘The other girls in my room didn’t seem to have a problem. The thing is... I should have been braver. I felt like such an idiot.’
‘You were no such thing,’ Bastian said firmly. ‘You were just a child. Anyway, I don’t doubt your teacher’s comment helped you because you remembered it. Perhaps you’re more determined to overcome your fears now, yes?’
‘I’d like to think so.’
‘It seems to me that a lack of belief in yourself is what hurts you the most, Lily.’
‘How do you know so much about me when we’ve only just met?’
Her near-whispered response was tentative. And even the air around
