her the gauntlet had been acknowledged and accepted. ‘Are all English girls so courteous?’
‘Oh, I’m sure you could answer that question better than me,’ Claire returned sweetly as she glanced with studied casualness out of the car window. ‘You must have known many women, English and otherwise, Signor Bellini.’
‘Must I?’
‘I thought I understood Grace to say your business connections stretch all over Italy and the States?’ Claire said with a wide-eyed innocence that didn’t fool the man at her side for a moment. ‘They must bring you into contact with a great deal of people, surely?’
‘My business connections... Ah, yes.’ The deep voice was wry, and she didn’t like the touch of amusement colouring the dark accent, or the way the undeniable sexiness of the Italian voice made her quiver deep inside. ‘My business connections do prove...tiring at times.’
‘I’m sure they do.’ Her voice was a little more tart than she would have liked; she mustn’t let him think he was getting to her, so she moderated her tone as she said, ‘But then I’m also sure you enjoy your work.’
‘I try, Claire, I do try.’
I bet. An elusively sensual whiff of aftershave touched her nostrils briefly as though to confirm the thought, tightening her lower stomach in a way she could well have done without. But he wouldn’t have to try too hard. Most women would fall into his lap like ripe peaches the moment those velvety dark eyes looked their way, she thought ruefully. But not this woman. Definitely not this woman.
‘Now we have determined what a hard-working man I am, may I ask how...busy you were in England?’ he asked in a soft, taunting voice.
‘Me? Oh, a doctors’ surgery is always pretty hectic,’ she said brightly, deliberately ignoring what he was really asking, ‘but interesting, which is the main thing. I really couldn’t stand a job where I was bored.’ She rattled on about the day-to-day routine and many panics for a few minutes, knowing he wasn’t in the least interested but hoping to divert further questions, but the moment she paused he seized the opportunity to speak, his voice smoky and cool.
‘And is there someone in England waiting patiently for your return?’
‘A boyfriend, you mean?’ she asked carefully.
‘Just so.’
‘No,’ she said flatly.
‘No?’ She shook her head and the dark eyes brushed her face again for a moment before he said, ‘And you are not going to elaborate further on that...enigmatic statement?’
‘Enigmatic?’ She forced a laugh that she hoped sounded derisory. ‘Hardly.’
‘But, yes. When a beautiful young woman of twenty-four speaks so determinedly—’
‘I wasn’t speaking determinedly, just factually, and you know as well as I do that I am not beautiful, Signor Bellini—’
‘Now that I have to take issue with.’ He interrupted her angry retort swiftly, and before she could say anything more continued, ‘And please, no more of the Signor Bellini? It is Romano, as you well know, and if you are going to stay at Casa Pontina for some time it will be more harmonious for everyone if we address each other by the Christian names, sì? It will make our relationship appear more civil when we meet.’
‘When we meet?’ This time the naked dismay in her voice was not met with the amusement it had provoked before, and his tone was icy when he said, ‘Donato and Grace are my friends, Claire.’
‘I know. I know they are—’
‘And one visits one’s friends, sì? Even in England I would have thought this pleasant pastime was still alive and well?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘So there will be occasions when we meet, share a meal and so on,’ he continued in a clipped, terse voice. ‘With Donato and Grace, of course, that is all I meant. I was not—what is the word?—propositioning you.’
‘I didn’t think for a minute you were,’ she said, aghast.
‘Good. The air is then clear.’ The mercurial change was complete; he had returned to suave, cool playboy again with a swiftness that left her open-mouthed and gasping as the powerful car pulled off the road and through a large flower-bedecked arched opening into a quiet courtyard.
‘However...’ he turned to her as he cut the engine, a slightly cruel smile curving the firm, distinctly sensual mouth and doing nothing to soften the power of his harsh bone structure ‘...I meant what I said. You are a beautiful young woman, Claire, as any male with discernment would tell you. I admire beauty, even if it is the most corruptive force known to man, as much as I abhor its potential treachery.’
‘Its treachery?’ she whispered faintly, unnerved by the stony glitter in the black eyes and aware that in a strange way his remark on her appearance was not complimentary.
‘But of course.’ A veil came down over the handsome face, and she knew he had made a conscious effort to hide all emotion as he smiled again, his eyes revealing nothing more than warm amusement. ‘Beauty is a wonderful lure which nature uses to full advantage, sì?
‘The belladonna—deadly nightshade—with its fragile mauve flowers and dainty poisonous berries, for example, or hemlock’s clusters of exquisite white blooms. And then something as enchanting as the flower-like sea anemone, which attracts fish and other animals to their doom, as does the translucent beauty of the Portuguese man-of-war, whose stinging tentacles beneath its shimmering charm paralyse its prey with deadly accuracy. Nature makes full use of illusion, Claire.’
But he hadn’t really been talking about plants and animals, she thought suddenly. She was sure of it.
‘Yes, I suppose it does.’ She stared into the dark cold face as her mind raced. ‘But beauty can be wonderful too—something to be marvelled at, to share, something that lifts the soul of man, like a magnificent sunset for example.’
‘But within a short time it has faded and is dead, and one is left with the blackness of the night,’ he said quietly. ‘Nothing lasts. Nothing is what it seems.’
He was talking about his wife being taken from him so tragically. As realisation dawned she stared at him in consternation, not knowing what to say. Bianca had been breathtakingly, wildly beautiful, and they had only had a few short years together before she had died. He still loved her... ‘But memories can be precious things, can’t they?’ she asked softly. ‘The sunset might die but the serenity and peace it gives can still live on.’
‘I have not found that to be the case,’ he said, with a dismissive coldness that told her this strange and disturbing conversation was at an end. ‘Now, shall we?’ He indicated the charming honey-coloured building in front of them with a wave of his hand. ‘You will find Aldonez has a variety of dishes to suit all appetites, so do not be perturbed if you are not hungry. I think it would be nice to sit outside, sì? There is a delightful garden at the back of the restaurant.’
He had left the car as he spoke the last words, walking swiftly round the bonnet and helping her to alight with a naturalness that told her his good manners were normal behaviour. She remembered Donato had had the same inherent courtesy when she had stayed with them
