hissed at him. ‘Nothing less will do.’
Alessio had been tempted to reply that he would prefer to destroy Vittoria, who was proving embarrassingly tenacious, bombarding him with phone calls and little notes, apparently unaware that her voluptuously passionate body in no way compensated for her nuisance value.
If she continued to behave with such indiscretion, Fabrizio and his mother might well smell a rat, without any intervention from Zia Lucrezia, he told himself grimly.
He’d been thankful to escape from Rome, and Vittoria’s constant badgering, to this private hideaway where he could remain incomunicabile. He hoped that, during his absence, she would find some other willing target for her libido, or he might ultimately have to be brutal with her. A thought that gave him no pleasure whatsoever.
And now he was faced with another, worse calamity. This unknown, unwanted girl that he had somehow to entice from Paolo’s bed into his own. Probably, he decided, after he’d deliberately made himself very, very drunk…
If I emerge alive from this mess, I shall take a vow of celibacy, he thought moodily.
Guillermo was already opening the heavy wooden entrance door, and Emilia was hovering anxiously. He knew that his instructions would have been minutely carried out, and that the arrangements and the food would be perfect. But visitors at the villa were still a rarity, and the servants were more accustomed to their employer’s own brand of casual relaxation. Zia Lucrezia’s presence would prove taxing for all of them.
He stepped out of the shadowy hall into the sunlight. The car had halted a few feet away, and the chauffeur was helping the Signora to alight, while Caio yapped crossly from her arms.
But Alessio’s attention was immediately on the girl, standing quietly, a little apart, looking up at the house. His first reaction was that she was not his type—or Paolo’s, for that matter, and he found this faintly bewildering. In fact she fitted none of the preconceived images his aunt’s fulminations had engendered, he thought critically as he observed her. Nearly as tall as Paolo himself, with clear, pale skin, a cloud of russet hair reaching to her shoulders, eyes like smoke, and a sweet, blunt-cornered mouth.
Not a conventional beauty—but curiously beguiling all the same.
Probably too slim, he mused, although the cheap dress she was wearing was singularly unrevealing.
And then, as if in answer to some silent wish, a faint breeze from the hills behind them blew the thin material back against her body, moulding it against the small, high breasts, the slight concavity of her stomach, the faintly rounded thighs, and long, slender legs.
Alessio, astonished, felt the breath catch suddenly in his throat, and, in spite of himself, he found his body stirring with frank and unexpected anticipation.
I’ve changed my mind, he thought in instant self-mockery. I shan’t get drunk after all. On the contrary, I think this ragazza deserves nothing less than my complete and sober attention.
He became aware that the Signora was approaching, her eyes studying him with disfavour.
‘Is this how you dress to receive your visitors, Alessio?’
He took her hand, bowing over it. His smile glinted coldly at her. ‘Ten minutes ago, Zia Lucrezia, I was not dressed at all. This is a concession.’ He eyed Caio grimly. ‘And you have brought your dog, I see. I hope he has learned better manners since our last encounter.’ He looked past her to his cousin. ‘Ah, Paolo, come stai?’
Paolo stared at him suspiciously. ‘What are you doing here?’
Alessio gave him a look of mild surprise. ‘It is my house, which makes me your host. Naturally, I wish to be here to attend to your comfort.’
‘You are not usually so concerned,’ Paolo muttered.
Alessio grinned at him. ‘No? Then perhaps I have seen the error of my ways. And the house has enough rooms for us all. You will not be required to share with me, cousin,’ he added blandly, then looked at the girl as if he had just noticed her. ‘And the name of your charming companion?’ Deliberately, he kept his voice polite rather than enthusiastic, noting the nervousness in the grey eyes under their dark fringe of lashes.
Paolo took her hand defensively. ‘This is Signorina Laura Mason, who has come with me from London. Laura, may I present my cousin, the Count Alessio Ramontella.’
He saw that she did not meet his gaze, but looked down instead at the flagstoned courtyard. ‘How do you do, signore?’ Her voice was quiet and clear.
‘Allow me to welcome you to my home, signorina.’ He inclined his head with formal courtesy, then led the way into the house. ‘Emilia, please show the ladies where they are to sleep. And the dog. Guillermo, will you take my cousin to his room?’
As he was turning away Paolo grabbed his arm. ‘What is this?’ he hissed. ‘Where are you putting Laura?’
‘In the room next to your mother’s—at her request.’ Alessio shrugged. ‘I am sorry if you are disappointed, but you also know that she would never permit you to sleep with your girlfriend under any roof that she was sharing. Besides, if you even approach that part of the house, that little hairy rat of your mamma’s will hear and start yapping.’ His grin was laced with faint malice. ‘Like the old monks, you will have to practise chastity.’
‘A lesson you have yet to learn,’ Paolo returned sourly.
‘In general, perhaps, but I have never brought a woman here,’ Alessio told him softly.
‘Talking of which,’ Paolo said, ‘what do you think of my little English inamorata?’
‘Do you need my opinion?’ Alessio gave him a steady look. ‘If she satisfies you, cousin, that should be enough.’ He paused. ‘Although usually you like them with more…’ He demonstrated with his hands.
‘Si,’ Paolo agreed lasciviously. ‘But this girl has—hidden depths, if you take my meaning.’ And he laughed.
It occurred to Alessio that he had never particularly liked his cousin, and at this moment it would give him great pleasure to smack him in the mouth.
Instead he invited him to make himself at home, and went off to his own room to shower and change.
Laura felt dazed as she followed Emilia and the Signora along a series of passages. The Villa Diana was a single-storey building, and it seemed to ramble on forever in a leisurely way. But she was in no mood to take real stock of her surroundings. Not yet.
That, she thought with disbelief, that was the Count Ramontella, the august head of the Arleschi Bank? That half-naked individual with the unruly mane of curling black hair, and the five o’clock shadow?
She’d assumed, when she first saw him, that he must be the caretaker, or the gardener.
She’d expected an older, staider version of Paolo, conventionally good-looking with a figure that would incline to plumpness in middle age. But the Count was fully six feet tall, with a lean, muscular golden-skinned body that she’d had every opportunity to admire. The shorts he’d been wearing, slung low on his narrow hips, just erred on the right side of decency, she thought, her face warming slightly at the recollection.
And
