Vittorio Carella was no ordinary olive farmer. And she supposed if she had to be stranded anywhere for a few hours she could have picked somewhere a darn sight worse than Casa Carella.
Becoming aware she had been lost in contemplation when she should have been freshening up, Cherry hastily walked into the gorgeous en-suite bathroom of cream marble. The mirror which took up all of one wall showed her just how grubby and bedraggled she looked. She groaned softly. No wonder he’d thought she was a young kid playing at being grown-up. Urgent repair work was needed.
The bathroom held everything from hairbrushes and cosmetics—still in their wrapping—to male and female perfume and other such niceties. Clearly the guests of Vittorio Carella had their every need met. But she wasn’t a guest. Not in the traditional sense anyway.
Cherry stood in front of the mirror, decorum warring with vanity. Vanity won. After washing her face, and brushing her hair until it shone like silk with one of the brushes she’d unwrapped, she opened a tube of mascara and a pot of eyeshadow. Not for the first time she blessed the fact she was a female and had make-up at her disposal. She might have entered the house as a little lost waif and stray. She certainly didn’t intend to leave as anything less than a full-grown woman!
CHAPTER TWO
WHEN she opened the door of the bedroom to go downstairs the little maid was hovering at the end of the landing, fiddling with the huge bowl of sweet-smelling roses on a small table under the magnificent arched window which flooded the space with light. Cherry smiled at her.
‘Ah, signorina. If you will come this way? The signore, he is waiting,’ the young girl said politely.
Cherry nodded and followed the immaculately dressed maid as she led the way down the stairs and across the hall. After knocking on a door the girl opened it and then stood aside for Cherry to enter. The drawing room was even more beautiful than she’d prepared herself for: the ceiling high, the light wood floor scattered with thick rugs, the gracious furniture and drapes clearly wildly expensive and the white walls covered with exquisite paintings. The huge French windows were open to the scents of the garden beyond, and on the patio immediately beyond the windows a fountain tinkled in the afternoon heat.
But all this was on the perimeter of her consciousness. Her senses were caught up with the man who had risen from an armchair at her entrance and was now saying, ‘Come and sit down and take some refreshment. Would you prefer coffee or perhaps a cold drink? Orange juice? Pineapple? Mango?’
‘Coffee will be fine, thank you.’ He remained standing as he waved his hand at a chair opposite his. A coffee table was groaning with an array of cakes and pastries, and the aroma from espresso coffee was rich. His loose-fitting trousers and silver-grey cotton shirt were clearly expensive, and the way they sat on the lean male body was guaranteed to make any female heart beat a little faster.
He didn’t sit down again until she was seated, and then he poured her a coffee before gesturing at the cream, milk and sugar. ‘Help yourself.’
‘Thank you. I take mine black.’
‘It is the only way.’ He smiled in agreement.
Her heartbeat—which had just returned to normal—quickened again. He really was the man with everything, she thought weakly. It was a shame that included an ego to match.
He picked up the cakestand and offered it to her, and as she gazed at the sweet delicacies she found she was hungry. She selected one of the small iced sponge cakes filled with cream and jam which she knew were called sospiri—sighs in English—and sighed herself inwardly. What must it be like to enjoy such a privileged life, free from the cares and trials which afflicted most people? He only had to crook his little finger and his every need was catered for. Heady stuff to the uninitiated.
‘I spoke with the hire company while you were upstairs, but they will not be able to send another car for twenty-four hours.’
Cherry almost choked on the cake. ‘Twenty-four hours?’
‘This is not a great problem, surely? You had no pressing engagement?’ he asked with silky smoothness.
He knew she didn’t. ‘No, but—’ She paused, wondering how to say she had no intention of staying in this house for twenty-four hours—if that was what he was suggesting. ‘But I can’t impose on your hospitality—’
‘Please do not speak of it. You are more than welcome to stay for as long as you like. I am desolate you have had such a bad experience whilst visiting my beautiful country. Let me make amends by offering you the safety of my home until the new car arrives.’
Oh, hell. What could she say to that?
In the event she wasn’t called upon to say anything, because the drawing-room door opening with a flourish caused both their heads to turn to the voluptuous young woman standing in the aperture, her hands on her hips and her eyes flashing fire. Cherry didn’t need to speak the language to understand the thrust of the outburst in Italian which followed. For some reason the girl was furious with Vittorio, and not afraid to tell him so in spite of his darkening face. Cherry found she was beginning to enjoy herself.
He rapped out something in Italian which stopped the flow but still left the girl glowering at him. Then he turned to Cherry. ‘I apologise,’ he said with steely flatness. She could see he was hanging on to his temper by a thread. ‘My sister is not usually so bereft of manners. Let me introduce you. Cherry, this is my sister, Sophia. Sophia, meet Cherry, a guest from England who deserves more courtesy than you have shown.’
Cherry could see Vittorio’s sister was fighting for control but now she stepped forward, forcing a smile as she held out her hand and said, ‘I am sorry. I did not know Vittorio had anyone with him or that we were expecting a guest.’
A little embarrassed now, Cherry smiled back. ‘You weren’t expecting me,’ she said awkwardly as she shook hands. ‘I’m afraid I strayed on to your property by mistake and my car broke down, so it’s me who should be apologising for intruding.’
Vivid green eyes set in a face which was quite outstandingly lovely surveyed her for a long moment. And then Sophia smiled—a real smile this time. ‘No, it is me,’ she said ruefully. ‘But you are most welcome, Cherry from England. Where is your car?’ she added. ‘I did not see it.’
Cherry waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the road. ‘Out there somewhere. I’m afraid it’s blocking the way to the house. Apparently my petrol was sy phoned off in the last town.’
‘The south road?’ Sophia enquired of her brother, who nodded, his face still grim. ‘It is of no matter, Cherry. We have more than one entrance to the property. You are staying for dinner?’ she added.
‘Cherry is staying overnight until the hire company can deliver a new vehicle.’ Vittorio’s voice was cold.
‘Then I will see you later. I am going to my room to rest.’ Sophia swung round, her hair—which hung in a glossy black curtain to her waist—rippling as she left the room.
Cherry sat down again, reaching for her coffee cup and not knowing what to say. Clearly brother and sister were at loggerheads over something or other. Aiming to relieve the crackling atmosphere, she murmured, ‘Your sister is very beautiful.’
‘And very wilful.’ It was almost a bark. And then he raked a hand through his hair. ‘Scusi. Now it is
