sat up, smiling eagerly. ‘Really?’ she asked excitedly.
‘Yes, and welcome to him.’
Her friend laughed. ‘Let’s go and have a game of tennis, you can run off some of this steam. Stay for lunch and then go home when Mr Vittorio is safely installed in your house. Mum and Dad have gone out for the day shopping, so we have the house to ourselves.’
They played tennis for a couple of hours before going back to Helen’s and making themselves a hamburger each. It was almost three o’clock in the afternoon by the time Sophie set off for home. She really couldn’t delay any longer, she would have to change before meeting Luke Vittorio.
Her stepmother would be furious if she presented herself in tee-shirt and tight denims, and her hair was completely wild from her exertions on the tennis court. Her face was completely bare of make-up, her skin smooth and creamy, her lips a healthy pink, her violet eyes glowing as she enjoyed her ride back to her home.
She enjoyed the ride back much more than the ride to Helen’s, freewheeling down the long hill that had taken such effort to get up before lunch. What breeze there was whipped through her long silver-blonde hair, her eyes glowing with pleasure.
She was almost on top of the car turning out of the side road before she saw it, and she felt sure the driver of the Mercedes hadn’t seen her at all. The car was turning in from the right and she swerved precariously to avoid it, crashing up the grass verge to land in an undignified heap in a newly ploughed field.
The ground was soft to land on, but nevertheless Sophie felt shaken by the fall, peering over the tiny hedgerow at her bicycle, the wheels still spinning noisily. She sat up, rubbing her elbows which seemed to have taken the main pressure of her fall.
She looked up as a shadow fell across her, unaware of the dusty marks on her now pale cheeks, and her eyes widened with shock as she recognised the driver of the car she had swerved to avoid. Luke Vittorio!
There could be no mistaking that muscular physique clothed in fitted black silk shirt and thigh-hugging black trousers, the forbidding mouth with the full sensuous bottom lip, the hawk-like nose, the magnetic brown eyes, and the dark overlong-styled hair. He was much taller than she had imagined, well over six feet, and his skin was naturally dark instead of tanned, but there could be no doubt that this was indeed Luke Vittorio.
Sophie scrambled to her feet, hurriedly brushing down her denims so that she didn’t have to look into that dark, compelling face.
‘You are unhurt?’ His voice was deep and husky, deeply accented despite his having lived in England and America for the last twenty years.
‘Only a little bruised,’ she muttered, her head bent as she studiously brushed off every bit of dust on her denims.
Nothing had prepared her for the flesh-and-blood sensuality of this man, the blatant sexuality that must surely affect every woman he came into contact with, the deep husky voice that had sexy intonations. There was something wholly primitive about the man, something untamed and untameable, and he had shaken her more than falling off her bicycle had done.
One long sensitive hand came out to grasp her forearm, his shirt sleeves turned back to just below his elbows to reveal the dark hairs against his swarthy skin, made to look even darker by the broad gold wrist-watch on his arm. Sophie couldn’t take her eyes off his hand, a long tapered hand with thin sensitive fingers, an artist’s hand.
‘You are sure you are unharmed?’ he persisted.
Sophie looked up to meet the blaze of his mesmerising brown eyes head on, deep brown eyes with a lighter brown circle around the iris. ‘I’m fine,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I just didn’t see you until it was too late.’
The hand dropped away from her arm. ‘I am well aware of that.’ His voice was curt, losing its silky quality. ‘You were completely out of control as you came down that hill. I am only surprised there was not more damage done than there was.’
His censure angered Sophie, all the more so because she knew he was right. ‘To me or to your car?’ she asked sarcastically, her head thrown back, her hair streaming down her back.
‘Both,’ he answered abruptly. ‘Is your bicycle still workable?’
She picked it up, noticing the slightly bent handlebars but determined not to tell this arrogant man. ‘It seems all right to me,’ she told him moodily.
He nodded impatiently. ‘Would you like me to drive you anywhere?’
Sophie frowned. ‘What for?’
Luke Vittorio sighed. ‘I did not know if you felt too shaken to cycle the rest of the way to your home. You live on one of the hillside farms, perhaps?’
She almost laughed at his wrong assessment of her. He obviously considered her to be a simple farm girl, the thought of her being the daughter of Simon and Rosemary Bedford not even crossing his mind. It wasn’t surprising considering her clothes and the fact that she was riding a dilapidated bicycle, nevertheless she found his condescension annoying, determined not to tell him of her identity and surprise him at dinner this evening. She would love to see this man squirm, and perhaps this incident had given her the ammunition to do just that.
‘I live not far from here,’ she evaded. ‘I can make it there all right.’
‘Perhaps you had better give me your address anyway.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Why?’
‘You may suffer some delayed injury. I will of course check up on your health.’
Sophie smiled, a taunting smile that held little humour. ‘If I suffer any delayed injury you can be sure I’ll let you know, Mr Vittorio.’
His brown eyes narrowed speculatively, sweeping over her slender figure, violet eyes and long silver-blonde hair with slow insolence. ‘You know who I am?’
She gave a short laugh. ‘It would be hard not to. You’re a celebrity.’
He appeared unimpressed by her attempt at breathless adoration. ‘Nevertheless, I think it would be better if I knew where you live.’
‘There’s really no need.’ She concentrated on checking her cycle over, her hair falling forward in a straight gleaming curtain. ‘There’s really nothing wrong with me.’
‘Perhaps,’ he agreed. ‘Your hair, is it natural?’
Her head shot up at the unexpectedness of his question. ‘Well, it isn’t dyed, if that’s what you mean,’ she said resentfully.
‘And violet eyes,’ he mused.
She was surprised he had noticed her hair, let alone the colour of her eyes. The artist in him again, she supposed. ‘They’re natural too, I’m afraid,’ she answered tauntingly.
‘I did not presume they were not.’
‘But you doubt the naturalness of my hair.’
He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I was merely curious.’
Sophie’s attention was caught by the girl stepping elegantly
