perhaps you shouldn’t creep about in the bushes. This is private property and you’re trespassing. I suggest you leave now before I call the police.’
Her Italian was fluent, and bore no trace of an English accent, and he felt another stab of surprise and admiration too. But neither showed on his face as he smiled at her coolly.
‘The police! That might be a little premature.’ His English was perfect and, watching her eyes widen with surprise, he smiled grimly, gratified to see that he had got under that delectable skin. ‘Don’t you want to know who I am first?’
‘I know who you are, Mr Sforza.’ Her voice was clear and calm. She lifted her chin. ‘And I know what you want. But you’re not going to get it. This is my home, and I’m not about to let you turn it into some ghastly boutique hotel for loud, sweaty tourists, so you might as well leave.’
‘Or what?’ His eyes drifted casually over her naked breasts. ‘If you’re concealing a weapon, I’d really like to know where.’ He stared at her mockingly. ‘This is my property and my land and you are my tenant. As your landlord, I’m entitled to inspect what’s mine. Although, to be fair, I think you’ve pretty much shown me everything there is to see.’
Flora glared at him, her eyes flashing with anger. So this was the famous Massimo Sforza—or was that infamous? The man whose arrogant swirling signature had dominated her days and dreams for so many weeks. He was everything she had imagined him to be: slickly clever, charming yet ruthless. But now, with that glittering blue gaze locked onto hers, it was clear she had underestimated the ratio of charm to ruthlessness. Meeting his eyes, she felt a shiver of fury run through her body. He clearly believed that his presence was dazzling enough to overpower her objections to his stupid hotel. If so, he was sadly mistaken. She’d had her fill of men simply assuming that she would fit in with their plans. Particularly one as smug as Massimo Sforza.
Her heartbeat began to quicken. He was completely, irredeemably loathsome. So why then was her pulse fluttering like a moth near a candle? Heat burned her cheeks and she shook her head in denial—but there could be no denying her body’s treacherous, quivering response to his. Nor the fact that he was the most wickedly attractive man she’d ever met.
And the most dangerous.
She gritted her teeth, confused and angered by her body’s response. It was so inappropriate and shallow and given who she knew him to be, frankly wrong. So what if he was handsome? Hadn’t she seen his photo in enough newspapers and magazines to have grown sick of that sculpted head? Her body felt hot and taut beneath the intensely blue focus of his gaze, but she shivered. It was crazy: he hadn’t even touched her. But nothing could truly have prepared her for the reality of his beauty or that air of power and self-assurance. With that sleek black hair, the flawless bone structure just visible beneath the stubble and that imperious gaze he might easily have been one of the bandits that used to roam the island’s hills.
She scowled. Only now, instead of robbing rich travellers of their money and jewellery, he robbed ordinary people of their homes and livelihoods. He might be wearing the trappings of respectability and wealth—his suit and shoes were clearly handmade and expensive—but he had the morals of a common thief.
Her gaze skipped swiftly over the breadth of his chest. It might be broad—but not because he was big-hearted. This man didn’t have a heart, and she would do well to remember that the next time she got dewy-eyed about his blatant masculine perfection.
‘I didn’t have you down as a prude, Mr Sforza,’ she snapped back. ‘Not given your well-documented fondness for scantily clad women. But then it doesn’t surprise me in the least that you’re a hypocrite. After all, you are the head of a multinational corporation—so it’s sort of a prerequisite, isn’t it?’
Massimo shrugged casually, but the intensity of his gaze made her breathing jerk. ‘I’m not a prude. You caught me off guard. You see I don’t generally discuss business with naked women. But then I don’t tend to frequent strip joints.’
Her eyes glittered brighter than the Sardinian sun. ‘I’m not a stripper,’ she said frostily. ‘And we are not doing business. This is my home and I can walk around in it any damn way I want.’ She paused, her face twisting with scorn. ‘Besides, unlike some people, I don’t have anything to hide.’
Her pulse leaped as his face darkened with anger.
‘Oh, you think nudity equates to honesty, do you? Interesting. In that case, I’ve got nothing to hide either.’ Eyes glittering, he slid off his jacket and tossed it disdainfully onto a nearby rose bush, showering petals in every direction.
‘Hey!’ Flora took an angry step towards him. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
He glanced at her and instinctively she tensed as she saw the hostility in their cobalt depths. ‘Me? I’m showing you the purity of my soul.’ Holding her gaze, he slowly began undoing the buttons on his shirt.
She gritted her teeth. ‘Really? You’re really going to do this?’
Flora stared at him helplessly. This couldn’t be happening. Surely he wasn’t going to take all his clothes off in front of her just to prove a point? She watched in silence, a knot forming in her stomach, her heart beating frantically as he tugged his shirt off and threw it on top of his jacket. Meeting her gaze, he pushed his belt through the buckle and undid the top button of his trousers.
‘No!’ Turning round, she grabbed a faded sundress from the stone slabs and pulled it over her head in one swift moment.
‘And I thought I was the prude!’
She heard the note of triumph in his voice and turned to face him with wide, scornful eyes. ‘Not wanting to see you naked doesn’t make me a prude. It’s just a matter of taste. I know you must find it hard to believe, but I don’t actually find you attractive enough to want to see you naked.’
‘Oh, I can believe that. I’m clearly a little young for your taste. Perhaps I should come back in thirty years.’
Flora frowned. ‘Thirty years?’ she repeated stupidly. ‘Why would that make any difference?’
Massimo shook his head. ‘Don’t play the innocent with me, cara. We both know I’m rich enough for you. But you like your men old and rich, don’t you, Miss Golding? Or should that be Miss Gold-Digger?
Her eyes blazed with fury. ‘How dare you?’ She stepped towards him, her hands bunching at her sides. ‘You know nothing about my relationship with Umberto.’
Her stomach muscles clenched, the knots inside pulling tighter. He was disgusting! A monster. Coarse, cold-blooded and corrupted. How could she have thought he was attractive? And he was such a hypocrite! Barging into her life and her home and judging her like that. Her breath felt sharp in her throat. Not just judging, but destroying something good and pure—sullying the memory of what had been innocent with his vile insinuations.
Scowling, she lifted her chin. Let him think what he wanted. She knew the truth. That she and Umberto had shared not passion but friendship, and a mutual desire to hide: she from her family’s claustrophobic love and he from the knowledge that his artistic powers were fading.
‘Just for the record, I don’t have a problem with your age. Just your character! Umberto was twice the man you could ever hope to be, and you will never be capable of understanding what we shared. But it certainly wasn’t his bank account.’
He
