sat a good distance from the mountain road, accessed by a track that stretched almost a kilometre into dense woods. Built of soft ochre-coloured stone and roofed in terracotta, the property was surrounded by a grove of olive trees with silvery foliage that seemed to shimmer in the fading light.
‘Very picturesque,’ Zara pronounced breathlessly, belatedly registering that she had allowed herself to be brought to an isolated place in the countryside by a man whom she knew almost nothing about! She mentally chastised herself for her lack of caution.
As her lips parted to suggest that she would prefer a hotel—at her own expense—a plump little woman in an apron appeared at the front door and smiled widely.
‘My housekeeper, Guiseppina, has come out to welcome you. Be warned, she will try to fatten you up,’ Vitale remarked teasingly as he swung out of the car.
The appearance of another woman relieved much of Zara’s concern, although a stubborn thought at the back of her mind was already leafing through various murders in which the killers had enjoyed female companionship and support in which to commit their crimes. Her colourful imagination had often been considered one of her biggest flaws by her teachers. ‘I think I would prefer to be in a hotel—I’ll settle my own bills,’ she muttered tautly.
In considerable surprise, for he was accustomed to women seizing on every opportunity to enjoy his full attention, Vitale recognised her apprehension and murmured, ‘If you would be more comfortable staying in this house alone I will use my city apartment while you are here. It is not a problem.’
Flushing in embarrassment, afraid that she might have sounded a little hysterical while also being soothed by his offer, Zara hastened to recant. ‘No, that’s really not necessary. I think it’s the fact I know virtually nothing about you except that you’re a property developer—’
‘But I’m not … a property developer,’ Vitale confided in a ludicrous tone of apology.
Zara studied his lean bronzed features with a bemused frown. ‘You’re … not?’ A helpless laugh bubbled out of her throat because there was something very amusing about the way in which he had broken that news.
‘I’m a banker,’ Vitale admitted.
‘Oh …’ Zara exclaimed, nonplussed by that level admission, there being nothing flashy, threatening or indeed exciting about bankers in her past experience.
‘The property developing is only a pastime.’ Her patent lack of interest in his admission set his teeth on edge a little. Had he been spoilt by all the women who hung on his every word and eagerly tried to find out everything about him?
Bubbling Italian like a fountain, Giuseppina was a bustling whirlwind of a woman and she instantly took centre stage. Although Zara didn’t understand much of what she was saying, it didn’t inhibit Giuseppina’s chatter. She drew Zara eagerly into the house and straight up the creaking oak staircase to a charming bedroom with painted furniture and crisp white bed linen. Zara glanced with satisfaction at the en suite bathroom. The walls might be rustic brick and the furniture quirky and antique but, like the Villa di Sole, every contemporary comfort had been incorporated.
A light knock sounded on the ajar door. Vitale set her bag down on the wide-planked floor. ‘Dinner will be served in an hour and a half. I hope you’re hungry. I bring guests here so rarely that Giuseppina seems determined to treat us to a banquet.’
Zara glanced at him and for an instant, as she collided with dark eyes that glowed like the warmest, deepest amber in the fading light, it was as though her every defence fell down and she stood naked and vulnerable. For a terrifying energising moment she was electrified by the breathtaking symmetry and beauty of his face regardless of the five o’clock shadow of stubble steadily darkening his jaw line. She wondered what it would feel like to kiss him and the passage of blood through her veins seemed to slow and thicken while her heart banged behind her ribs and her breath dragged through her tight throat.
As Giuseppina took her leave, her sturdy shoes ringing out her descent of the stairs, Vitale held Zara’s gaze, his eyes scorching gold, lashes dipping low as though to conceal them. ‘I’ll see you at dinner,’ he told her huskily, backing away.
As the door shut on his departure Zara was trembling. She felt too warm. Unfreezing, she darted into the bathroom to splash her face with cold water. Her hands shook as she snatched up the towel to dry herself again. Never before had she felt so aware of a man. The feelings that had drawn her to Julian as a teenager paled utterly in comparison. She stripped where she stood to go for a shower. What was happening to her? She had decided a long time ago that she just wasn’t that sexual a being. Only once had a man made Zara want to surrender her virginity and that man had been Julian, but if she was truthful she had only been willing to sleep with him because she had assumed that it was expected. When in fact Julian had put greed ahead of lust in his priorities, Zara had been left a virgin and a very much sadder and wiser one. So what was different about Vitale Roccanti?
After all, in August she was supposed to be marrying Sergios Demonides and, having thoroughly weighed up the pros and cons, she had reached that decision on her own. All right, she didn’t love the man she had promised to marry and he didn’t love her, but she did respect the commitment she had made to him. Loyalty and respect mattered to her. Was it stress that was making her feel edgy and out of sync? Or was Bee’s warning that she might fall for another man after she married working on some level of her brain to make her more than usually aware of an attractive man? Vitale was an extraordinarily handsome man and very charismatic. That was fact. Possibly she was more nervous about getting married than she had been prepared to admit even to herself. And for all she knew Vitale Roccanti was a married man. Yanking a towel off the rail as she stepped out of the shower, she grimaced at that suspicion. At the very least he might be involved in a steady relationship. And why on earth should that matter to her? Not only did it not matter to her whether he was involved or otherwise with a woman, it was none of her business, she told herself staunchly. In the same way it was none of Vitale’s business that she was committed to Sergios. She thought it was unfortunate, though, that Sergios had chosen not to give her an engagement ring. But there was still no good reason why she should bother telling Vitale that she was getting married in three months’ time. Why was she getting so worked up?
Releasing her hair from the clip, she let the silvery strands fall loose round her shoulders and she put on the print tea dress she had packed for more formal wear. Dinner was served on the terrace at the rear of the property. A candle flickered on the beautifully set table in the shade of a venerable oak tree. Her slim shoulders unusually tense, Zara left the shelter of the house.
A glass of wine in one hand, Vitale was talking on a cell phone in a liquid stream of Italian. He was casually seated on the edge of a low retaining wall, a pair of chinos and an open shirt having replaced the suit he had worn earlier. Black hair still spiky from a shower, he had shaved, baring the sleek planes of his features and throwing into prominence his beautifully shaped mouth. Her heart seemed to take a flying leap inside her body, making it incredibly difficult to catch her breath.
‘Zara,’ he murmured softly in greeting, switching off the phone and tossing it aside.
‘I used to hate my name but suppose everyone does at some stage when they’re growing up,’ Zara confided, aware that she was chattering too much in an effort to hide her self-consciousness but quite unable to silence herself.
‘It’s a pretty name.’
Madly aware of his intense scrutiny, Zara felt her cheeks warm. For goodness’ sake, relax, she urged herself, exasperated by her oversensitive reaction to him. He sprang fluidly upright, his every physical move
