to burn as she felt a sudden fierce ache of pure female sexual desire stab through her. She wanted Marco. Oh, the irony of that! An irony that only she would ever know and understand.
They were coming in to land. Lily had imposed a steel band of rejection over what she was feeling, but it melted like snow in the full glare of a midsummer sun when Marco turned round to look at her. If only things were different. If only they were coming here as lovers. If only…
How could such preposterously foolish thoughts have managed to put down roots inside her emotions? Lily didn’t know. She was just thankful that Marco di Lucchesi couldn’t see them. Very thankful indeed.
THEIR flight had been smooth and uneventful—and, given both that and the nature of his perfectly understandable feelings of distrust and contempt for Lily Wrightington, Marco was at a loss to explain to himself just why he found it necessary to hang back now that they could disembark from the helicopter, just so that he could keep a watch over her. Just as hard to explain was the concern he had felt for her during the short flight—to the point where he had had to actively restrain himself from turning round in his seat to check that she was all right.
She wasn’t a vulnerable child, no matter what emotive mental images his head had produced to that effect. She was a fully grown woman. A deceitful, amoral, not-to-be trusted woman, who preyed on the vulnerabilities of others. But still he descended from the helicopter behind her, silently checking her safety. It was because of the mess it would make of all his carefully constructed plans should she for any reason become unable to complete her part in their planned tour. This concern for her welfare had nothing whatsoever to do with her in any personal sense. Nothing at all.
A chauffeur-driven car was waiting to drive them the short distance from the helicopter landing pad to the hotel.
Naturally Lily had read up on the place, knowing that they would be staying there, but there were no words or photographs that could do real justice to the sparkling elegance of the rich interior of the hotel foyer, with its crystal chandelier, smooth marble surfaces and gilt furniture that seemed to give everything within it a rich golden glow.
There was no necessity for them to check in. An immaculately dressed receptionist wearing a uniform that looked to Lily as though it might have been tailored by one of Italy’s foremost designers asked them to follow her, whisking them upwards and then along several corridors, faithfully decorated in keeping with the villa’s history, before coming to a halt outside one of several doors in the corridor.
‘We have given your guest a suite overlooking the lake, just as you requested, Your Highness,’ the receptionist told Marco, opening the door and then turning back to him to ask, ‘If you would like to see the suite…’
Marco shook his head, and then told Lily, ‘I’ll meet you downstairs in the bar in half an hour. We can run through tomorrow’s schedule over dinner.’
Lily nodded her head.
‘The porter will be here shortly with your luggage,’ the receptionist informed Lily. ‘If you require any information about anything, please ask him.’
‘Thank you.’ The girl had switched on the lights in the room, and although she stepped into it, Lily stayed in the open doorway, watching as the receptionist led Marco to another door at the far end of the corridor. It was crazy of her to feel so alone and abandoned—as though for some reason she needed to know where Marco di Lucchesi was in case she needed him.
She heard the click of his door closing as Marco stepped into his own room. The receptionist disappeared through a pair of doors that led to the stairs. There was nothing to keep her standing in the entrance to her own room now.
No, not merely a room, Lily reminded herself as she closed the door and went to explore her surroundings. Her suite was the size of a small apartment, and consisted of a large bedroom, a sitting room and two bathrooms. The furniture was reproduction Georgian, and the suite was decorated in toning shades of dark plum and pale grey-blue, with the bed dressed in the current boutique hotel fashion with neat piles of cushions and a carefully folded deep plum silk throw at the bottom of a padded cream bedcover. Tall glass doors opened from both the bedroom and the sitting room onto a narrow balcony just wide enough for a table and two chairs. Although she couldn’t see it now that it was dark, Lily guessed that the view over the lake would be stupendous. As it was, the sight of the moonlight reflecting on the dark waters, and the myriad dancing lights from craft on the lake and buildings on its banks created an almost magical picture.
A discreet ring on the bell to her room announced the arrival of the porter with her small case. After thanking him and tipping him, Lily lifted her case onto the bed and opened it. She’d packed very carefully for this tour. For the evening she’d brought with her a fine black jersey tube-shaped skirt, which could be worn long from the waist, ruched up to make a shorter skirt, or worn as a short strapless dress. To go with it she’d brought a matching black jersey body, with three-quarter sleeves and a boat-shaped neckline, a softly draped long-line black cardigan, and a cream silk blouse. Between them she hoped that these items and the costume jewellery she had also brought with her would cover every kind of event she would be expected to attend.
For daytime she had a pair of slimline black Capri pants, a pair of jeans, and several interchangeable tops—along with her trench coat just in case.
For dinner tonight she intended to put the caramel-coloured dress back on and wear it with a black pashmina. Since her hair had already started to escape from its knot, and given the fact that she only had half an hour before she had to meet Marco, it made sense to simply leave it down on her shoulders.
In the bar Marco was just about to sit down to check through their itinerary for the first day of their tour, when he saw Lily approaching the entrance to the room.
She was wearing the same caramel-coloured dress she had worn for the reception, and a black wrap caught up on one shoulder with a gold Maltese cross that picked out the colour of her dress. She looked effortlessly elegant, Marco acknowledged, her hair framing the delicate bone structure of her face in softly styled natural-looking waves.
He wasn’t surprised to see so many of the other occupants of the bar, both male and female, turning to give her a second look. What did surprise him, though, was that she seemed oblivious to their admiration, her manner more hesitant than confident—until she saw him, and then she straightened her back and came towards him with her chin tilted challengingly, like someone ready to do battle, he recognised grimly. No one looking at her now would associate her with that seedy studio and her even more dubious reason for being there.
Marco pushed back his chair and stood up.
‘Would you like a drink or would you prefer to go straight in for dinner?’
‘Straight in for dinner, please,’ Lily answered him
‘Very well.’ A brief inclination of Marco’s head brought the maître d’ over to their table to escort them through into the restaurant
‘What do you think of the place?’ Marco asked her, observing the manner in which she was thoughtfully studying their surroundings.
‘The decor is stunning.’ Lily told him truthfully, ‘but a woman coming here for a romantic tête-à-tête would have to be very careful about what she wore if she didn’t want to end up competing with so much rich adornment.’
