was deliberately playing on her emotions, Darcey recognised. But his ploy had worked.
She threw up her hands in surrender. ‘All right, I’ll come and meet your daughter. I’ll assess the level of speech therapy she needs and then, if you wish, I will hand her case over to one of my colleagues. But I have to warn you, Mr Castellano, there is no chance I will go to Sicily with you.’
CHAPTER TWO
‘I’LL TAKE MY car,’ Darcey told Salvatore as they walked across the car park. Despite his injured leg his stride was twice the size of hers, and her stiletto heels tip-tapped on the tarmac as she tried to keep pace with him.
‘There’s no need for you to drive through the centre of London. I’ll drop you back here later so that you can collect your car.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know you, Mr Castellano, and I’m not going to get into a stranger’s car.’
Personal safety was an issue she took very seriously. Her parents also owned a touring theatre company and ran drama workshops in schools and youth clubs to promote ways for young people to stay safe. Before she had become involved in her own career Darcey had frequently performed with the company, Speak Out, which also promoted drama for the deaf community.
‘I promise I have no plans to ravish you on the back seat,’ Salvatore said drily.
He glanced at the petite woman at his side and idly wondered if the spark of fire in her green eyes would live up to its promise. Outwardly Darcey appeared cool and collected, but beneath her smart suit he sensed she was an explosive bundle of sexual energy.
He frowned, annoyed by his unexpected train of thought. ‘You are welcome to sit in the front with my chauffeur.’
Through the Bentley’s smoked glass windows Darcey made out the figure of a driver sitting behind the wheel and she felt like an idiot.
‘As for not knowing who I am,’ Salvatore continued, ‘do you drink wine?’
She gave him a puzzled look. ‘Occasionally. My father is interested in fine wines and has built up a large collection.’
‘Then he will almost certainly know that the wines from the Castellano Estate are the finest in Sicily.’ Reaching inside his jacket, Salvatore withdrew a business card and handed it to her.
Darcey glanced at the logo on the card and recognition dawned.
‘Castellano Wine! I’ve seen the label on wines in supermarkets and specialist wine shops. My father says the Castellano vineyards produce the best wine that has ever come from Sicily.’ She looked uncertainly at Salvatore. ‘So...do you work for the company?’
‘I own it,’ he said coolly. ‘At least, I own the vineyards and the winery, and also a wine distribution business under the umbrella of the Castellano Group, which is a multi-faceted global organisation. My father retired from the company last year, leaving me and my twin brother as joint CEOs. Sergio is responsible for the property development division, and also has a personal interest in the Hotel Royale in Bayswater, which the company purchased and refurbished a couple of years ago.’
Salvatore opened the rear door of the Bentley.
‘Now that you know as much about me as you need to know, will you accept my offer of a lift to my house in Mayfair?’
Darcey was still reeling from the realisation that he must be very wealthy—probably a multi-millionaire at the very least. Where else would he own a house but in the most expensive area of London? she thought wryly.
She shook her head. ‘I’d still prefer to take my car.’ It meant that she was in control and could leave his home when she chose.
Salvatore frowned. He was used to being obeyed without question, and he found Darcey’s obstinacy irritating, but she was already getting into her car.
‘I’ll follow you,’ she said, ‘but you had better tell me your address and I’ll put it into my sat nav.’
He gave her the postcode. ‘It’s on Park Lane, close to Marble Arch.’ Salvatore snatched his eyes from the expanse of slender thigh exposed as Darcey’s skirt rode up her legs as she climbed into her car and ruthlessly dismissed his faint stirring of sexual interest. ‘It will be simpler for Rosa’s sake if we drop formality and use our Christian names. Darcey is a charming name.’
Feeling hot and bothered by the predatory glint she had glimpsed in Salvatore’s eyes, Darcey was glad of the distraction.
‘It has both Irish and French origins. My father is half-Irish and half-French and he chose the name for me.’
‘The meaning of Salvatore is saviour.’
To Darcey’s surprise he gave a harsh laugh, and for a second she glimpsed a tortured expression in his eyes that was truly shocking.
His expression hardened and became unreadable once more. ‘The irony isn’t lost on me,’ he muttered obliquely.
She wondered what he meant, but before she could ask he slid into the back of the Bentley and disappeared from view behind the darkened windows. He was a man of mystery and absolutely the last thing she needed when she was two days away from her holiday, Darcey thought as she started the Mini’s engine and followed the Bentley out of the car park. For weeks she had been daydreaming about relaxing on a golden beach, eating melting Brie on crusty French bread, and drinking the local red wine. She was regretting her impulsive decision to meet Salvatore’s daughter, but as she recalled the photo of Rosa she could not help feeling sympathetic towards the little girl with the sad eyes.
* * *
Traffic in the capital at the start of the rush hour was heavily congested, and Darcey had lost sight of the Bentley by the time she crawled along Oxford Street and turned onto Park Lane. Opposite was Marble Arch and the green oasis of Hyde Park, but she was too busy looking for the address Salvatore had given her to be able to admire the famous London landmarks. Suddenly she caught sight of the Bentley parked in front of a stunning neo-classical style mansion house. Hastily indicating to change lanes, she nipped into a parking space, thankful that her small car was so easy to manoeuvre.
Salvatore was standing on the front steps of the house and seemed to be in deep conversation with a striking blonde wearing a very short skirt and a low-cut top that revealed her enviable cleavage. Darcey sensed from their body language that they were arguing. The woman spun away from him, but he followed her down the steps and caught hold of her arm.
Feeling awkward at the idea of interrupting a lovers’ tiff, Darcey remained in her car and watched the woman jerk free from Salvatore and climb into a waiting taxi, which immediately sped away. She was tempted to drive off too, but he was striding along the pavement towards her, his powerful masculinity in no way lessened by the slight unevenness of his gait due to his injured leg. With a sigh, she got out of the Mini and went to meet him.
‘It might be best if I left,’ she said, feeling her heart skitter when he halted in front of her. Her reaction to him was all the more unsettling because she could not control it. Since her divorce eighteen months ago she had not felt the slightest interest in men, and she was horrified by her body’s response to Salvatore’s potent virility.
He frowned, and she explained, ‘I
