His Sicilian Cinderella. Carol Marinelli

       ‘Are you surprised to see me, Matteo?’

      ‘Not really.’ He shrugged, as if facing her again was the easiest thing in the world—as if he hadn’t spent the best part of the night locked in sensual dreams with her. ‘I heard at dinner last night from Sophie that you worked here …’ That would account for dreaming of her, Matteo decided, and then he remembered why they could never be.

      She preferred her work to him.

      ‘Are your clientele richer here, Bella?’

      ‘They are.’ Bella smiled. ‘I wonder if even you could afford me now.’

      ‘Oh, but I’m sure that I could,’ Matteo said. ‘Given that I’m looking to buy this hotel. In a few months time I may well be your boss …’

      ‘Never!’ Bella spat.

      ‘Why are you suddenly so cross?’ Matteo asked, his voice a low husk, his face far too close to hers, so close that he could feel her soft rapid breaths on his cheek. ‘From what I remember we parted on very friendly terms.’