a friend. Or more than a friend, he conceded, his skin burning where he had touched her. And he wanted to touch her again, he thought, in places that were hot and wet and definitely forbidden.
As if she sensed his guilty attraction, Tess turned away from him now, pressing against the door beside her, keeping her eyes on the view. But only after they’d exchanged one searing look of raw intimacy that left Rafe at least stunned by the strength of his own response.
They were silent then, each of them occupied with their own thoughts, pretending an interest in their surroundings that Rafe was sure neither of them really felt. Or perhaps he was only imagining it, he thought irritably. Whatever, he was much too old to play these childish games.
Only there was nothing childish about the way he was feeling and, realising he had to normalise the situation, he was relieved when a cluster of villas strung out along the coastline came into view. ‘This is Viali,’ he said, trying to recover his earlier optimism. ‘It is really just an extension of Viareggio these days. The port has expanded so much. But Viali is pretty. It has its own personality. And, although it cannot boast the art nouveau architecture for which Viareggio is famous, many people prefer it to the larger resort.’
‘Is this where your daughter lives?’ asked Tess, apparently prepared to meet him halfway, and he agreed that it was.
‘Their albergo is situated just outside Viali on the way to Viareggio. They will not have too many guests at this time of the year. Maria should have plenty of time to speak with us.’
The Villa Puccini looked chic and elegant dreaming in the noonday sun. Lush vegetation provided a colourful backdrop to the warm cream walls of the villa, and the blue waters of a kidney-shaped swimming pool vied with the vast expanse of the Gulf of Genoa that lapped at the sandy shore below the gardens. Glancing at Tess’s face, Rafe suspected it was far more attractive than she had expected, and he felt his own spirits lifting at more than the prospect of seeing his daughter again.
‘Is this it?’ Tess asked as he drove between the stone gateposts that marked the entrance to the drive, and Rafe blew out a breath. ‘Do you like it?’ he asked, slowing to avoid a group of holiday-makers who were heading into town. ‘Carlo’s family is heavily involved in the leisure industry. This is one of their smaller properties and the first one Carlo has managed alone.’
‘One of the smaller properties,’ echoed Tess disbelievingly. ‘It’s much larger than I expected. I thought an albergo was something like a bed-and-breakfast back home.’
Rafe gave her a brief smile. ‘I think you are thinking of a French auberge, Tess,’ he said, his use of her name coming far too easily. ‘An albergo is a hotel. Sometimes large, sometimes small. The Villa Puccini falls some way between the two.’
Tess shook her head as they rounded a flowering trellis and a cluster of orange-tiled buildings came into view. It was obvious that the villa had been added to over the years. Some extensions were taller than others. But the overall effect was charming, set as it was beside the breathtaking beauty of the bay.
‘It looks very impressive to me,’ she said doubtfully, and he saw her give another anxious glance towards her bare legs.
‘It is a holiday hotel,’ he assured her gently. ‘And you look exactly like one of the visitors.’ He switched off the engine of the Ferrari and unfastened his seat belt. ‘I intend to get rid of this jacket as soon as I am out of the car.’
She didn’t look entirely convinced and, now they were here, Rafe had to admit to feeling a little apprehensive himself. It was the first time he had brought a young woman to his daughter’s home, and, no matter how often he assured himself that his motives were innocent, the fact remained there had been no need for him to bring Tess along.
She unfastened her own seat belt now, and before he could forestall her she had pushed open her door and got out of the car. With the sunlight blazing down on her bare head and the flush of heat in her cheeks, she looked absurdly young and beautiful. As he shed his jacket and hooked it over his shoulder, he had to accept that Maria would be suspicious. It was not that she hadn’t been urging him to find someone else for the past six years. It was just that this gamine slip of an English girl was unlikely to have been what she meant.
But, before he could marshal any arguments in his own defence, he heard his daughter calling to him. She was coming from the direction of the gardens, a flat basket containing long stems of white and yellow blossoms draped across her arm. Maria’s hair, which was as dark as his own but much longer, was confined in a single braid, and her chemise dress of simple white organza complemented the warm tan of her bare arms.
She looked as elegant as her surroundings, he thought, with a rueful sigh. A product of his mother’s policy that a woman should always look her best, whatever the circumstances. Even if she’d been gardening, which was highly unlikely in Maria’s case. His daughter might enjoy arranging flowers, but she left the planting and the picking of them to someone else.
The contrast between her and Tess was marked. And it was obvious that neither of them appreciated the comparison. As she drew nearer he saw Maria’s dark brows arch in polite inquiry, but Rafe could tell from her expression that, however pleased she might be to see him, she didn’t care for him bringing a strange woman here without forewarning.
‘Papa,’ she greeted him warmly as he stepped forward to meet her, reaching up and bestowing light air kisses beside each of his cheeks in turn. But then, with a lightening turn of mood, she began reprovingly, ‘Avresti dovuto dirmelo che—’
‘Inglese, Maria, per favore,’ he interrupted her smoothly, turning to beckon Tess to join them. His eyes met hers briefly, and then he turned back to his daughter. ‘Tess, this is my daughter, Maria. Maria, this is Tess Daniels. You may recall, her sister is at present looking after the Galleria Medici in San Michele.’
There was a moment when he thought Maria looked almost guilty. She obviously recognised the name, though she tried to hide her reaction from him. ‘Buongiorno, signorina,’ she said, forgetting in her confusion that he had asked her to speak English. And then, rescuing herself, ‘Scusi, Papa. Non ricordo. How do you do, Miss Daniels? Are you enjoying your holiday?’
‘Tess is not on holiday,’ Rafe asserted, before Tess could explain herself. After Maria’s telling little response to his question, the last thing he wanted was for Tess to warn her of why they were here. ‘She is standing in at the gallery while her sister is away,’ he continued smoothly. He put a cautioning hand on Tess’s shoulder, trying to ignore how aware of her he was. ‘I hope you don’t mind, cara. I invited her to come see a little more of the area.’
Maria’s lips definitely tightened. ‘You should have told us you were coming, Papa,’ she declared, offering Tess a limp hand. She regarded the other woman warily now as she added, ‘Is this your first visit to Italy, Miss Daniels?’
‘I’m afraid so.’ Tess was not without perception and Rafe knew she must be blaming him for bringing her here. ‘And, please, call me Tess.’ She glanced about her, her gaze flicking over Rafe’s as she did so. And over his hand on her shoulder. ‘This is a beautiful spot. Your father didn’t tell me how delightful it would be.’
Maria softened, but she was watching them closely and Rafe was reluctantly obliged to remove his hand. ‘SI, it is beautiful,’ she agreed, with a momentary air of satisfaction. Then she looked at her father again. ‘Are you staying for lunch, Papa, or is this just a brief visit?’
Rafe shrugged. ‘We are not in any hurry, cara,’ he said.
