Cesare swept back into the cottage Milly expelled a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. She heard an inner door slam. The door to the ground floor sleeping quarters he’d talked about?
Whatever. He was suddenly riven with anger, that much she did know. But didn’t know why.
She passed a hand over her forehead in an attempt to rub away the tense frown lines. He was angry with Jilly, not with her, she had to remind herself. Keeping up with her dual identity was really getting to her.
She was finding the deception more than distasteful but at least it bought time she consoled herself as she hauled herself to her feet and began to stack the used dishes. More time for her to somehow figure a way of tracking her twin down, more time for Jilly to get over her going-nowhere affair with the charismatic far-too-sexy Italian tycoon so that she’d be in a stronger emotional state to argue her case, convince him that there had been some dreadful mistake.
And more time for her unwilling fascination with him to develop into a deeper phase? was the utterly disquieting thought that popped into her head.
Thrusting it aside as brutally as she knew how, she carried the dishes through and washed them at the deep stone sink and, drying her hands, listened to the silence until she felt calmer.
A door on the far wall, tucked between the dresser and a painted closet, a door she hadn’t noticed before, must lead to the bedroom he was using. Annoyingly, her eyes would keep straying to it. As if she were expecting Cesare to emerge, black hair damp from the shower, droplets glistening on the golden skin of his perfectly crafted torso, a towel slung low on his narrow hips?
Expecting? Wanting?
Ashamed of the burning heat, the sullen ache, that was claiming the most private part of her anatomy, she dragged in a shaky breath, turning her back on the door and carefully folded the towel she’d been using, naming herself for the worst kind of fool.
At least his manner of leaving her—anger because of what he thought Jilly had done taking precedence over what she, the imposter, guessed was his callous decision to exact sexual part payment for her perceived wrongdoing meant that she’d be safe from his desire to carry on from where he and her twin had left off.
Safe, too, from her own emerging weakness?
Even so, if there had been a key to her bedroom door she would have locked it.
‘The sea is waiting. Remember?’
The soft drawl brought Milly out of her troubled sleep at the speed of light, as if every nerve in her body had been hit by a bolt of lightning. Jerking up against the pillows, she belatedly tugged the sheet up to cover her breasts, bitterly regretting her decision to slip naked between the cool crisp sheets after her shower last night.
Embarrassment colouring her cheeks, deep emerald eyes flinchingly sought him beneath the tousled pale silk of her fringe. Sought and locked.
Casually leaning against the doorframe, incredibly sexy in narrow-fitting jeans and a sleeveless olive green T-shirt, he looked magnificent, magnetic, all male strength, lean lines, hard muscles.
Her breath stopped in her throat. Her eyes slid up to his face. That slight utterly devastating smile, the straight Roman nose that flared a little when he was angry, the dark as night eyes veiled now by impossibly thick and silky lashes.
It was so unfair!
If her worldly-wise sophisticated twin, who’d been wrapping besotted males around her little finger ever since she’d reached her late teens, hadn’t been able to resist falling for him then how the hell was she supposed to cope?
Conquests had always come so easily to Jilly, and had just as easily bored her. She’d always walked away without a single regret. But this time, if her hunch was right, Jilly had met more than her match. She’d finally fallen in love and Milly couldn’t blame her.
Worriedly she recalled that last postcard from Florence. It must have been sent just before Jilly had joined the Saracino household. She had been so sure that in the future money would be no object, that she would be able to repay her debts. She must have been convinced that her new lover would soon be her husband.
‘Get ready. We’ll eat breakfast on the beach and swim later,’ he delivered, fascinated by the blush that bloomed like wild roses on her cheeks. And turned away before he could get too fascinated by her naked state beneath the tangled sheet, tangled in a way that left one long, smooth and shapely leg exposed all the way to the apex of a creamy thigh, sternly reminding himself of the questions he had lined up for the lying little witch today.
He turned away, leaving the room, and Milly released a pent-up sigh of deep relief. She couldn’t believe how vulnerable she’d felt, lying here in a sheet and nothing else.
And the way he’d been looking at her, as if he could see right through the fine white cotton! Her whole body blushed and, to take her mind off it, she leapt out of bed and told herself she was doing fine. Just fine.
As she rummaged through her suitcase for something to wear she mentally ticked off all the pros.
So far he still had no idea that she wasn’t Jilly.
While that state of affairs remained he wasn’t out there hunting down the real Jilly, no doubt with a pair of handcuffs in his pocket.
He hadn’t made any attempt to get up close and personal.
She was sensible enough to slap him down if he did. Wasn’t she?
As for the cons.
There was the rest of the week to get through.
But she could hack it!
Sifting through Jilly’s cast-offs, she extracted an outrageous black bikini. Three triangles of fabric and a sort of thong thing. Her face went scarlet. Cleo must have added it to the pile while she had been helping her decide what to take. She, Milly, would never dream of flaunting herself in something so revealing!
She thrust it back into the case, then sat back on her heels, forcing herself to face facts.
Jilly would have no hesitation in wearing the thing. She was supposed to be Jilly, wasn’t she? So, to keep the impersonation going and not get found out, she was going to have to behave and dress as her twin would.
Not giving herself time to think about it, she put it on and smartly covered up with a pair of very brief pale lemon coloured shorts, the weird sandals and a sleeveless blouse in a toning, slightly darker lemon that tied just below her breasts, leaving her midriff bare, and went down to the kitchen before she could chicken out.
‘Coffee.’ Cesare pushed a mug of the fragrant brew across the kitchen table. He was seated, long legs outstretched, encased in faded denim. He was naked to the waist now; the tanned skin that stretched over whipcord muscles gleamed with health and vigour. Milly’s throat jerked. He was too much!
Feeling hot and bothered beneath his lazy scrutiny, she took the mug and carried it to the open door and leaned against the frame, looking out over the lush green valley so she didn’t have to look at him, doing her damnedest to appear relaxed. If only she knew what sort of game he was playing! It seemed as though he was making up the rules as he went along!
Before they’d
