One Night In His Bed. Christina Hollis
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girlfriend. He’s bound to have one, Sienna thought, and I’ll bet she never wears black.
‘Excuse me, miss—I wonder if you could direct me to the Church of San Gregorio?’
A loud, cultured voice made her flush with confusion. She looked up—but it was not the person she had hoped it would be. Instead of her dashing hero, she found herself staring at the expectant faces of a couple of tourists.
All Sienna’s tension dissolved in a self-conscious giggle. She gave the directions, and even managed to exchange a few cheerful words. Then a cloud blotted out her relief. While she had been busy chatting, a presence had arrived beside her. That was the only way she could describe it. The tall, well-dressed stranger had materialised at her elbow.
All her worries flooded back, stifling her voice as soon as the tourists said goodbye. She was alone with him. Sienna had no option but to look up and smile. Straight away she made sure she could not be accused of flirting. It didn’t matter that she was twenty kilometres from home, Sienna knew that the moment she showed the slightest interest in any male over the age of ten, the news would reach her stepmother before you could say ‘torrid affair’.
The vision smiled back. Sienna gazed at him, at a loss. And then he spoke.
‘I heard you speaking English to that couple.’ He came straight to the point in a distinctive accent. It matched his frank, typically American expression. ‘I wonder—could you please direct me to the best restaurant around here?’
Was that all he needed? Sienna wanted to feel relief rush through her, but it didn’t happen. His steady gaze was too intense for that. His dark brown eyes mesmerised her, in the split second she allowed herself to look up into his face. Quickly, she looked down again. The very best place to eat was about twenty kilometres away, up in the hills. No one in Piccia could afford to eat in Il Pettirosso, where Anna Maria’s husband Angelo worked, but it was the restaurant Sienna always visited in her daydreams. As all the staff were local, and this visitor had chosen her for her ability to speak English, it might not be for him. But his confident yet relaxed stance told Sienna that this man would fit in anywhere. And he is exactly the sort who might try and turn my simplest reply into a conversation, she thought nervously.
Conversation was a risk Sienna could not take. She had enough grief in her life already, and didn’t want any more. This would never have happened if the man had bought something when he’d first walked into the market, she reflected. The other stallholders always spoke English when a customer showed real signs of spending money. She glanced sideways at the walnut-faced market men squinting through smoke from their roll-ups, and the nonnas sitting in judgement like black toads.
‘There are lots of good restaurants down by the sea, signor. Many of them have menus printed in French or English,’ she added helpfully.
‘I’ve heard that some places on the coast take advantage of the tourist dollar, and as I can actually speak a little Italian, signorina, the language won’t necessarily be a problem for me.’
He smiled, and Sienna could believe it.
‘In which case, the best place is twenty or thirty minutes’ drive out of town. And it’s quite a walk to the cab rank from here.’
Especially in shoes like those, she thought, her gaze firmly fixed on his Guccis.
‘That won’t necessarily matter. I was going to hire a car and invite some old friends out for lunch while I’m in their neighbourhood.’
The urge to look up at him grew too strong, so Sienna gave in. A change had come over his expression. It was as though a cloud had passed in front of the sun, and she realised he disliked giving out information about himself.
Sienna nervously passed the tip of her tongue over her lips. ‘The only thing is…the restaurant I recommended really needs somebody in your party who has an ear for the local dialect. Perhaps your friends are fluent, signor? Il Pettirosso is remote, and very much a haunt of those “in the know”, as I think the saying goes. Are you sure you wouldn’t be better off going to one of the fashionable places down by the sea after all? They get so much business from tourists that it’s accepted all their staff will speak English. All sorts of famous people go there,’ she finished lamely, in case he was famous, too, and she simply hadn’t recognised him. With those expectant eyes and resolute mouth, he looked as though he should have an international fan club.
‘I loathe watching money being thrown around solely in the hope of making an impression,’ he announced. ‘I prefer good food and service in excellent company. In which of your suggested places would you choose to eat?’
‘If I could go anywhere?’ Sienna could hardly imagine such luxury.
‘Go anywhere, spend anything—I don’t care what it costs as long as it’s value for money.’
‘Oh, then that’s easy!’ Sienna warmed with the thought of it. ‘Il Pettirosso—even if it means buying a phrasebook to help with the ordering. It’s a wonderful place with smoked glass windows so passers-by can’t see inside. They specialise in local dishes, and everything is freshly prepared from the finest ingredients. Regional food is cooked there to the highest possible standard.’
His smile returned. ‘That sounds just my sort of place. Authentic cuisine and an authentic name!’
‘It’s actually a sort of bird, signor. They live in the woodlands, and I shouldn’t think you would ever see one inside Il Pettirosso. Unless they have pictures of them on the menu, of course.’
Putting his head on one side, he looked at her acutely. ‘Are you telling me you’ve never actually eaten there?’
Sienna shook her head. The thought of trying to get her late husband Aldo over the threshold of a place like that made her smile.
The stranger reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small mobile phone. Flipping it open, he handed it to Sienna. She looked at him in bewilderment.
‘Go on, then—the choice is made. Would you mind booking it for me, please, signorina? I might have a problem making myself understood if I can’t give them some visual clues. I’ll need a table for four at midday. That will give me plenty of time to make all the other arrangements.’
‘I shall need a name, signor.’
‘Oh, just tell them it is for Garett Lazlo,’ he said, as though giving her the answer to everything.
Sienna’s eyes widened at this, but she rang the restaurant as instructed. To her amazement, the booking was accepted straight away. Within seconds the formalities were complete. Next moment, the receptionist at Il Pettirosso was thanking her for the call with a warm goodbye. For a few precious seconds Sienna could fool herself that she was his glamorous personal assistant, making an official business call.
The phone was warmed by a faint fragrance of handsome Mr Lazlo. Sienna savoured it for as long as she could, until she had to hand it back.
‘And now, signorina—can you achieve a double triumph, and point me in the direction of a decent car?’
Garett Lazlo tucked the phone back inside his jacket, all set to go. The part of Sienna that was not still under the influence of his masculine aroma almost managed to feel relieved.
‘If you go straight through the market, then turn right and carry on across town, there is a prestige hire firm within a kilometre. Keep your back to the harbour and you can’t miss it,’ she said quickly.
‘Thank you.’
It sounded as though there was a smile in his voice, but Sienna did not trust herself to check. When she eventually raised her head her visitor was strolling away, his jacket slung over one shoulder. With an unfamiliar pang of excitement she realised she could stare at him openly now, because everyone else in the market was doing exactly the same thing. Among that gallery, one more person admiring the tall, slim stranger would go unnoticed. Even if that person was ‘poor, downtrodden Sienna’, as everyone called her when they thought she could not hear.
She