The Sicilian Surrender. Sandra Marton
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“—such a magnificent place, darling, and to think you didn’t intend to share it with—”
“Was that helicopter yours?”
“Yes. Yes, it was. It landed in a field just a little way from here and then a taxi—”
“Go back to it and tell the pilot to take you back to the airport.”
Carla blinked. “What?”
“I said—”
“I heard you. I just can’t believe you’d send me away.”
Tears glinted in her eyes. She was good at this, he thought grimly. Very good.
“Carla.” He spoke quietly, feeling the anger inside him approaching critical mass and determined not to let her know it. He valued self-control as much as privacy. Explosive emotion was the one thing Sicilian he didn’t admire. It had led his grandfather to ruin. “You’re not staying here.”
“You mean…” Her mouth trembled. “You mean, I’m not welcome.”
He almost laughed. Did she really think a show of injured feelings would work?
“I mean,” he said carefully, “I didn’t invite you.”
“You didn’t have to. We’ve been together a long time.”
“Four months.” His voice turned cold. He knew it, but all at once, he didn’t care.
“Four months,” she repeated, making it sound like a lifetime, “and now, just because I asked you a simple favor—”
“I gave you a simple answer. No one is putting my home on the cover of a magazine.”
“Then, it is your home?” she said with a sly little smile. “You’re not developing this property into a resort?”
Stefano cursed himself for being a fool. “Goodbye, Carla,” he said, and started past her.
She reached out and caught his sleeve.
“I don’t want it for a cover, Stefano. I want it for the entire issue.”
He laughed.
“It’ll be the most incredible magazine anyone’s ever seen!” He tugged his arm free of her hand and began walking down the slope. Carla hurried alongside him, slipping a little in her stiletto heels. “Just listen, okay?”
He didn’t answer.
“The way I’ve planned things will protect your precious privacy as much as it heightens the intimacy of the shoot.”
They reached the bottom of the hill. Stefano looked around for her taxi. The road and the driveway were empty.
“Here’s my plan, Stefano.” Carla moved in front of him, face glowing under the soft lights that had just come on in the rear of the house. “One of everything. One world-class photographer, one incredible makeup artist, one unbelievably gorgeous model—”
She cried out as he cupped her elbows and hauled her to her toes.
“No! Are you deaf? There will be no shoot. No model, no photographer, no anything.”
“You’re hurting me.”
He probably was. Carefully, he took his hands from her and stepped back.
“Where’s your cab?”
“I sent it back.” She smiled. “I sent the helicopter back, too.”
“Wait here. I’ll have someone drive you to the airport,” he said, and walked away from her for what would surely be the last time.
“Stefano.”
Her voice was soft; it held something that made the hair rise on the back of his neck, but he kept going.
“Which magazine would you rather see these photos in, Bridal Dreams…or Whispers?”
He came to an abrupt stop.
“You have a minute to reconsider that threat,” he said as he swung toward her, “and then I’m going to pick you up and throw you off my land.”
Carla’s face was white. She was frightened. But she was determined, too. He could see it in the tilt of her head.
“I’ve already made all the arrangements. The model, the makeup man, the photographer…They’ll all be here tomorrow.”
He felt his jaw drop. Dimly, in a part of his mind that was observing all this with dry curiosity, he wondered what the world would think if it knew that one sentence, spoken by one woman, could have such an effect on il lupo solo.
“Excuse me?”
“I said—”
He moved quickly, grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her until her teeth rattled.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Let go!”
“Damn you, explain yourself!”
“I’ll sue you for assault if you don’t let go!”
It wouldn’t be assault, it would be murder. He was a heartbeat away from it. Stunned by the intensity of his rage, he let her go.
“Explain yourself.”
“I did, but you wouldn’t listen.” She wrapped her arms around herself and looked up at him. Her voice took on timbre; excitement flashed in her eyes. “You think you know all about making money? Maybe, but you don’t know squat about magazine publishing. You debut a new magazine or relaunch an old one, what you need is to produce an issue that’ll set the country talking. Just one issue, and the magazine will be so hot it’ll sizzle. And so will I.”
“Sizzle some other way. No one is setting foot here without my permission.”
“We’ll be here three days, no more than that. I won’t insult you by offering you money for the right to do the shoot here.”
He laughed, and her cheeks reddened.
“Don’t make me force your hand, darling.”
“Force it?” he said through his teeth.
“You want to keep your life a deep, dark mystery, don’t you?” She smiled slyly. “Offhand, I can think of half a dozen tabloids that would love an exclusive interview with the great Stefano Lucchesi’s mistress—along with aerial photos of his new hideaway.”
In the ensuing silence, Stefano could hear everything. The pound of his heart. The distant boom of the surf and the sharp cry of a bird far over the rolling sea. He could feel the shadows behind him, the ghosts of the wild warriors who’d done whatever was necessary to protect this place.
“I could kill you,” he said softly. “No one would know. All I have to do is drag you to the top of the cliff and throw you off. By the time your remains washed up, the crabs would have eaten their fill.”
Carla’s smile trembled but she moved closer to him.
“You’re a heartless bastard when you want to be, Stefano Lucchesi, but killing women? Never.”
Stefano stared at his former lover for long moments. Then he spat at her feet, brushed past her and headed for the house.
So much for his dreams.
She had defiled this place.
Maybe his grandfather had been wise to have left the island behind.
CHAPTER TWO
ALL the oceans of the world looked the same from 35,000 feet…and wasn’t it sad when you’d flown so often that you could think of nothing but that when you were almost seven miles above the Atlantic?
Fallon