The Italian Count's Defiant Bride. CATHERINE GEORGE
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to see people kissing.’
Alicia stood very still in his embrace, her heart hammering. She had been hoping, longing, for Francesco da Luca to kiss her. She had dreamed about it often enough in the past when his photograph was the last thing she saw before going to sleep every night.
Francesco bent his head, his lips gentle at first. But at the first touch of them against hers she responded so helplessly she felt his athlete’s body tense against her. His arms tightened as her lips parted, his tongue found hers in a caress that took her breath away, and the kiss quickly grew so urgent Alicia’s head reeled when his arms finally fell away.
He stood back, breathing hard as he stared down at her blankly. ‘Mi dispiace,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I did not expect…’
‘Neither did I,’ she said with feeling, and took in a deep breath. ‘I’ve never been kissed like that before.’
He smiled in open male triumph and kissed her again. ‘You enchant me, Alicia Cross. I will call for you tomorrow evening.’
‘I haven’t agreed to that,’ she protested.
‘Then agree now, tesoro.’ His eyes locked with hers. ‘Say “yes, Francesco, I will be very pleased to dine again with you”.’
Instead of saying yes to dinner—and to anything else he wanted—Alicia hung on to every scrap of willpower she possessed. ‘Ring me tomorrow and I’ll let you know if Meg agrees.’
Francesco tucked an errant curl behind her ear. ‘Va bene, Miss Alicia Cross.’ He took her hand and escorted her into the lobby of the hotel. ‘A domani,’ he said formally, and waited until the lift doors closed behind her.
CHAPTER TWO
FRANCESCO rang early next morning, before Alicia even had time to worry whether he would or not.
‘Whatever he suggests tell him yes!’ Meg ordered, as she devoured her breakfast.
‘Buon giorno, Alicia,’ said Francesco. ‘How are you today?’
‘Good morning. I’m just fine. How are you?’
‘Waiting in great suspense,’ he said, with a caressing note in his voice. ‘Is your friend better?’
‘Fighting fit now,’ said Alicia, grinning as she pushed the last roll towards Meg.
‘Eccelente. Please give her my good wishes. So—you will both dine with me this evening?’
‘Thank you, we’d love to,’ said Alicia, rolling her eyes as Meg punched the air in triumph.
‘Bene. What will you do today?’
‘The usual tourist things.’
‘Do not tire yourself with too many such things, cara. I shall call for you at eight. Ciao.’
‘Ciao,’ she echoed and switched off the phone. ‘There, Megan Davies. We’ve got a date. Satisfied?’
‘You could have asked him to bring a friend.’
‘You don’t want much, do you? Hard luck; you’ll just have to share Francesco with me.’
‘Playing gooseberry’s not my thing, you know,’ said Meg ruefully.
‘It’s not applicable,’ said Alicia, blocking out last night’s kiss. ‘Francesco is just a very kind man taking pity on a couple of convent schoolgirls let loose in Florence for the first time.’
‘You told him about the convent?’ said Meg in disgust, then grinned wickedly. ‘I hope you said we just went to school there! Nuns we are not.’
‘I might as well be,’ said Alicia gloomily. ‘I’ve never had a boyfriend.’
‘Only because you’re picky—and Rhys Evans was already taken.’
‘Bowled over by you the first time Gareth brought him home to supper!’ Alicia laughed and hugged her friend. ‘Thank goodness you’re feeling better. Come on, we’re wasting time.’
‘Put loads of sunscreen on first—and don’t forget your hat and glasses.’
‘Yes, Mummy!’
For the rest of the holiday the girls packed in as many sights as possible during the day. In deference to the nuns, they inspected the tombs of Michelangelo and Galileo in the great church of Santa Croce, visited the vast Duomo to marvel at Brunelleschi’s dome, then after waiting in line marvelled even more at Michelangelo’s mighty David in the Accademia. They queued for hours longer to look at the paintings in the Uffizi, and after wriggling their way to the front of the crowd to look at it close up decided they liked Botticelli’s Primavera best. They bought paninis stuffed with ham before visiting the Pitti Palace to look at more paintings, then picnicked afterwards in the Boboli Gardens.
In the narrow streets of Oltrarno—literally the ‘other side’ of the River Arno—they peered into little workshops where craftsmen carved wood for mirrors and picture frames, or created elegant handbags and gloves from softest leather. They gazed in the jewellers’ shops on the Ponte Vecchio, and at designer clothes in the Via Tuornabuoni, fantasising over what they would buy if they had the money. But eventually it was agreed that their favourite place of all was the Bargello, once a prison, now a sculpture museum where Meg fell madly in love with Donatello’s nude bronze of David.
‘He looks so cute in just his jaunty hat and boots!’
‘Only you could call a fabulous work of art cute,’ said Alicia, laughing.
Each evening Francesco called for them to take them out to dinner and listen to their report on their day, and from the moment Meg first met him she had no more qualms about playing gooseberry. As she told Alicia later, he was as good looking and charming as she’d expected, but his manners were so perfect he made her feel like an asset to the evening instead of an unwanted third.
Both girls had made it plain to Francesco, the moment he arrived the first evening to take them both out, that they must be allowed to pay for their share of the meal. And to Alicia’s relief he’d taken them to a lively, packed trattoria, very different from the restaurant of the night before, and a great deal less expensive. Meg had loved everything about it, and tucked into her prawn-stuffed ravioli with unashamed gusto after her fast of the previous day. The only flaw in the evening came later when Francesco had insisted on paying the bill after all. But Meg had calculated the cost of their meals to the last euro, and the moment the three of them left the trattoria she presented Francesco with two thirds of the bill in notes.
‘Our share,’ said Meg firmly, and in the end, under protest, he had to accept.
‘But this once only,’ he said at last when they refused to budge. ‘Allora, tell me what you have planned for tomorrow.’
When they’d got back to the hotel Meg announced that it was time for her nightly phone call to her boyfriend, and after thanks to Francesco for a fabulous evening she hurried inside and left them together.
‘Your friend is not only charming, but tactful,’ he said, looking down at Alicia. ‘This boyfriend is waiting for her at home?’
‘Yes.’ She smiled affectionately. ‘Rhys thinks Meg hung the moon.’
‘He is a man of perception. She is very attractive—not just her looks, but her personality.’ Francesco’s hand caught hers. ‘Do you have a boyfriend waiting for you, Alicia?’
Wishing she could say there were several all counting the minutes until she got back, she shook her head. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘Ottimo!’ He kissed her hand, then drew her into his arms and kissed her willing mouth. ‘I will call for you both at eight tomorrow. And this time I will pay, so no more argomento!’
The dream holiday went by