Tall, Dark and Italian: In the Italian's Bed / The Sicilian's Bought Bride / The Moretti Marriage. Carol Marinelli
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was waiting for her reply. ‘Um—I don’t know,’ she muttered. ‘It’s nothing to do with me.’ She tried to think positively to prevent the inevitable rejoinder. ‘I—er—I think she was genuinely shocked about what had happened.’
‘Oh, so do I,’ he concurred drily. ‘I am sure Maria is upset because Marco did not confide his plans to her. But she is also jealous of your sister.’ His tawny eyes swept over her appraisingly. ‘She finds it hard to accept that her brother might have needs she cannot satisfy.’
Tess felt the insidious warmth spreading up from her throat and struggled to divert the conversation. She couldn’t discuss his son’s sexual needs with him! ‘The—er—the albergo was very nice,’ she said, smoothing her damp palms over the hem of her shorts. Then, realising he had noticed what she was doing, she tucked her hot hands between her knees. And because the adjective she’d used was so insipid, she added, ‘It must be wonderful to live in such a lovely spot.’
‘I am glad you liked it,’ he said at last, and she wondered if the delay was a deliberate attempt to disconcert her. If so, it had worked. ‘It is a pity you did not get the chance to see more.’
‘I don’t think your daughter would agree with you,’ murmured Tess, almost without thinking, and Castelli’s brows drew together as he absorbed her words. ‘I mean, I don’t think she was in the mood for visitors,’ she added hastily. ‘She hasn’t been married very long. And she does seem very young.’
‘Maria is nineteen,’ he told her evenly. ‘And I know exactly what you meant. You think my daughter did not approve of my bringing you with me.’ He shifted in his seat. ‘But like my son, I too have my own life to lead.’
Tess had no answer for that. Turning her head, she stared out blankly at the fields of waving poppies that stretched inland in a colourful swath. She saw a village clinging to the hillside, and tried to be objective. But how was she supposed to deal with him? The experiences she’d had in England, infrequent as they’d been, had not prepared her for his magnetism.
Pursing her lips, she decided not to let him faze her. She was a grown woman, for heaven’s sake. Not some impressionable girl who was overawed because a man had paid some attention to her. ‘I expect there are many women in your life, signore,’ she said, with amazing nonchalance. ‘Someone of your experience must be very much in demand.’
The breath he expelled then conveyed a mixture of admiration and humour. ‘You think?’ he murmured faintly. ‘And call me Rafe, if you will. Not signore.’ He paused. ‘And now you have surprised me, cara. I am not sure whether that was a compliment or not.’
Call him Rafe! Tess swallowed. She could just imagine how Maria would feel about that. ‘I was merely stating the obvious,’ she said, managing to avoid calling him anything. ‘If Maria objected to your companion today, it was not because she’d never seen you with a woman before.’
‘No?’
‘No.’ Now she’d started, she had to finish, and Tess inhaled a deep breath. ‘I’m just different from the usual women you have dealings with. Maria was resentful because—well, because of who I am.’
‘Ashley’s sister,’ he said mildly and she sighed.
‘That’s the least of it and you know it.’ She paused. ‘I don’t fit the image of the kind of woman you obviously prefer.’
He glanced her way then, and Tess was intensely conscious of the intimacy of his gaze. ‘And that image would be?’ he said, causing her no small measure of uneasiness. ‘Come, Tess, you cannot say something like that without elaborating. So tell me. What kind of woman do you think I like?’
She bent her head in confusion. As usual, he was determined to have the last word. ‘Someone more sophisticated; someone more elegant,’ she muttered at last, lifting her hands and cupping the back of her neck almost defensively. Then, exasperated, ‘How do I know? I’m just guessing that your companions don’t usually wear shorts.’
The car slowed then and for a moment she thought he was stopping so that he could continue the argument more forcefully. But, instead, he pulled onto a gravelled headland overlooking the beach below. There was a van parked there, too, the kind that supplied snacks and sandwiches to weary travellers, and, after turning off the engine, he said, ‘I think it is time for lunch, no?’
Chapter Seven
RAFE could see she was surprised by his choice of venue. It made him wish he had asked his housekeeper for a packed lunch that they could have eaten in more salubrious surroundings than this. But then, he hadn’t known he was going to ask Tess to join him when he’d left the villa that morning, he reflected drily. That impulse, like the impulse he had now to comb his fingers through the silky tangle of her hair, was not something he should consider repeating.
Now, however, she looked at him out of the corners of those limpid green eyes of hers and he realised she had misread his intentions. ‘Do you usually patronise sandwich bars, signore?’ she asked tightly. ‘Or do you gauge your eating habits according to the sophistication of your companion?’
Rafe pulled a wry face. ‘You are offended because I have not taken you to an expensive restaurant?’ he queried innocently, and saw the familiar colour darken her cheeks.
‘You know that’s not what I meant,’ she declared hotly, pushing her back against her seat. ‘But if you’re only stopping because of me, don’t bother. I rarely eat lunch anyway. I can wait until we get back to San Michele.’
‘Well, I cannot,’ he retorted, pushing open his door and getting out of the car. ‘And contrary to popular supposition, plenty of good food can be found at roadside kiosks, no?’
‘I can’t see you eating a burger, signore,’ said Tess, pushing open her own door and joining him. The brilliant noonday sun immediately burned on her uncovered head and shoulders, and she caught her breath. ‘Goodness, it’s hot!’
Rafe studied her bare arms with some concern. ‘Perhaps you should stay in the car,’ he said, resisting the desire to smooth his fingers over her soft skin. ‘It is cooler there.’
‘What? And miss the chance to see what the chef has on offer?’ she asked lightly, and his pulse quickened at the unexpected humour in her face.
‘Okay.’ He saw her looking at the curving line of the shoreline that fell away below the promontory. ‘Let us get something to eat and drink and find somewhere more private to enjoy it, no?’
Tess caught her breath. ‘You mean, go down to the beach?’ she asked, viewing the precipitate descent with some concern. ‘Isn’t it too steep?’
‘Do not tell me you are afraid of heights, cara.’ He teased her mercilessly. ‘Where is your sense of adventure?’
Tess shook her head. ‘I don’t think I have one, signore,’ she murmured unhappily. ‘But—if you can do it—’
‘An old man like me, you mean?’ he queried wryly, and she turned to give him an impatient look.
‘You’re not old, signore,’ she protested, and he sighed at her continued use of the formal means of address.
‘Then why do you persist in calling me signore?’ he countered, his eyes intent on her flushed face. ‘You know my name, Tess. Use it.’
‘I—I don’t think I should call you Rafe,’ she exclaimed, and he had the impression that she found it difficult to drag her gaze away from his.
‘Why not?’
He couldn’t prevent himself from pursuing it and this time she succeeded in breaking the connection. ‘Because—well, just because,’ she mumbled lamely. Then, in an effort to divert him, she added, ‘Oughtn’t we to choose a sandwich or something? The owner will think we’ve just stopped here for the view.’
‘Works