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And he fancied her, if the looks he kept giving her were anything to go by.
‘Leonardo,’ she began as he slid open the first of the huge glass doors.
He swung round to set those incredibly sexy eyes upon her. ‘Yes?’
‘Would you mind terribly if I walked through the house without you? I just want to soak it all in by myself. And I really do need to ring my mother. Let her know I’ve arrived and everything’s okay. She worries, you see.’
Veronica knew she was babbling, but Leonardo was the sort of man who could make a woman babble. She would have to get control of that before tonight. He was sure to seat her right next to him at dinner. Already she was wondering what to wear.
His smile hinted that he understood she was slightly afraid to be alone with him. Or maybe she was just imagining it. Guilty conscience and all that.
‘Let me just put your luggage inside,’ he replied, and turned to where he’d left it.
Panic almost had her screaming at him to leave it, but she held her tongue just in time, instead dredging up the cool smile she’d used on men for the past three years but which was in danger of deserting her. With Leonardo she wanted just to smile fatuously at him and agree with everything he suggested. She’d already agreed to let him take her sightseeing tomorrow. In a helicopter, no less.
Helicopters frightened the life out of her. She didn’t like the idea that if the engine conked out and the rotor blades stopped you’d drop like a stone. No hope of gliding down to a soft landing. Not that you could do that in a big plane. Maybe she could suggest tonight over dinner that they cruise around in a boat instead. Not a small sailing boat. One with a big crew, to stop him from pouncing once they were at sea.
As soon as her black wheelie case was safely inside the enormous living area, he took her gently by the shoulders and gazed down into her ever-widening eyes. Lord, was he going to kiss her?
He didn’t. She just wished he had. Instead, he shook his head at her, as if he knew what was going on in her head.
‘You should have a rest this afternoon,’ he advised. ‘Dinner with my family is not a quick event. Mamma will want to impress you with all her best dishes, so don’t eat too much before you come. I shall be here to pick you up at seven.’
‘What…what should I wear?’
He shrugged. ‘Nothing formal. If you wear a dress, then bring a wrap. Or a jacket. The evenings start warm but cool down quickly. Arrivederci, Veronica.’
And then he did kiss her. Not a big, swooping, passionate kiss. Just a peck, really. But on her lips. A light, lovely kiss which made her long for more. And then he was gone, not looking back once as he’d stridden away from her, his long legs carrying him down off the veranda and swiftly out of sight.
Veronica just stood there for long moment, staring blindly after him, not breathing, not thinking. Only yearning. No…craving. She craved Leonardo Fabrizzi. It was a stunning realisation. Because she’d never craved a man like that before. She knew it wasn’t love she was feeling. It was lust making her heart thud and her lungs ache from not breathing. She gasped in then, sucking in the gloriously fresh air, clearing her light-headedness to a degree.
Crossing her arms, she hugged herself, then turned and stared through the glass doors at the view of the sea once more, using its soothing quality to find some common sense, asking herself what did it matter if she lusted after this man? What would it matter if she even had sex with him? It didn’t have to lead anywhere. It wouldn’t lead anywhere. Anyone who knew anything about Leonardo Fabrizzi would know that.
A slow smile spread across Veronica’s face as she thought about Leonardo. What a devil he was. But a very charming devil. And sexy as hell. A girl would have to be dead to resist him.
‘And I’m far from dead,’ she said aloud as she unwrapped her arms and spread them wide. ‘I’m over Jerome. I’m here on the gorgeous Isle of Capri. And I’m about to inspect my father’s equally gorgeous house!’
CHAPTER TEN
IT WAS GORGEOUS. The living area, especially. It was open plan, but not overly modern, though it did have all the mod cons. The floors were Italian marble in swirls of white and grey, the rugs very colourful. The furniture was an eclectic mixture of stuff one might see in an English home, the two sofas rather formal and chintzy, the armchairs large, squashy and very country. The dining table was oval-shaped, and made of an almost black wood, with six matching high-back chairs around it, the seats covered in green velvet. In the middle of the table sat the most glorious green glass…thing. Not a bowl. Or a vase. More of a sculptured shape with no visible purpose other than to be beautiful.
Possibly Murano glass, Veronica decided, having briefly visited Venice and the island of Murano during the Italy-in-a-week tour she’d undertaken when she’d been twenty-one. Whatever it was, she loved it. Had her father chosen it?
Thinking of her father sent Veronica hurrying over to the far wall where there was a selection of photos arranged on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. At last, she would see what her father looked like.
Her eyes immediately went to the wedding photo, which was black-and-white and showed the bride dressed in a long, straight gown and a heavy lace veil which had gone out of fashion aeons ago. She was short, slim and pretty in a soft blonde way. The groom was very tall, dark and handsome. Strong looking, with an air about him that was impressive at first glance until you looked a second time. His face was turned towards his bride, his expression both loving and vulnerable. Here was a man very deeply in love, with a love that surprised him.
Turning the frame over, she saw there was writing on the back:
Laurence and Ruth
On our wedding day, March 1968
Twenty-two years before I was conceived, Veronica thought.
The other photos showed them growing older, some of them alone and others in groups. Laurence had aged very well, keeping his thick, lustrous hair even when it had turned grey. His wife had faded with time, growing frailer with the years. But her smile remained bright and warm, her eyes loving whenever they were lifted to her husband. Which was often. He in turn always had his hands on her somewhere, either on her shoulders or around her waist. His body language was both protective and possessive. Yet not in any way threatening. Despite Ruth being the more fragile looking, Veronica suspected it was she who had worn the trousers in their relationship. Only one photo showed the colour of her father’s eyes. They were, as ev
eryone had pointed out, violet, just like hers. They were shaped like hers too.
