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HE NOTICED THE woman sitting at the bar right away. Even from behind she was attractive. It was something in the way she held herself, and her relaxed manner with his friend, Marco, the barman. He’d just ended a call with Max, and was in the worst of moods. Max had lost no time in Luca’s absence causing unrest in Fabrizio. Max had been a thorn in his side since they were boys. Thanks to his mischief, Luca should not be visiting his beautiful lemon groves on the Amalfi coast, but should return immediately to Fabrizio, but this was an annual pilgrimage to a place he loved amidst people he cared for, and nothing, not even Max, could distract him from that. Though on this occasion, he could only spare a couple of nights here.
The woman was a distraction. She was watching everyone come in through the mirrors behind the bar. Was she waiti
ng for a lover? He felt a stab of jealousy and wondered why he cared when she could just as easily be waiting for a family member, or for a friend.
He’d dropped by the hotel to invite Marco to the annual celebrations at the start of the lemon-picking season. He and Marco had grown up together, as Marco’s father had worked for the late Prince. Standing at the end of the bar where he could talk discreetly to Marco when he was free, he saw the woman clearly for the first time. She was confident and perky, and obviously enjoying the chance to trial the Italian language. Laughter lit her face when she got something wrong and Marco corrected her.
Feeling mildly irritated by their obvious rapport, he returned to working her out. Her profile was exquisite, though she seemed unaware of this, just as she seemed unaware of the appeal of her slight, though voluptuous body. She was understated, unlike his usual, sophisticated type. He couldn’t help but be intrigued. Dressed impeccably, though plainly for this setting in one of the coast’s most famous hotels, as if she was playing a role, she was almost too perfect. Her red hair was lush and shiny, cut short for practicality, rather than fashion, he guessed. Her eyes were green and up-tilted, giving her a faintly exotic look. A light tan and freckles suggested she’d been here no more than a week and lived somewhere cooler.
This was a lot of thought to expend on a woman who seemed unaware of his interest. Or was she? His groin tightened when she turned to stare at him boldly and was in no hurry to look away.
Interesting.
‘Good evening.’ After politely acknowledging the woman, he gave Marco a look that left his friend in no doubt that Luca wished to remain incognito.
Sensing mischief afoot, Marco grinned. They exchanged the usual complicated handshake, while the woman looked on with interest. She was even more beautiful than he’d first thought. Her scent was intoxicating. Wildflowers. How appropriate, he thought as Marco left them to go and serve another customer. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’
She levelled a stare on his face. ‘Do I know you?’
The bluntness of her question took him by surprise, as did her forthright tone. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marco lift a brow. His friend would call security if Luca gave the word, and the woman would be politely moved on. An almost imperceptible shake of Luca’s head knocked that idea out of court.
‘My name is Luca,’ he told her as he extended his hand in greeting.
She ignored his hand. Intelligent eyes, framed by long black eyelashes, viewed him with suspicion.
‘I don’t believe we’ve met,’ he pressed, waiting for her to volunteer her name. ‘I don’t bite,’ he added when she continued to withhold her hand.
‘But you’re very persistent,’ she said, making it clear there would be no physical contact between them.
Persistent? Outwardly, he remained deadpan. Inwardly, he cracked up. Women referred to his charm and thought him attentive. Clearly, this woman had other ideas. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘Fizzy water, please,’ she replied.
Turning to Marco, he murmured, ‘Aqua frizzante per la signorina, e lo stesso per me, per favore.’
‘Sì, signor,’ Marco replied, serving up two sparkling waters.
Her gaze remained steady on his as she took her first sip. There wasn’t a hint of simpering or recognition in her eyes, just that desirable mouth smiling faintly. Even now she’d had time to think about it, he was a man in a bar and that was it. She had no idea who he was, and would trust him as far as a glass of water was concerned, but no further. If she was unaware that his face had been plastered all over the news lately, since he’d ascended the throne of Fabrizio, something big must have happened in her life.
So, beautiful mystery woman, he mused as she returned his interest coolly, who are you, and what are you doing in Amalfi?
* * *
Straightening the short silk skirt on her designer dress, Callie wished she had worn the Capri pants Rosie had insisted were essential to Callie’s Italian adventure instead. So chic, Rosie had said as Callie had turned full circle, wishing she could get away with a new pair of jeans and a top. The Capris were still in the wardrobe upstairs in the hotel, as she’d been unsure which shoes to wear with them.
At least Capris would have been decent. The dress was anything but. Far too short, it was enticing. She could only imagine what this incredible-looking man had thought when he’d first seen her perched at the bar. How could she convey the fact that she wasn’t here for that type of business, and that this was, in fact, a holiday? The thought of an Italian adventure had excited her, but she hadn’t envisaged such a dynamite opening scene. She fell well short compared to the other, more sophisticated women in the bar. There was barely enough fabric in her skirt to cover her fundamentals. She couldn’t move for fear of it riding up, and with her naked thigh so close to the man’s denim-clad muscles, that was a pressing concern.
‘You didn’t tell me your name.’
She turned to look at him as the dark velvet voice, with its seductive hint of an Italian accent, rolled over her. Strange how sound could send shivers spinning up and down her spine. Her chin felt as if it had half a universe to travel, as she moved from scrutinising his muscular thighs, to staring into a pair of mesmerising black eyes. Mesmerising and amused, she noticed now. He hadn’t missed her fascination with the area below his belt. Her cheeks burned as she volunteered with a direct stare into his eyes, ‘My name is Callista.’
His lips pressed down in the most attractive way, drawing her attention to the fact that his mouth was almost as expressive and beautiful as his eyes. ‘Greek for most beautiful,’ he remarked. ‘That explains everything.’
‘Really?’ She did her best to simper and then hardened her tone. ‘I’ve heard of people being born with silver spoons in their mouths, but yours must have been coated in sugar.’
He laughed, and then affected a wounded expression. ‘I’m crushed,’ he exclaimed, holding both hands to his powerful chest.
‘No, you’re not,’ she insisted good-humouredly, starting to like him more now he’d proved to have a sense of humour. ‘You’re the most together person I’ve ever met.’
