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‘The ending of it was very bad.’
There was a heavy silence for some time until Daisy felt it press in upon her with unbearable intensity. She stopped abruptly, turning to look at him with tortured eyes, and she saw the dark gaze was waiting for her. ‘I don’t want a relationship with anyone, Slade; I think it’s only fair to tell you that,’ she said in a rush. ‘I don’t want there to be any confusion.’
There was a significant pause before he said, ‘And friendship? What about friendship? Could you handle that?’
‘Could
you?’ It was very direct and her cheeks were fiery but she had nothing to lose.
His mouth smiled back at her, applauding her boldness, but there was restraint in his eyes instead of the previous warmth and she felt bereft at the loss. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said softly. ‘I can actually behave in quite a civilised fashion if I have to.’ His voice was dry. ‘It doesn’t always come easy—’ the dark eyes glittered at her but she knew although his tone was light the look in their black depths was anything but ‘—but patience has its own reward. Or so the old saying goes.’
She didn’t know how to take that and her face said so, causing his mouth to twist with genuine amusement as he continued, ‘So, friends it is?’
She nodded and he inclined his head in answer, taking her hand again and putting it through his arm. ‘So we will walk in the manner of two old friends,’ he drawled easily, drawing her into his side, which immediately started a reaction throughout her whole body. ‘And as a friend I will show you something of this beautiful country over the next few weeks. We will eat together and play together and have fun, yes? As friends.’
He was mocking her. She stared up into the dark face suspiciously but it was studiously straight. ‘Look, Slade…’
‘Yes, Daisy?’
His voice was innocent and relaxed and she could have kicked him. Or kissed him. Or both. ‘Oh, nothing.’ He was impossible. The whole set-up was impossible.
They continued to walk home through the gentle, soft darkness, his thigh brushing hers with every step they took and creating a warmth in her that was nothing to do with the balmy Italian night and everything to do with the dangerous alien force that was Slade Eastwood.
By the time they reached Festina Lente Daisy felt quite shattered, every nerve and sinew quivering and her body moist in its desire. Slade hadn’t said another word as he had strolled along beside her and that had increased, rather than diminished, the terrifying sexual awareness that had her legs feeling like melted jelly and little needles of pleasure stirring in all her secret places.
Slade opened the front door of the villa quietly and once they were in the shadowed hall he said softly, ‘Coffee?’
‘Oh, no—no, thank you.’ The words fell over themselves in her agitation. ‘I’m going straight to bed but don’t let me stop you from having one. Good…goodnight, Slade, and thank you for a lovely evening,’ she managed fairly coherently.
‘Goodnight, Daisy.’ As she made to turn for the stairs his hand caught hers and he turned her to face him, his voice very husky as he said, ‘A comradely kiss? As one friend to another?’ But it wasn’t really a suggestion as his mouth had taken hers before she had a chance to reply.
The kiss was warm and sweet but not even the most charitable of recipients could have called it chaste, and at that moment Daisy was not at her most altruistic. There was too much at stake—like her peace of mind, her emotional stability, her very sanity. She jerked away quickly and he didn’t try to stop her, his eyes dark and his big body lean and still as he looked into her flushed face and said softly, ‘Sweet dreams, little English flower.’
Little English flower her foot! By the time Daisy had reached her room the confusion and heady rush of sensation that had exploded in her at the touch of his lips had died down, and righteous indignation mixed with fear had taken their place.
She had told him how things had to be. He needn’t think he could sweet-talk her the way he did the rest of his women, she growled to herself as she pulled off her clothes and prepared a hot bubbly bath. That was the trouble with men like him who had everything—they couldn’t believe there was a woman on the planet who didn’t want them. As that last kiss had proved.
She knew it was unfair—at the bottom of her she knew it—but to acknowledge it would mean opening up a door that she had slammed shut for good. And she wouldn’t do that for any man. Not even Slade Eastwood. Or perhaps especially not Slade Eastwood.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AMAZINGLY, miraculously, the next day, and then the ones after that, and the following few weeks, went by without Slade putting a foot wrong. He was the perfect—well, yes—friend, Daisy had to admit reluctantly. And their time together—the excursions out in the surrounding countryside and mountains with Francesco, parties and barbecues with Slade’s enormous circle of friends, cosy evenings at home and wonderful visits to a whole host of expensive restaurants, not to mention theatres and cinemas and art galleries—went by without him once attempting more than a brief platonic kiss on the cheek.
She ought to be thanking her lucky stars everything had worked out so well, Daisy told herself on the last Thursday in June—Francesco’s birthday—when she awoke early, long before the rest of the house were due to rise, and sat at the window of her bedroom watching a blazing Italian sun rise in a cloudless blue sky. And she was, she really was, except…
Oh! She twisted in the big basket seat of the cane chair and shook her head at her own inconsistency. The friendly, undemanding stance Slade had taken up had left her feeling…strange. She wouldn’t allow herself to put the word miserable to it. His attraction to her had obviously been a light, easy-to-deal-with emotion which hadn’t caused him a shred of difficulty to overcome. And all the attention from the beautiful, wealthy and richly endowed females who hovered about him given half a chance must have helped.
Daisy twisted savagely in the chair again and then stood up abruptly, irritated with the path her thoughts were taking.
Angelica left tomorrow and then she would take over sole responsibility for the care of Francesco. She stared out into the sun-washed grounds beyond the window without really seeing them. A few weeks ago, when Slade had first come home, she had been quite sure she wasn’t going to be able to stay, but since then, with Slade behaving as he had and her rapport with Francesco having grown daily, she had changed her mind.
So why, when things had settled down so well and everything was panning out, did she feel so darn confused and unsettled all the time? she asked herself wearily. Oh, she was stupid, she really was, and she had to conquer this ridiculous see-saw of emotion that took her up to the heights and down to the depths a hundred times every day. And it wasn’t all to do with losing Jenny; she had to be honest with herself over that.
The faint panicky feeling which had underlined all her days and nights for the last month stirred more strongly, and in the same instant she noticed a monochrome of black and white amid the brilliant colours of the garden. Slade was dressed in a white shirt and black jeans and he was moving stealthily around the side of the house instead of entering by the front door, his arms full with a large cardboard box.
Of course, the kitten! She continued to watch the tall, lean figure as her mind travelled on. She knew he had arranged to collect it early this morning from Mario’s sister so Francesco could have the morning with his new pet before the party, and the small boy still didn’t know for sure if his fervent entreaties and ardent prayers had been answered.
Just as Slade was about to disappear from view towards the small side door which led into the kitchens she saw him pause suddenly, as though listening to a sound from inside the box, and then twist the box round under one arm as he put a comforting hand in to the small occupant. He spent some moments bent over the box, obviously talking to the kitten and fussing the tiny creature, and then he straightened again and entered the house.
