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Her brain closed down completely when he smiled, and her whole body was swamped in such a wave of wicked longing she thought it might quite possibly kill her! She ran her tongue over her dry and wobbly lips, but Lucenzo said absolutely levelly, ‘Run along. You’ve just got time to shower and change before lunch. We’ll be eating in the small sala—Paolina will come and show you where to go.’
Her mind was such a blank she couldn’t even begin to think of all her objections to the awkwardness of inflicting her presence on the rest of his disapproving family, and simply did as she was told and took the stairs like a sleepwalker.
His heart beating unnaturally fast, Lucenzo watched her go. Kissing her had been a bloody stupid thing to do, he reminded himself harshly. Kissing her had been crazy enough, but touching her the way he had, impatient hands urgently learning the lush and achingly feminine shape of her body, had been nothing short of madness. It had aroused urges he hadn’t felt in a long time and it might, heaven help him, have created expectations in her that could bring nothing but disillusionment.
As soon as she was settled here and he could convince her that she and her son were a rightful part of this family—with all the benefits that would bring to both of them—he’d leave. He had legitimate business calls on his time and attention in all parts of the globe. No problem.
His dark eyes brooding, he flung one last look at Portia’s slowly retreating back and turned and strode away to find his grandmother.
Nonna would undoubtedly have emerged from the room she’d been given by now, be closeted with her son, telling h
im in that bracing no-nonsense voice of hers to, ‘Pull yourself together, Eduardo. You are too young to be an invalid. I, your mother, will be the first to depart this world for the next—as is entirely natural and as it should be—and I have many healthy years ahead of me!’
Nonna would have to be told to put a curb on that sharp-edged little tongue of hers where Portia was concerned. He, Lucenzo Verdi, would not see her driven away. And the same went for Tia Donatella too—and Giovanni, that spoiled brat cousin of his.
The ferocity of his intentions almost stopped him in his tracks until he edgily reminded himself that he was a fair man, that he wouldn’t stand by and see anyone suffer injustice.
It was nothing personal. Too damn right it wasn’t!
Portia stood beside one of the open windows in her own pretty sitting room, breathing in the hot, aromatic Tuscan air.
She was on edge and she really knew she shouldn’t be, because everything had gone reasonably well. Lucenzo’s grandmother had just left the nursery, after inspecting baby Sam and pronouncing him to be adorable and a credit to the family, and Assunta had departed, too, leaving her in peace, with her beautiful sleeping baby and nothing to worry about except how to spend the long lazy afternoon.
Lunch with the family hadn’t been the ordeal she’d been dreading. And Nonna—as she’d been told to call her—hadn’t looked sneering or contemptuous, except, just briefly, when those bright, intelligent old eyes had first taken stock of the limp, flowered skirt, the well-washed-and-worn T-shirt she’d changed into, the cheap plastic sandals.
She’d asked loads of probing questions about her background during the meal and Portia had answered honestly, because there was no point in doing anything else, conscious that everyone around the lunch table had been listening to what she said.
She was nothing special, she’d said between mouthfuls of what she’d been told was penne del pescatore—pasta with lashings of succulent prawns, juicy tomatoes and herbs—which had tasted delicious. She lived in an ordinary semi, she’d imparted, with ordinary, slightly elderly parents and she’d worked as a waitress in a café none of them would be seen dead in.
Though she hadn’t said that last bit aloud, of course. And if they all thought she wasn’t fit to belong to the ancient, rich and super-successful Verdi family then tough! She was beyond caring right now. She had other things on her mind.
Like that kiss. What it had meant, if anything. And why it had affected her so cataclysmically when she’d been kissed before—of course she had. But Vito’s kisses had never left her feeling as if the whole world had turned upside down.
By the time they’d been served with macedonia di frutta fresca—a sort of alcoholic fruit salad she had translated to herself, wondering if she dared plunge her silver spoon into the crystal dish that looked so delicate it might shatter if she even breathed on it— Tia Donatella had unbent enough to ask if she was settling in, and even Lorna, wearing a mauve silk shift today and looking cool and gorgeous, had said, ‘I’ll show you around some time, help you get your bearings. Just say the word,’ managing to sound only the tiniest bit bored by the prospect.
The cousin—Giovanni—had given her a few sly glances which she’d tried to ignore, and Eduardo, whose kind smile she’d missed dreadfully, hadn’t been there. He lunched in his room, it had been explained, prior to taking his afternoon rest.
Which left Lucenzo, who hadn’t addressed a single word to her. Or looked at her. His sensationally attractive face had looked as remote as the far side of the moon, and the only time he had fleetingly caught her eyes his gaze had been so cold it had made her shiver, making her spill her coffee down the front of her T-shirt in a shame-making brown dribble.
He had acted as if this morning—all those mixed and passionate emotions—simply hadn’t happened. So fine, OK, he’d said kissing her had been a mistake and she agreed—well, the sensible part of her did—and she really would try harder to forget it, but what about the rest?
What about the way she’d told him everything, every humiliating detail of her so-called affair with Vito, displaying her own gullibility? He’d obviously believed her and been as kind as he knew how. Was that to be wiped away, too?
Judging from his attitude at lunch, it surely looked that way.
Which was why she now wanted to kick holes in walls!
Catching her fingers practically plucking lumps out of her bottom lip, she sternly told herself to get a life and marched through into her bedroom to change the stained T-shirt for one which looked only marginally better.
As soon as Sam woke and had been fed and changed she would carry him down into the fresh air, she decided, trying to make herself feel sensible and adult. It would be cooler by then, and she’d seen some cute little cotton sun hats in one of the over-stocked drawers in the nursery. He would look almost edible in one of those!
In the meantime she’d sit quietly, making plans. Plans to leave this beautiful, unsettling place. She’d been so right when she’d instinctively known that what had happened this morning had created more barriers than it had broken down. It was more than ever imperative that she should get away.
Two weeks or maybe a little longer, depending on Eduardo’s progress, she told herself as she moved around quietly, unable to sit still, tidying the already immaculate nursery.
She had to get back to where she belonged, where she fitted in, where she wouldn’t get lost in fantasies of falling in love with Lucenzo—
Falling in love? As if! she mocked herself acidly, rubbing furiously at the sparklingly clean worktop with a teatowel. Of course she wasn’t falling in love. No way!
