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‘I don’t want your thanks.’
‘Tough. You’re getting them.’ She saw him smile and she wanted to say to him: Stop smiling. Stop being impossible not to love—and just start being impossible again! But Angie knew she was fighting a losing battle—no matter how he behaved. For she had loved him when he had been impossible. Loved him in her bed. Loved him even through all the misunderstandings and the angry words. She would always love Riccardo Castellari, she realised—and that was the reason why she needed to leave him. ‘Anyway, after that delicious breakfast—or was it lunch?—I guess I’d better be getting out of your hair.’
Not only was it was a stupid expression, he reflected—but it was also completely inappropriate. He couldn’t think of anything he’d prefer right now than to have her tangling those long fingers of hers in his hair.
His black eyes were fixed on her. ‘Why not stay on for a while?’
Her heart began to pound. ‘Stay on?’
‘Why not? There are more creature comforts here than in your own place—plus staff downstairs who are on tap to run errands for you. And I’m going to New York later. Remember?’
Foolishly, she felt the sudden slowing of her heart and a feeling of despair wash over her. Just how pathetic could a woman be? What, did she think he was asking her to move in because he’d been privileged enough to nurse her through an unflattering bout of the flu?
‘It’s a very kind offer, but I couldn’t possibly do that,’ she said.
‘Sure you could, Angie. Enjoy a little luxury for a change.’
She took a quick sip of coffee before he could notice her wince. If he had meant to make her feel like Little Orphan Annie, he couldn’t have done a better job of it. Could he picture her revelling in the non-clanking central heating system and the thick, wall-to-wall carpets? And did he pity her—going back to her tiny little apartment and the almost hour-long journey to get there?
‘I don’t want to impose on your kindness any longer,’ she said stiffly.
Riccardo observed the proud and stubborn little set of her lips, and sighed. She was still angry—as well she might be—but surely a little time and a little rest might have the power to dissolve some of those feelings? ‘You’re not imposing. I want you to stay here. Just enjoy it—and let’s talk when I get back.’
‘Talk?’
He moved his face close to hers. Close enough for her to feel the warm fan of his breath, but not quite close enough to kiss. ‘Let’s just see how you feel about things when I get back, hmm? Is that such an unreasonable request to make, piccola?’
He knew so well how to be irresistible—damn him! Because how could she refuse such an invitation when it was what she really wanted? But if she stayed here—supposedly to recuperate—then wasn’t she in danger of building castles in the air? Reading more into the situation than Riccardo ever intended her to?
Riccardo’s eyes narrowed. ‘You know that I’m not going to take no for an answer,’ he said softly.
‘In that case, I guess the answer has to be yes.’
He smiled. ‘Here are the keys. I’ve written down the security code which gets you into the building. Now enjoy,’ he added.
‘When will you be back?’ she questioned.
‘Not for a week. Stay as long as you like. And now, if you’ll excuse me—I’ll finish packing.’
This new courtesy was completely unexpected and Angie wasn’t quite sure what motivated it, or whether she trusted it. And he hadn’t made any attempt to kiss her, had he? After a while, he reappeared wearing a jacket to match the dark trousers and carrying a briefcase and small bag.
‘Okay, I’m going. Get plenty of rest—understand?’
Angie nodded, and then he was gone.
Half hidden by one of the drapes, she stood at the window and watched him get into the dark limousine which was waiting outside the building and which was quickly swallowed up by the line of traffic heading west. And then the reality of what was happening suddenly hit her.
I’m staying in Riccardo’s home. He told me to stay for as long as I liked. He’s been looking after me while I’m ill and unless I’m still hallucinating—he seemed almost…tender this morning.
Did that mean anything? Would it be naïve to suppose it didn’t—or foolish to suppose it did?
Probably a complete waste of time to suppose anything.
Instead, Angie began to make herself at home. The TV—which she eventually found hidden behind a sliding screen—was the size of a small cinema, and Riccardo had an extensive selection of films, including some amazing Italian ones which fortunately carried subtitles. Further investigation yielded a study which was crammed with books and had a sofa where you could curl up and read one of them.
When she felt better, she went out walking around Green Park and then mooching around the shops. Not that she bought anything—it just seemed such an incredible luxury to be within walking distance of all the West End stores. Riccardo rang her at lunchtime the following day—just as he was about to go into an earlymorning meeting—and asked her if everything was okay and she told him that, yes, everything was fine. There was a sudden long pause in the conversation, as if he’d planned on saying something—but then he seemed to change his mind.
‘And how’s your sister—still getting divorced?’ he asked, out of the blue.
