AllFreeNovel
Share Us
They had reached the front of the palazzo. Abruptly he turned to face her. ‘It’s been an enlightening visit, Miss Golding. Don’t worry—we won’t be contacting you anymore. And there certainly won’t be any more financial incentives. You’ve made it perfectly clear that you’re not motivated by money, and I respect that.’
Flora blinked in the sunlight. Even though the day was now suffocatingly hot, she felt a chill run down her spine. His voice sounded different again—almost like a sneer or a taunt. But nothing had changed. Maybe it was just the heat playing with her senses...
‘Good,’ she said quickly, trying to ignore the uneasiness in her stomach. ‘I’m just sorry you had to make a personal trip to understand how I feel.’
He stepped forward, and she felt a spurt of shock and fear for this time there could be no confusion. His face was cold and set.
&
nbsp; ‘Don’t be. I always like to meet my enemies face to face. It makes closing a deal on my terms so much easier.’
It took a moment for the implication of his words to sink in. ‘Wh-what deal?’ she stammered. The word echoed ominously inside her head. ‘There is no deal,’ she said hoarsely. ‘You said so. You said you wouldn’t be contacting me or offering me money again.’
He smiled coolly, a contemplative gleam in his blue eyes. ‘I won’t. You won’t be getting a penny of my money. Not now. Not ever.’
She stared at him, chilled by the undisguised hostility of his gaze. ‘I don’t understand...’ she began, but her words died in her throat as he shook his head.
‘No. I don’t suppose you do. So let me make it clear for you. Like I said earlier, cara, I always get what I want.’ His face seemed to be no longer made of flesh and blood, but cold stone. ‘And I want you out of here. Normally I’d pay, but as money’s not an option I’m going to have to use some other method to get what I want. But believe me I will get it. And by the time I’ve finished with you, you’ll be begging to sign any contract I put in front of you for free.’
She stared at him, her heart pounding against her ribs. ‘What do you mean?’ But already he had begun walking down the drive. ‘Y-you’re wrong! Y-you can’t do anything!’ she called after him. ‘This is my home!’
She was panting, stuttering, her anger vying with her fear. He was bluffing. He had to be. There was nothing he could do.
But as she watched the helicopter rise up into the sky and slowly disappear from view she knew that it was she who was mistaken. She had thought he had come to the palazzo simply to broker a deal. And maybe it had started out that way. But that had been before she threw his deal back in his face. She felt a rush of nausea. Now there would be no more deals, for his parting words had been a declaration of war. And she knew with absolute certainty that when Massimo Sforza came back next time he would be bringing an army.
CHAPTER THREE
ROLLING OVER IN her large wrought-iron bed, Flora stared miserably out of the window at the cloudless sky. She’d slept badly again. Her night had been filled by images of Massimo Sforza, his eyes darker than his bespoke navy blue suit, beckoning her towards him only for the floor to open up beneath her feet.
Her cheeks grew warm, and she shifted uncomfortably beneath the bedclothes. The nightmares had been horrible, but the dreams were far more unsettling. Dreams of a naked Massimo, his lean, muscular body pressed against hers, those long, supple fingers drifting lazily over her skin and—
And what? Irritably, she sat up. He’d probably take the bed, with her still in it, and push it out to sea—and frankly she’d deserve it.
Gritting her teeth, she pulled on a faded black T-shirt and a pair of sawn-off jeans and stomped downstairs. Holding her breath, she forced herself to look at the letter cage hanging on the back of the door, but there was no heart-stopping white envelope to greet her, and she breathed out slowly.
It had been three weeks since Massimo had turned up at the palazzo, but still she sensed his presence everywhere. The thought that someday she would turn round to find him standing there, watching her, his face rapt and triumphant, made her feel dizzy.
But only until the anger kicked in.
In the kitchen, she took out a plate and a cup and glanced up at the deadbolts she’d fitted to the French windows. As a tenant, she was forbidden from changing the main locks, but there was nothing in her contract about adding additional security so she had bought new solid steel padlocks for all the gates too. Glancing up at the old iron range, she felt the tension inside her ease a little. There was only one key to the huge, solid oak front door and it was hanging there, between the skillet and the espresso coffee pot. Whatever happened, Massimo Sforza was not going to be able to barge his way unannounced into her home again.
* * *
She woke the next morning to the insistent ringing of her mobile phone. ‘Okay, okay,’ she mumbled, fumbling on the bedside table, her eyes still screwed shut. ‘Hello? Hello!’
Opening one eye, she squinted into the sunlight filtering through the gap in the curtains. Who the hell was ringing at this time? And, more importantly, why weren’t they saying anything? She gazed irritably at her phone and then her breath seemed to freeze in her lungs as the ringing began again—from somewhere downstairs.
For a moment she lay gripped with confusion, panic swelling inside her, cold and slippery as a toad. Wishing her heart would stop making so much noise, she strained her ears. Surely she’d imagined it—but there it was again. And then from nowhere came a high-pitched screeching that made her press her hands over her ears.
Still wincing, she rolled out of bed. She wasn’t scared now. Burglars didn’t use drills. She sniffed suspiciously. Or make coffee!
The noise downstairs was even louder than in her bedroom. Edging into the kitchen, she took a deep breath as her mouth fell open in horror. Everywhere she looked, there were people in overalls and boxes piled on top of one another.
Her lips tightening, she tapped the nearest man on the shoulder. ‘Excuse me! What are you doing in my kitchen?’
But before he could answer a woman with a sleek shoulder-length blond bob, wearing a clinging grey jacket and skirt, slid past her, miming apologetically.
Gritting her teeth, Flora gazed furiously in front of her. She might not go shopping much anymore, but she knew a designer suit when she saw one and that little outfit probably cost more than her food bill for a year.
