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He laughed again. ‘You definitely aren’t a cliché, cara!’ His eyes slid approvingly over her short green dress and bare legs. ‘I like that colour on you. It brings out the green in your eyes.’
She smiled at him mischievously. ‘It’s called absinthe—after the drink.’
‘Is that right?’ He shook his head. ‘So instead of fighting me, you’re trying to drive me mad!’
Glancing at him sideways, she giggled. ‘No. I thought it was an aphrodisiac.’
‘Then you must be mad! An aphrodisiac is the last thing I need when I’m with you.’
Before he’d even thought about what he was doing, he reached over and gently rumpled her hair. He felt her arch her
head beneath his hand, and as heat rushed through him, he slid his fingers over her collarbone, his thumb circling the pulse beating at the base of her throat.
‘Maybe we could just go back to the palazzo.’
She heard the heat in his voice and, turning her head, she smiled. ‘You’re incorrigible. And I’m hungry and you promised me lunch. So keep your mind on the road and both hands on the wheel—otherwise you’ll end up driving us both into a ditch.’
Ten minutes later they’d reached the outskirts of Cagliari.
‘So where are we going?’
‘I thought—’ Massimo stopped. His phone had started ringing.
‘Do you want to answer that?’ she said quickly. ‘I don’t mind.’
He shook his head. Picking it up, he switched it to silent. ‘It’s not important. What did you ask me? Oh, yes. Where we’re eating. I don’t think you know it.’
Flora nodded. ‘Oh. Okay. What kind of food is it?’
He shrugged. ‘Seafood. Unless you don’t like seafood?’
The change in him was so subtle that at first she thought she might have imagined it. But as he turned to check the oncoming traffic she saw that there was a slight tension in his shoulders, and the easy warmth in his eyes had been replaced by a dull anger. Not the raw antagonism that seemed to characterise their confrontations but a hard, icy, controlled fury that made a knot form in her stomach.
She stared at him uncertainly. ‘I do. So, is it in the town centre?’
He nodded, and Flora frowned. ‘But why are we at the marina then?’
She glanced past Massimo to where at least fifty huge yachts sat on the shimmering turquoise water, their gleaming white hulls like huge gulls.
He switched off the engine and turned to face her. ‘Slight change of plan. But I know you’ll love it.’
Sliding out of the car, he had walked round and opened her door before she’d even had a chance to open her lips.
‘What do you mean, change of plan—?’
But he stifled her words with his mouth. Then, lifting his head, he gave her an irresistible grin and taking her hand firmly in his, began to walk towards the jetties.
‘Where are we going?’
She was having to run to keep up with his long strides and suddenly she felt a little nervous. Everywhere she looked there were gorgeous women standing on decks, long legs gleaming in the sunlight, perfectly manicured hands resting on chrome rails that glittered almost as much as the jewels around their necks.
With horror, she realised that he was steering them towards one of the boats—the biggest, in fact—and she began to drag her feet.
‘What is it?’ He turned to face her, his handsome face creasing.
She hesitated. ‘It’s really very kind of you, but I can’t just turn up at some party with a load of super rich, super loud, super confident friends of yours. It’s just not my thing.’
He frowned. ‘They’re not really that rich. Or confident.’ He tugged her gently towards the gangway. ‘But they are super quiet. Listen.’
