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Her smile faded. His casual, unfounded assumption that her reason for staying at the palazzo was to squeeze more money out of him and his stupid company made her skin tighten with anger.
If only there was some way to get rid of him for good. But like most rich, powerful men, he was used to getting his own way.
She felt suddenly tired. Was it so much to ask to keep her home? But it was always the same. Even reasonable, well-adjusted men seemed to assume that a woman could and should change her life to fit in with their plans.
Remembering James’s angry disbelief when she’d refused to upend her life for his, she felt an ache spread inside of her. And it had been the same with Thomas too. He’d been bewildered and then furious with her for pursuing her own goals instead of supporting him.
Her lip trembled. Then of course there was her dad and her brother, Freddie. They’d always been protective but since her mother’s death, they’d treated her like she was a child; an adorable but foolish child who needed protecting from herself.
Still, at least they love
d her and cared about her. Massimo Sforza, on the other hand, only cared about himself. But just because he was rich and used to getting his own way didn’t mean she should give up her home so he could turn it into a stupid hotel.
She shivered. The stone bench on which she’d taken refuge was cold, and even though the sun was gleaming like a huge pearl in the flawless blue sky the seven-foot hedges meant that little of its heat was reaching her.
Damn Gianni! It was all his fault. If only Umberto hadn’t left him the estate. And if only his feckless, greedy brother hadn’t sold it on as soon as the deeds were in his hands, she wouldn’t be here, hiding like a criminal on the run.
A twig cracked nearby, and she froze momentarily—then relaxed. It was probably just a lizard or a bird. Massimo Sforza might be rich and powerful but he’d need x-ray vision or wings to find her in here.
Her head jerked up abruptly. Above her, a Marsh harrier gave a shrill screech and, frowning, she slid off the bench, a shiver of apprehension scuttling down her spine. It might have been muted by the hedges, but it had definitely been a warning call. But before she could even ponder as to what might have caused the bird’s alarm she heard a faint droning noise, and then a shadow fell across her upturned face and the droning become a loud rhythmic ‘whumping’.
Open-mouthed, Flora stared up in astonishment at a large, sleek white helicopter. Where had it come from? And then she gave a sudden cry of rage. Sforza! It had to be. She’d assumed he’d driven to the palazzo, but who else would have such a showy boy’s toy? She must have been swimming under the water in the pond when he’d flown over—
There was a crunch of footsteps on gravel behind her, and her heart leaping in her chest, she turned, knowing before she did so that it would be him.
‘Thanks, Paolo. Yeah, I think I can find my way out. But I’ll call you if I need your help.’ Massimo clicked off his phone and examined her face, his eyes glittering with malice. ‘So. We meet again.’ He glanced at his watch and frowned. ‘Not quite fifteen minutes!’
‘Only because you cheated!’ Hands curling into fists, Flora stepped backwards. Her calves collided painfully with the stone bench, but it was nothing compared to the injuries she would inflict on Massimo if she stood too close to him.
He shook his head. ‘You’re not going to have a tantrum about losing, are you, cara? I told you—I don’t give up and I don’t give in. And, besides, I hate waiting.’
She shivered as his face shifted, grew harder and colder than the marble bench pressing against her legs.
‘And I never, ever lose.’
Flora stared at him stonily. ‘What a wonderful mantra for life. Your parents must be so proud of you.’
His eyes flared, and nervously she realised that his broad body was blocking her only way of escape.
There was a short, tense silence and then he shrugged. ‘And what about your parents, cara? Were they proud that their daughter was shacked up with a man old enough to be her grandfather?’ He paused, his lip curling, his teeth bared so that for a moment he seemed to resemble a large, dangerous animal more than a man.
She lifted her chin and met his gaze. ‘We can stand here all day and trade insults, if you want,’ she said stiffly. ‘But it won’t alter the fact that I have a legal right to stay here as a tenant for as long as I wish. Nothing you can do or say will change that fact.’
For a long moment he stared at her steadily and then, to her astonishment, he smiled without rancour. ‘That’s true.’
She waited tensely as he continued to study her, his abrupt change of mood almost as unsettling as the growing realisation that they were only inches apart, alone, separated from the rest of the world by seven-foot hedges. Goosebumps tiptoed over her skin, and she swallowed uneasily. Why was he looking at her like that? It reminded her of the way buyers used to look at Umberto’s paintings: cool, assessing, critical.
She shivered again, and he frowned slightly. ‘You’re cold! Of course, you must be.’
Before she could reply, he had pulled off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. His hand grazed her skin, and she shivered once more, this time from the heat of his touch.
Feeling somehow disloyal—although to what or to whom, she wasn’t sure—she tried to shrug it off, but he shook his head.
‘It’s just a jacket, cara. Not a white flag.’
Blushing, wondering how or when her thoughts became so transparent, she nodded mutely. She felt hot. Impatient. Restless. But where had all her anger and outrage gone? Wrapping her arms tightly across her chest, she stared mutinously past his head. He was making her feel like this. His tantalising nearness seemed to have driven all rational thought from her mind. And now, wearing his jacket, with the warmth of his body still clinging to the fabric, she felt even more confused.
Still staring straight ahead and desperate to at least appear cool and calm, she cleared her throat. ‘I’ll walk you out.’ His gaze was burning her skin and, turning, her heart shivered as her eyes collided with his.
