‘Oh, Renzo. You sound like a headmaster. You’re not my teacher, you know—and I’m not your pupil.’
‘Oh, really?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘I thought I’d been responsible for teaching you rather a lot.’
His words made her face grow hot as they zoomed past blue-green mountains, but suddenly Darcy was finding the sight of Renzo’s profile far more appealing than the Tuscan countryside. He was so unbelievably gorgeous. Just the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. Would she ever feel this way about anyone again, she wondered—with a chest which became so tight when she looked at him that sometimes it felt as if she could hardly breathe? Probably not. It had never happened before, so what were the chances of it happening again? How had Renzo himself described what had happened when they first met? Colpo di fulmine—that was it. A lightning strike—which everyone knew was extremely rare. It was about the only bit of Italian she knew.
She sneaked another glance at him. His black hair was ruffled and his shirt was open at the neck—olive skin glowing gold and stunningly illuminated by the rich Tuscan light. His thighs looked taut beneath his charcoal trousers and Darcy could feel the sudden increase of her pulse as her gaze travelled along their muscular length. She’d rarely been in a car with him since the night he had seduced her—or rather, when she had fallen greedily into his arms. She’d hardly been anywhere with him other than the bedroom and suddenly she was glad about something which might have bothered other women.
Because with the amazing landscape sliding past like a TV commercial, she thought how easy it would be to get used to this kind of treatment. Not just the obvious luxury of being driven through such beautiful countryside, but the chance to be a bona fide couple like this. And she mustn’t get used to it, because it was a one-off. One last sweet taste of Renzo Sabatini before she began her new life in Norfolk and started to forget him—the man with the cold heart who had taught her the definition of pleasure. The precise and brilliant architect who turned into a tiger in the bedroom.
‘So what exactly are we going to be doing when we get to this place of yours?’ she said.
‘You mean apart from making love?’
‘Apart from that,’ she agreed, almost wishing he hadn’t said it despite the instant spring of her breasts in response. Did he need to keep drumming in her sole purpose in his life? She remembered the hiking shoes she’d packed and wondered if she’d completely misjudged the situation. Was he planning to show her anything of Tuscany, or would they simply be doing the bed thing, only in a more glamorous location? She wondered if he had sensed her sudden discomfiture and if that was the reason for his swift glance as they left the motorway for a quieter road.
‘The man who is buying the estate is coming for dinner,’ he said, by way of explanation.
‘Oh? Is that usual?’
‘Not really, but he’s actually my lawyer and I want to persuade him to keep on the staff who have worked at Vallombrosa for so long. He’s bringing his girlfriend with him, so it’ll be good to have you there to balance the numbers.’
Darcy nodded. To balance the numbers. Of course. She was there to fill an empty chair and warm the tycoon’s bed—there was nothing more to it than that. Stupidly, his remark hurt but she didn’t show it—something in which she’d learned to excel. A childhood of deprivation and fear had taught her to hide her feelings behind a mask and present the best version of herself to the world. The version that prospective foster parents might like if they were looking for a child to fit into their lovely home. And if sometimes she wondered what she might reveal if that mask ever slipped, she didn’t worry about it for too long because she was never going to let that happen.
‘So when were you last abroad?’ he questioned, as they passed a pretty little hilltop village.
‘Oh, not for ages,’ she answered vaguely.
‘How come?’
It was a long time since she’d thought about it and Darcy stared straight ahead as she remembered the charity coach trip to Spain when she’d been fifteen. When the blazing summer sun had burned her fair skin and the mobile home on the campsite had felt like sleeping in a hot tin can. They were supposed to be grateful that the church near the children’s home had raised enough money to send them on the supposed trip of a lifetime and she had really tried to be grateful. Until somebody had drilled a peephole into the wall of the female showers and there had been a huge fuss about it. And someone had definitely stolen two pairs of her knickers when she’d been out swimming in the overcrowded pool. Somehow she didn’t think Renzo Sabatini’s Tuscan villa was going to be anything like that. ‘I went on a school trip when I was a teenager,’ she said. ‘That was the only time I’ve been abroad.’
He frowned. ‘You’re not much of a traveller, then?’
‘You could say that.’
And suddenly Darcy scented danger. On the journey over she’d been worried she might do something stupid. Not something obvious, like using the wrong knife and fork at a fancy dinner, because her waitressing career had taught her everything there was to know about cutlery.
But she realised she’d completely overlooked the fact that proximity might make her careless. Might make her tongue slip and give something away—something which would naturally repulse him. Renzo had told her that one of the things he liked about her was that she didn’t besiege him with questions, or try to dig deep to try to understand him better. But that had been a two-way street and the fact he didn’t ask about her past had suited her just fine. More than fine. She didn’t want to tell any lies but she knew she could never tell him the truth. Because there was no point. There was no future in this liaison of theirs, so why tell him about the junkie mother who had given birth to her? Why endure the pain of seeing his lips curve with shock and contempt as had happened so often in the past? In a world where everyone was striving for perfection and judging you, it hadn’t taken her long to realise that the best way to get on in life was to bury all the darkness just as deep as she could.
But thoughts of her mother stabbed at her conscience, prompting her to address something which had been bothering her on the flight over.
‘You know the money I saved on my airfare and clothes?’ she began.
‘Yes, Darcy. I know. You were making a point.’ He shot her a glance, his lips curving into a sardonic smile. ‘Rich man with too much money shown by poor girl just how much he could save if he bothered to shop around. I get the picture.’
‘There’s no need to be sarcastic, Renzo,’ she said stiffly. ‘I want you to have it back. I’ve put most of it in an envelope in my handbag.’
‘But I don’t want it back. When are you going to get the message? I have more than enough money. And if it makes you feel better, I admire your resourcefulness and refusal to be seduced by my wealth. It’s rare.’
For a moment there was silence. ‘I think we both know it wasn’t your wealth which seduced me, Renzo.’
She hadn’t meant to say it but her quiet words reverberated around the car in an honest explanation of what had first drawn her to him. Not his money, nor his power—but him. The most charismatic and compelling man she’d ever met. She heard him suck in an unsteady breath.
‘Madonna mia,’ he said softly. ‘Are you trying to tempt me into taking the next turning and finding the nearest layby so that I can do what I have been longing to do to you since last I saw you?’
‘Renzo—’
‘I don’t want the damned money you saved! I want you to put your hand in my lap and feel how hard I am for you.’
‘Not while you’re driving,’ said Darcy and although she was disappointed he had turned the emotional into the sexual, she didn’t show it. Because that was the kind of man he was, she reminded herself. He was never emotional and always sexual. She didn’t need to touch him to know he was aroused—a quick glance and she could see for herself the hard ridge outlined beneath the dark trousers. Suddenly her lips grew dry in response and