filtered through the skylights in Romano’s studio, dancing across the walls as tiny puffy clouds played hide-and-seek with the sun, daring him to come out and play. That was one of the downsides of having a home office in a home like his. Distractions, major and minor, bombarded him from every direction. One of the reasons he’d accepted Lizzie’s wedding invitation was that it had given him a perfect excuse to spend two whole weeks at the palazzo. The plan had been to use the free time running up to and after the festivities to think about the next Puccini collection.
Just as he’d managed to dismiss the idea that the sky was laughing at him for sitting indoors working on a day like this, his mobile rang. He stood up with a growl of frustration.
He didn’t recognise the caller ID. ‘Hello?’
There was a slight pause, then a deep breath. ‘Romano?’
He stopped scowling and his eyebrows, no longer weighted down with a frown, arched high.
‘It’s Jackie,’ she said in English. ‘Jackie Patterson.’
It wasn’t lack of recognition that had delayed his reply, but surprise. After all these years her voice was still surprisingly familiar. It was her reasons for calling that had stalled him.
Why, when she’d been at pains to avoid him at all costs for the last couple of days—including that ridiculous show of some ‘secret’ lunch with Isabella and Scarlett—had she called him? As always, Jackie Patterson had him running in circles chasing his own tail. It was to his own shame that he liked it.
He smiled. ‘And to what do I owe the pleasure?’
There was a pause.
‘I believe you owe me lunch.’
He might be laid-back, but he wasn’t slow. She hadn’t actually agreed to lunch before she’d been whisked away.
He let it pass. If thirty-two-year-old Jackie was anything similar to her teenage counterpart, the starchy accusation was only the surface level of her remark. With Jackie, there were always layers. Something that had both bewitched him and infuriated him during their brief summer fling. Her about-face could only mean one thing: Jackie wanted something. And that also intrigued him.
‘So I do,’ he said, injecting a lazy warmth into his voice that he knew would make her bristle. Jackie might like to play games, rather than come straight out and say what she thought and felt, but that didn’t mean he was going to lie down and let her win. The best part of a game was the competition, the cycle of move and counter-move, until there was only one final outcome. ‘Do you want to go to Rosa?’
‘No,’ she said, almost cutting the end of his sentence off. ‘Somewhere…quieter.’
Romano smiled. ‘Quieter’ could easily be interpreted as intimate.
‘Okay,’ he said slowly, letting her lead, letting her think she was in control.
He racked his brains to think of somewhere nice…quiet… to take Jackie. He doodled on a pad as he came up with, and rejected, five different restaurants. Too noisy. Bad food. Not the right ambience…
He looked out of the window, at the shady lawns and immaculate hedges. ‘You want to talk? In private?’
‘Yes.’
Did he detect a hint of wariness in her voice? Good. Jackie was always more fun when she was caught off guard. She always did something radical, something totally unexpected. He liked unexpected.
‘Come to the island, then,’ he said. ‘We’ll have all the quiet we want. We’ll eat here.’
There was a sharp laugh from Jackie. ‘What? You can cook?’ Her response reminded him of the way he’d used to tease her until she just couldn’t take it any more and had either walloped him or kissed him. He’d enjoyed both.
He laughed too. ‘You’ll just have to accept my invitation to find out.’
There was a not-so-gentle huff of displeasure in his ear. He waited.
‘Okay.’ The word was accompanied by a resigned sigh. ‘You’re on.’
Jackie was on time. He hadn’t expected anything less. She parked a sleek car on a patch of scrubby grass near a little jetty on the shore of Lake Adrina, just south of Isola del Raverno. He had been waiting in a small speedboat tied at the end of the rough wooden structure. The gentle side-to-side motion lulled him as he watched her emerge from the car looking cool and elegant.
She had style—and that wasn’t a compliment he assigned easily.
She was dressed casually in a pair of deep turquoise Capri pants and a white linen halter-neck top, which she immedi-ately covered with a sheer, long-sleeved shirt the moment she stepped into the sunshine. Her hair was in a loose, low ponytail and the honey highlights glinted gold in the midday sun. Bewitching. She pulled a large pair of sunglasses down from the top of her head to cover her eyes and it only added to the effect, making her seem aloof and desirable at the same time. He’d always been a sucker for forbidden fruit.
There was no doubt in his mind, though, that when she’d got dressed for this meeting, she’d thought very carefully about the ‘look’ she wanted to create. The clothes said: Think of me as any other woman—down-to-earth, non-threatening, relaxed. Romano was intrigued with her choice, why she’d felt the need to dress down when most other women would have dressed up.
He stood up, vaulted out of the boat and walked towards her. She didn’t smile, and he liked her all the more for it. A smile would have been a lie. He was very good at reading women, their bodies, the silent signals their posture and gestures gave off, and as he watched Jackie walk towards him the signals came thick and fast—and all of them contradictory.
Greeting people with visible affection, even if little or no emotion was involved, was part of their world and, almost out of reflex, they leaned in, he kissed her on the cheek and took her hand. He’d done it a thousand times to a thousand different women at a thousand different fashion shows, seen her do the same from across the room, but as he pulled away a wave of memories as tall as a wall hit him.
She smelled the same. Warm. Spicy. Feminine.
And suddenly the hand in his felt softer, more alive, as if he could feel the pulse beating through it, and his lips, where they had touched her cheek, tingled a little.
Up until now the idea of embarking on a second summer fling with Jackie Patterson had been a mentally pleasing idea rather than a physical tug. He sensed that afterwards he would be able to erase the niggling questions about their romance that surfaced every few years from his subconscious, only to be swiftly batted down again. A rerun now they were older and more sensible would soothe whatever it was that jarred and jiggled deep down in his soul, wanting to be let out. But this time they would end it cleanly. No fuss, no ties.
As he ushered her into the small speedboat he realised that his only half-thought-out plans had moved up a gear. Now he didn’t just want to get close to Jackie again to put ghosts to rest; his body wanted her here and now. But it wouldn’t do to rush it. While she was all cool glamour on the surface, underneath she was awkward and nervous. Skittish. If he wanted to take Jackie to his bed, he was going to have to see if he could peel back some of those layers first.
He smiled. Not many men would guess what warmth and passion lay behind the glossy, cool exterior. But he knew. And it made the anticipation all the sweeter.
There were several mooring sites on the island and he chose the one that gave them a walk through the lush gardens to the palazzo. Jackie didn’t say much as she walked in front of him, looking to the left and right, a slight frown creasing her forehead as she climbed the sloping steps from terrace to terrace. Now and again he saw her eyelids flicker, the very bare hint of colour flare in her cheeks, and he knew she was remembering the same things he was—memories of soft naked flesh, cool garden breezes that carried the scent of flowers. Heat and fulfilment.
It was here that they’d first made love, one night