she had been holding out for the highest bidder—in this case, an Italian billionaire...?
‘Renzo?’
The sound of her voice dragged him away back into the present and Renzo looked up to see a woman walking through the airport lounge towards him, pulling behind her a battered suitcase on wheels. His eyes narrowed. It was Darcy, yes—but not Darcy as he knew her, in her drab waitress uniform or pale and naked against his pristine white sheets. Renzo blinked. This was Darcy in a dress the colour of sunshine, dotted with tiny blue flowers. It was a simple cotton dress but the way she wore it was remarkable. It wasn’t the cut or the label which was making every man in the place stare at her—it was her youthful body and natural beauty. Fresh and glowing, her bare arms and legs were honed by honest hard work rather than mindless sessions in the gym. She looked radiant and the natural bounce of her breasts meant that no man could look at her without thinking about procreation. Renzo’s mouth dried. Procreation had never been on his agenda, but sex most definitely was. He wanted to pull her hungrily into his arms and to kiss her hard on the mouth and feel those soft breasts crushing against him. But Renzo Sabatini would never be seen in any airport—let alone one in his homeland—making such a public demonstration of affection.
And wasn’t it time he reinforced the fact that nobody—nobody—ever kept him waiting?
‘You’re late,’ he said repressively, throwing aside his newspaper and rising to his feet.
Darcy nodded. She could sense his irritation but that didn’t affect her enjoyment of the way he was looking at her—if only to reassure her she hadn’t made a terrible mistake in choosing a cheap cotton dress instead of the clothes he must have been expecting her to wear. Still, since this was going to be the holiday of a lifetime it was important she got it off to a good start and the truth of it was that she was late. In fact, she’d started to worry if she would get here at all because that horrible vomiting bug she’d had at the beginning of the week had really laid her low.
‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry about that.’
He commandeered her wheeled case and winced slightly as he took her hand luggage. ‘What have you got in here? Bricks?’
‘I put in a few books,’ she said as they set off towards the exit. ‘Though I wasn’t sure how much time I’d have for reading.’
Usually he would have made a provocative comment in response to such a remark but he didn’t and the unyielding expression on his face told her he wasn’t ready to forgive her for making him wait. But he didn’t say anything as they emerged into the bright sunshine and Darcy was too overcome by the bluest sky she’d ever seen to care.
‘Oh, Renzo—I can’t believe I’m in Italy. It’s so beautiful,’ she enthused as she looked around, but still he didn’t answer. In fact, he didn’t speak until his shiny black car had pulled out of the airport and was heading towards a signpost marked Chiusi.
‘I’ve been waiting at the damned airport for over an hour,’ he snapped. ‘Why weren’t you on the flight I told you to get?’
Darcy hesitated. She supposed she could come up with some vague story to placate him but hadn’t she already shrouded so much of her life with evasion and secrets, terrified that someone would examine it in the harsh light of day and judge her? Why add yet another to the long list of things she needed to conceal? And this was different. This wasn’t something she was ashamed of—so why not be upfront about the decision she’d made when he had stuffed that enormous wad of cash into her hand and made her feel deeply uncomfortable?
‘Because it was too expensive.’
‘Darcy, I gave you the money to get that flight.’
‘I know you did and it was very generous of you.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘But when I saw how much it cost to fly to Florence first class, I just couldn’t do it.’
‘What do you mean, you couldn’t do it?’
‘It seemed a ludicrous amount of money to spend on a two-hour flight so I bought a seat on a budget airline instead.’
‘You did what?’
‘You should try it sometime. It’s true they ran out of sandwiches and the tea was stone-cold, but I saved absolutely loads of money because the price difference was massive. Just like I did with the clothes.’
‘The clothes,’ he repeated uncomprehendingly.
‘Yes. I went to that department store you recommended on Bond Street but the clothes were stupidly overpriced. I couldn’t believe how much they were asking for a simple T-shirt so I went to the high street and found some cheaper versions, like this dress.’ She smoothed the crisp yellow cotton down over her thighs and her voice wavered a little uncertainly. ‘Which I think looks okay, doesn’t it?’
He flashed a glance to where her hand was resting. ‘Sure,’ he said, his voice sounding thick. ‘It looks okay.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
He slammed the palm of his hand against the steering wheel. ‘The problem is that I don’t like being disobeyed.’
She laughed. ‘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