‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN, the tenant wants more time to consider her position? Are you telling me she’s refusing to vacate?’
Bastian Carrera couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. It was the last thing he wanted to hear after spending the past month enthusiastically talking to buyers overseas in a bid to increase his family-owned company’s market share of organic olive oil, and the day after tomorrow he would be out of the country again.
He’d returned home to Italy for a ‘pit stop’ before heading out to Brazil—not just on business, but to lecture. His family business was one of the leaders in its field, and many people were interested in how it had achieved its phenomenal success. The family might have the kind of personal wealth that most people could only dream of, and at thirty-six Bastian could have long ago taken things more easily if he’d wanted to, but he still took a personal interest in all aspects of the business.
However, the troubled expression on his father’s bronzed, lined face now couldn’t help but disturb him. It conveyed the guilt the older man plainly felt at not being able to give his son better news.
Just before Bastian had left he’d given notice to his tenants to quit the stone-built cottages they rented so they could begin work on the remaining acreage and get the rest of their land certified as organic. It generally took around three years to have the land converted, and his intention was to plant more groves with the finest organic olive trees.
For generations his family had established itself as one of the best olive oil producers in Italy and it had made their fortune, but it had never been just about making money. Their aim was to provide people with the very best produce they could deliver, and to that end Bastian took every chance he could to make improvements.
His father sighed. ‘No... She is not exactly refusing, but—’
‘Did you make it clear that she hasn’t a choice about whether she goes or stays? That we need the land for conversion?’
Reddening a little, Alberto Carrera shifted one shoulder. ‘I did. But the lady doesn’t want to go. She has not so long ago got divorced and is hoping to reignite her career. The light in the villeta is perfect for her work, she says, and she has set up her easel under the skylight.’
‘And who is she...? A student of one of the great masters?’ Unsympathetic, his son scowled.
‘She is not that kind of artist. Lily is an illustrator of children’s books and she says it is her right to remain in the villeta since she has signed a lease for two years and so far has only been renting for six months.’
The younger man scowled again and let loose a colourful curse. But, whatever emotion his expression might suggest, his visage was compelling—strong-boned and handsome as sin. Alberto proudly told people that his son’s looks came from his mother’s side...that all her family had been exceptionally beautiful. His only son was his last link to Annalisa, the enchanting girl he had fallen head over heels in love with all those years ago and lost far too soon when she’d died giving birth...
‘And did you offer this woman the compensation we discussed and tell her we would find her somewhere equally suitable?’
‘Yes, I did, son. But my sense is that she is not going to be so easily persuaded—and I can’t blame her.’
Impatient now, Bastian dropped his hands to his hips, his dark eyes flashing, ‘What do you mean, you can’t blame her? You sound as though this woman has put you under some kind of spell, Father! I have just two days before business takes me abroad again and I need to know the land conversion is in hand before I go. Never mind... I will go and speak to her myself.’
As he descended the grand stucco steps of the family’s house he was glad to get some air. His heart was pounding with indignant fury at this woman who imagined she could bend his father’s will to suit her own. How dare she try and take advantage of him when Bastian wasn’t around, perhaps seeing an opportunity to wear him down? He would soon set her straight...
On his way to the comparatively modest stone cottage that his ancestors had built, he reflected some more on its stubborn occupant.
Not that he knew her or had even laid eyes on her. He left that part of the business to his father.
Alberto had become a little less able since his heart attack a year ago, and Bastian wanted him to keep his duties to a minimum. Along with the family’s housekeeper, Dolores, they had a loyal workforce who tended the land and oversaw the olive growing, and Bastian himself quite often helped out because he loved being close to the earth. In his opinion, its scent was like no other...
His father hadn’t complained too much about his new duties, thank God, and his son guessed he was only too aware that age was catching up with him. He’d practically worked himself into the ground, helping to build up the business, and the heart attack had quite rightly scared him...
Reaching the house that was set back from the olive groves, and gave its occupants plenty of privacy if privacy was what they sought, he negotiated the narrow stone steps with his usual agility. As he glanced up at one of the two wrought-iron balconies set beneath the sloping roof, with its plethora of red bougainvillea spilling through the decorative bars, he took a moment to breathe in the fragrance that saturated the air.
His tension started to ease. It was good to be home again, even if it wasn’t for very long.
Quickly he remembered his reason for visiting and rapped commandingly on the door. In his view it was important that he immediately gained the upper hand with his recalcitrant tenant and did not give her any advantage. At least that was the plan.
But the door opened suddenly and his gaze fell on a green-eyed fair-haired beauty who stood before him, barefoot and tousle-haired, in a sleeveless multi-coloured striped dress that couldn’t help but pay homage to a body so slender she might have been a prima ballerina. All his plans flew out the window...
‘Can I help you?’ she asked, her pretty, unadorned mouth clearly unsure as to whether to smile or not.
Where do I start? he thought. The shocking waves of potent want and need that swept through him powerfully just then all but stopped him from speaking. It was like being scorched inside and out, and he feared burning in the flames...
Hurriedly collecting himself, he replied, ‘Signora Alexander? I am Bastian Carerra...your landlord.’
‘You mean you’re Alberto’s son?’
Now her lips did shape a smile. Was there a woman alive who was immune to his father’s charm? Bastian mused. He could hardly believe this woman had been married and divorced, though. There was a real ‘untouched’ air about her...
‘That’s right. Can I come in? I’d like a word with you.’
Despite the heat of the day, he knew his tone was a little frosty. No matter how attractive Lily Alexander was, he’d make no bones about demanding she leave. After all, business was business, and he wouldn’t let the demands of his libido override his common sense...
‘We’ll go into the sitting room. We can talk there,’ she suggested. ‘But first of all can I get you a drink?’
‘No. I’d prefer it if we just talked.’
As she led this somewhat serious Italian into the charmingly homespun living room, with its very agreeable little balcony outside the French doors and in the distance a superlative view of the sea, Lily’s heartbeat skipped a little.
The younger Carerra might appear somewhat