Brides Of Summer. Rebecca Winters

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      “Dea Loti and Daphne Butelli, may I present my son Guido and his best friend, Rinieri Montanari.”

      “How do you do,” Rini said, eyeing both of them.

      “You missed their show, Rini,” the older man interjected.

      “As I indicated earlier, I was unavoidably detained on business.”

      “Well, you’re here now. They have to leave on the tender in a few minutes. Maybe you could give them a dance before they go?”

      Guido’s father never stopped hoping his son would meet the woman he couldn’t live without. Rini knew his friend was upset at being railroaded, but agreed to the request. “It would be our pleasure.”

      He gravitated toward the woman closest to him, who was dressed in purple. After walking her over to the dance floor, he drew her in his arms. “I’ve never been to a fashion show before. I’m sorry I missed it.”

      “I doubt it’s the kind of thing the CEO of Montanari’s generally does on the weekend.” By now Guido was dancing with the other model.

      “I understand it’s hard work. Did you have a chance to eat yet? We don’t have to dance if you’re hungry.”

      “Thank you, but no. I don’t want anything. I have to watch my figure.”

      “Well, your discipline definitely shows.”

      She flashed him a beguiling smile. “Do you live in Naples?”

      “No, but I work here.”

      It surprised him when her hands slid up his chest and around his neck. “Daphne and I are going to be in Naples one more night because of an afternoon show at the Grand Hotel Parker’s, then we have another show in Rome. Perhaps we could get together tomorrow evening for dinner after the show?”

      Her eyes stared up at him in unmistakable invitation.

      “I’m afraid my plans are indefinite at the moment, but I’ve certainly enjoyed this dance with you.”

      She held her smile. “Well, if you straighten them out, call me around seven at the Grand Hotel Vesuvio, where I’m staying, and ask for Signorina Loti.” In the next breath she planted a hungry kiss on his lips he hadn’t been prepared for. Then she darted away.

      Rini went back to the table to wait for Guido. In a few minutes his friend joined him. “Sorry my father did that to us.” One eyebrow lifted. “After the kiss she gave you just now, are you going to see her again?”

      “No.” Her pushy style had put him off. “What about you?”

      “Not interested. You know damn well Papà told her you’re the most eligible bachelor in Italy, next to me, of course.” He said it without mirth.

      Rini shook his head.

      Guido studied him. “Maybe she decided to try the direct approach to get beneath your armor.”

      “I’m afraid it didn’t work.”

      An exasperated sigh escaped. “Papà doesn’t know when to give up. In fact it’s because of him I need to talk to you. I’ve made a decision to take a year off from the family business to invest in something I really want to do. He won’t like it, but I want your opinion. Come on. Let’s get a drink in the bar.”

      Rini followed him, wondering what was on his friend’s mind.

      * * *

      After a dive with colleagues that produced no new finds, twenty-eight-year-old Alessandra Caracciolo returned home late Monday afternoon. Bruno Tozzi had left his scuba gear in the cruiser with hers and would come by for it in a day or two. Instinct told her he’d done it on purpose so he’d have an excuse to see her again.

      Since their last dive, when Bruno had buddied her, he’d made it no secret that he wanted to be with her all the time, but she didn’t have romantic feelings for him. Though she dove with him and their friends for their work, that had to be the extent of their relationship. The next time they were together, she would make it clear she wasn’t interested and never could be.

      She tied the boat to the dock of her family’s private pier. Garbed in flip-flops and a man’s long-sleeved shirt that she’d thrown over her blue-and-white polka-dotted bikini, she headed for the Land Rover with her duffel bag.

      Once in the car, she drove on sand past the helipad and around to the front of the castle. When she reached it, she would take a shower and wash her hair. Alessandra wore it neck-length because she spent so much time in the water. It dried fast and the natural curl made it easy to take care of.

      As she pulled up near the main entrance, she saw a limo parked in the courtyard, making her curious. All vehicles came across the causeway from the mainland at Metaponto, a port town of Basilicata, Italy. But after five o’clock, any visitors were escorted out by staff.

      Their family’s castle on the tiny island of Posso off the Ionian coast dated back to Queen Joanna of Naples, who ruled in l343. Besides tourists from Bari and Taranto, who were allowed visits to the castle four hours a day on Tuesdays and Wednesdays with a guide, dignitaries from the world over called on her father, Count Onorato Caracciolo, asking favors because of his influence in the region.

      Alessandra got out of the car and hurried inside past the tapestry of the queen hanging on the wall in the huge front foyer. She headed for the grand staircase, eager to make herself scarce until she’d cleaned up.

      The moment she reached the first step, a deep male voice called to her. “Signorina?”

      She whirled around to see a tall, incredibly gorgeous dark-haired man in a charcoal-colored business suit walking toward her, his dark brows furrowed. Still holding the duffel bag in one hand, Alessandra clutched the railing with the other.

      He stared at her so strangely. “I thought I was hallucinating, but it is you. Since Saturday night you’ve cut your hair. I don’t understand. How did you know I was coming here today? On the yacht you told me you had another show to do in Rome,” he murmured.

      The way his piercing black-brown eyes played over her face and figure, she knew he had a history with her identical twin, Dea. He was the most striking male Alessandra had ever seen in her life. She found herself envying her beautiful sister for having met him first and couldn’t fault her taste. Men had never been able to resist her.

      Alessandra cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, signor, but I’m not Dea.”

      Embarrassed to be caught looking so messy and disheveled after her diving trip, she ran up the steps without looking back. Her sister would never allow herself to be seen like this. All the way to the next floor she felt the man’s penetrating eyes on her retreating back and bare legs, causing her to tremble.

      Had her sister finally met the one she’d been looking for? Dea had always kept their family identity private. Because she was a model, she called herself Dea Loti so no one would know she was the daughter of Count Caracciolo. For her to divulge her secret to this man meant their relationship must have turned serious, otherwise he wouldn’t have known where she lived.

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