Claimed by the Italian. Christina Hollis

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      Forcing herself to keep up with Fiora’s lively chatter on the dreaded subject of the coming engagement party was the only way she could deflect attention from her lack of appetite. Inside she was wound up tight, fit to blow at any moment.

      As for Paolo—well, she didn’t dare look at him. But she felt him watching her, and from his occasional lazy comments she knew he understood how she was struggling to avoid his gaze, and was mightily amused by it.

      Because—

      Because he knew as well as she did that he only had to exert a fraction of the sexual magnetism he possessed in spades to have her helpless, completely in his power, agreeing to anything he demanded of her—even a marriage she knew would end in bitter failure.

      And it scared her silly!

      She wanted him—wanted to be his wife more than she’d ever wanted anything before. The offer was there, but she couldn’t take it.

      With the evidence of one broken engagement, one short-lived marriage and countless casual affairs behind him, she would be committing emotional suicide if she gave in to temptation. If he loved her she would be the happiest woman on the planet. But he didn’t. He’d said as much. And she wasn’t prepared to have her heart broken.

      She wasn’t that recklessly stupid, was she?

      Diving into a tiny gap in the on-going conversation around the table, Lily asked in a thin, tight voice she didn’t recognise as her own, ‘Fiora, could you spare Carla for a short while tomorrow morning? I need to go into Florence—without Paolo. I’d like to buy him a betrothal gift!’ She forced a smile to hide her dismay at yet another miserable lie, her heart rattling. ‘If she could drive me in, I could find my own way back.’

      She held her breath, fully expecting him to offer to drive her himself. He’d know the betrothal gift was pure fabrication and smell a rat. Know she was avoiding his company at all costs because she was terrified of his stated intention to make her change her mind about accepting his proposal before the guests arrived for the wretched party.

      But all he said was, ‘Mario shall drive you, cara. Just tell him what time you wish to return and he will come for you. Spend all day exploring our beautiful city, if that is what you want. But as for a betrothal gift—all I need is your sweet self, you know that. However, if it pleases you to choose something, a small gift to mark the occasion, then I, of course, will be delighted.’

      Louse! What was he playing at? He would know that her sudden desire to go into town was an avoiding tactic. That she didn’t trust herself when faced with his devastating brand of ‘persuasion’. She might love him, but she would never understand him in a million years!

      She did look at him then, and the perfection of his features took her breath away. The slow, sexy smile he gave her worked its usual havoc. Her breath catching, she excused herself, pleading a slight headache, and headed for the sanctuary of her room, locking the door behind her. Just in case.

      Florence was an assault on Lily’s already reeling senses. So much beauty, so much style, it was difficult to take in—especially as she felt in need of an enormous ball of string in order to find herself back in the square where Mario had dropped her off and had promised to collect her at five in the afternoon.

      Footsore, but slightly easier in her mind after time alone, without the fear that Paolo might find her and work that special magic that could make her resolve melt like ice on a summer’s day, Lily made it back to the meeting place with half an hour to spare. Tables outside a trattoria provided an excuse to sit in the shade, and the espresso she ordered was more than welcome.

      Dismissing the occasional feeling that she was being followed as paranoia, she knew what she had to do.

      Just this evening and tomorrow to make sure she didn’t give Paolo the opportunity to use all his formidable powers of persuasion, and then hopefully the arrival of his mother’s guests on the following day would severely limit their time alone together.

      And so she’d be at the fake engagement so-called celebration. She couldn’t carry out her earlier stated intention to boycott it because that would upset Fiora, and she didn’t want to do that, but after that she’d be off. She would have to manufacture some urgently pressing reason for an immediate return to England. She didn’t know what, but she’d think of something.

      ‘Signorina—you are ready?’

      Blinking, Lily glanced at the slim young man in dark trousers and immaculate white shirt. Mario. Exactly on time. Suspicion solidified into certainty.

      She rose, collected her bag. ‘Have you been following me, Mario?’

      ‘Certamente. The signor instructed it.’ He grinned widely, lifting narrow shoulders. ‘You are precious to him. No harm must come to you.’

      Fuming, Lily stalked across the piazza to where the gleaming car was waiting, Mario trailing in her wake. So much for her hours of freedom! In spite of what Mario thought, this was not about caring, anxiety for her well-being. It was all about Paolo’s control. She had become his property, she realised with a sinking feeling. Followed. Watched. And no doubt he would demand a detailed report of what she’d been doing, she thought with ire.

      But it wasn’t Mario’s fault. He had only done what he’d been told to do by the all-powerful Paolo Venini. So she was able to keep up a light-hearted conversation as they journeyed back through the Tuscan countryside, her mind working on another level as she formulated exactly what she would say on the subject of people with nasty suspicious minds who put minders on the tail of other people!

      More than ever convinced that her only option was to return to England as soon as she’d done her duty by Fiora and been put on show at the wretched party, she decided, with deep reluctance, that she would have to compound her sins and lie again. Say Great-Aunt Edith was ill and really needed her.

      It was utterly distasteful, but it was the only thing she could think of that Fiora would understand. She would be disappointed that her visit was to be cut short, the plans for the wedding put on hold for a while, but she would understand and sympathise with the need.

      And it would be up to Paolo to confess that the wedding was off at a time of his choosing!

      The high she experienced at having thought herself out of the mess lasted until the car drew to a well-bred halt in front of the villa.

      Then crumbled into hopelessness as she saw Paolo, looking heart-stoppingly gorgeous in slim-fitting denims and a white T-shirt, emerge from the open doorway, an all too healthy Great-Aunt Edith smiling fit to split her face at his side.

      Her last escape route had been well and truly blocked by that dramatically handsome grinning devil!

      CHAPTER NINE

      IT WAS almost as if he’d read her mind even before she’d worked out her escape strategy, Lily thought, near to hysterics as she advanced on suddenly shaky legs towards the now broadly grinning pair, asking baldly, ‘How did you get here?’

      ‘What a welcome, child!’

      To her astonishment Lily found herself crushed against her great-aunt’s stout bosom in a rare show of open affection. ‘By private СКАЧАТЬ