The Italians: Cristiano, Vittorio and Dario. Jane Porter

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СКАЧАТЬ him was aware that he was behaving like a madman but he didn’t even care.

      She did this to him, he thought, finally finding focus as he shifted gears. She drove him to behave in ways he had never behaved before. Take marriage—he braked sharply and swerved to avoid an oncoming car—he’d been perfectly happy with his single status until he’d met Laurel.

      Santo had employed her to train him for the New York City Marathon and had suggested she advise on the hotel development.

      Right from the first moment he’d seen her, Cristiano had been lost.

      She’d walked into his office, that chocolate-brown ponytail swinging, and calmly pointed out all the flaws in the plans for the new state-of-the-art fitness centre.

      Other people tiptoed around him, intimidated by the power he wielded. Most of them were too protective of their own futures to challenge him.

      Laurel had shown no such reservations. She had absolute faith in her own expertise, a confidence that came from a lifetime of making decisions alone. He’d learned quickly that the only person she trusted in life was herself.

      In his head he heard her voice on that day she’d come to his office to give him her recommendations.

      ‘You hired me,’ she’d reminded him in a cool voice as she’d scored lines through the list of equipment and added more. ‘I presume you want my professional opinion. Your entire model is flawed. No one wants to come to a hotel of this quality and sweat on a treadmill. You need personal trainers. One to one. Everything tailored to the individual. You need free weights, exercise balls, offer Pilates—’ Her list had been carefully thought out. It had been her idea to turn what had originally been a standard gym into an exclusive fitness club, including physiotherapy and links to the spa with massage and beauty treatments. ‘You’ll attract athletes, but also normal people because you’re developing tailored programmes. In an ideal world everyone should have a personal programme and you’re trying to create an ideal world.’

      When he’d pointed out the cost of her plans, she’d laughed. ‘Do you want to be the best or not?’

      Despite grumblings from his brother, he’d followed her proposal to the last detail, admiring her bold vision and her innate sense of what was possible.

      It had been an overwhelming success.

      The Ferrara Spa Resort was now one of Europe’s foremost hotels. They did indeed attract top athletes who were able to maintain fitness within the luxurious resort, but they also drew a less physically fit clientele eager to make use of the expertise on offer. Laurel had personally selected the staff, trained them and supervised those opening weeks to ensure that everything was the very best it could be. She worked like a Trojan.

      Cristiano had offered her a small fortune to stay on and run it but she’d turned him down flat.

      ‘I don’t work for other people.’ She was the most independent, self-reliant woman he’d ever met. Ironic, he mused, that the very quality that had drawn him had been the one that had eventually torn them apart.

      Because of him. Because of his blind, selfish behaviour.

      There had been reasons, of course. Reasons for switching off his phone and trying to block out all distractions. Reasons for choosing to stay instead of fly home. But he hadn’t shared those reasons because any explanation he delivered now would be seen as an excuse. And there was no excuse for the arrogant, thoughtless way he’d dismissed her fears.

      No pile of bricks, no piece of land was worth the price they’d both paid.

      Cristiano released the brakes and fed in the throttle, reaching the airport in record time.

      Violating at least three traffic laws, he abandoned the car at the front of the terminal building and strode through the glass doors to Departures.

      This part of the airport was unfamiliar to him and it was like walking into hell, a teeming mass of bad-tempered humanity crushed together into a woefully inadequate space.

      Tripping over an ill-placed suitcase, Cristiano regained his balance and looked round, desperately trying to spot Laurel in the crowd. It seemed an impossible task. The place was heaving with tourists trying to move enormous suitcases through an unyielding, irritated throng. Faces glowed scarlet from too much Sicilian sun and too little cream, babies screamed, toddlers were fractious with boredom, mothers harassed, fathers bad tempered.

      It was a place Cristiano had never had reason to visit before and looking at it now he had no regrets about that. Why did people come on holiday? he thought as he took advantage of his superior height to see over the heads of a group of scantily clad, giggling teenage girls.

      He was just about to locate someone in authority and demand that they make an announcement over the public address system when he spotted a shiny brown ponytail towards the front of the check-in desk for Heathrow.

       Laurel.

      Hot and sticky, Laurel handed her ticket to the woman on the desk.

      ‘I’d like an aisle seat if possible, please.’

      She didn’t want to look out of the window. She wanted to read a book and shut Sicily out of her mind.

      A different woman would have sobbed all the way to the airport, but Laurel was in full crisis mode, focusing on getting out of Sicily and back to London as fast as possible.

      She felt numb, slightly removed from everything that was happening around her.

      Because of that, she wasn’t aware of the commotion behind her until she noticed a group of women in an adjoining queue all staring in awe.

      Laurel recognised that look.

      She’d seen it a million times on the faces of women when they caught sight of Cristiano.

      Heart thumping, she turned her head to follow the direction of their stares and saw him forging his way through throngs of gawping tourists. Her first reaction was one of astonishment. She knew for certain he’d never been into this part of the airport before and he looked ridiculously out of place, like a thoroughbred horse in a field of donkeys.

      Astonishment changed to alarm as it dawned on her that there was only one explanation for him being here. He wanted to stop her leaving.

      And she didn’t want to be stopped.

      She didn’t want to listen to anything he had to say.

      As he vaulted smoothly over a pile of suitcases blocking his path, she backed away from him.

      ‘Go away. I have nothing left to say to you.’

      ‘You may have nothing left to say to me but I have plenty to say to you.’

      ‘My flight is boarding. I don’t have time to listen.’

      His eyes glowed dark and dangerous. ‘If I board that plane I’ll have it grounded.’

      Unlike the women hovering close to her, Laurel was unimpressed. ‘Then I’ll board a different plane. There is nothing you can say that I want to hear.’

      ‘You don’t СКАЧАТЬ