.

could he remain so calm and even smile when he was effectively slamming the door on any chance they had to be with each other? She shouldn’t have come tonight. She should tell him he could do what he had suggested and turn the car round and take her back.

      She glanced at him under her eyelashes. He looked hard and handsome and his very sexy mouth wasn’t smiling any more. And there was no way, no way on earth, she was going to tell him to take her home.

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      MAISIE knew Positano was an exceptionally pretty Italian town with brightly coloured villas cascading down the cliffs to the sea, sleepy lanes and endless steep alleyways and wonderful cafés and beach restaurants serving freshly caught fish. She had asked Liliana all about the area where Blaine lived that afternoon. Apparently the centre of the town was pedestrianised and the very fashionable resort was popular with Italians, which would have meant almost for sure that Blaine would have had to talk to friends if they had gone to eat in any of the restaurants there. For that reason she was immensely glad they were having dinner at his home. If this was going to be the only evening she would ever share exclusively with him, she wanted to make the most of every minute.

      As the Ferrari climbed up into the hills through lush vegetation Maisie could hear the chirping of crickets in the warm balmy air and, despite their unsettling conversation and the prospect of what she was going to hear later, she was fascinated by what she saw. The legendary coastline, the scent of the lemon and orange groves in the hillsides, the dappled evening sunshine and the sheer beauty all around her was breathtaking.

      By unspoken mutual consent they had remained silent since their earlier conversation, and it was Blaine who broke the silence to say quietly, ‘My home welcomes you,’ as he drove the car off the road and through open gates set in a shoulder-high whitewashed wall into a small paved area.

      Maisie looked about her. Blaine’s house was built at the top of and virtually into the cliffs. She imagined the view inside was wonderful. Ornate balconies bursting with brightly coloured pots of flowers faced her, and there was a curving staircase leading to the front door, which was a storey high from where they were standing.

      ‘The house is on several levels,’ Blaine said as they walked up the stairs. ‘It is what you English would call quirky, I think.’

      He had his suit jacket slung over one shoulder and his tie was hanging loose on either side of his shirt collar, the first few buttons undone. Maisie was overcome with such a rush of lust she almost missed her footing.

      When they stepped into the house the first thing she noticed was how the sunlight lit up every corner. They were standing in a huge sprawling sitting room decorated and furnished in shades of coffee, biscuit and cream, the floor light wood and the main colour in the room coming from one long wall which was covered in decorative plates, glazed thickly like Arab pottery. A huge balcony looked over an awe-inspiring view of Positano, beyond which the azure waters of the ocean lay, and the balcony held a big table with six cushioned seats besides an array of lemon-scented verbenas, pink begonias, salvias and other flowers in terracotta pots which heavily perfumed the warm air.

      ‘Oh, wow.’ Maisie didn’t even try to be blasé. ‘This is the most incredible house.’

      ‘You haven’t seen it all yet,’ Blaine said mildly, but she could tell he was pleased by her reaction.

      All of it consisted of a beautifully fitted white oak and black marble kitchen and separate dining room on the floor below the sitting room. Through this a door led into a wide courtyard-style garden with tropical trees and shrubs and masses of tubs of flowers, an iron table and chairs again looking out over the wonderful view. The courtyard was built on the left side of the house and was totally private. The floor above the sitting room held two large bedrooms with a bathroom between them, both of which had balconies to take advantage of the view again, but it was the top floor which took Maisie’s breath away. The master bedroom with its magnificent en suite bathroom in white and black marble was stunning. The wall which overlooked the ocean was made entirely of glass so that the occupants of the massive bed could see for miles and the balcony which stretched the length of the room also had panels of glass between its supports of stone so as not to impede the view from inside the room.

      It wasn’t only the view that was making Maisie breathless though. The huge bed with its black silk sheets and voluptuous pillows was unlike any bed Maisie had seen before and must have been built inside the room. It was a masterpiece of decadence. Along one wall was a full-length walk-in wardrobe and on the other were shelves set into the wall holding books, tapes, papers and various other objects Maisie’s feverish gaze couldn’t pick out. But it was when she glanced at the ceiling she nearly died. The area over the bed was captured by a huge circular mirror, blatant and unashamed and bold.

      Blaine was standing by the door and had remained there while she looked around, his arms folded across his chest and his big body relaxed as he leant against the wood. When her gaze shot down from the ceiling and she coloured violently, she knew he had noticed. Had noticed and enjoyed her reaction. Forcing herself to look straight at him, Maisie said, ‘This is very nice,’ and even to her own ears her voice sounded prim.

      ‘Nice? Is that the best you can do?’ he reproved her gently. ‘I spent a great deal of time planning this room.’

      He was laughing at her. She knew he was laughing at her even though the dark handsome face betrayed no amusement. ‘It’s … unusual,’ she said tightly. ‘Very.’

      ‘Very unusual.’ He considered with his head slightly on one side. ‘Thank you. I like to think so.’

      ‘And … and very masculine. You know, being all black and white. Ascetic but luxurious at the same time. Was that the look you were trying to achieve?’ she asked, her face hot.

      ‘I don’t think I was exactly interested in a look,’ he murmured softly. ‘I just wanted somewhere where I could relax and enjoy … the view.’

      She knew what view he was talking about all right. The view of some gorgeous nude beauty in that mirror, a woman who would be more than happy to take what he could offer and not ask for more commitment than he wanted to give. Workaholic, her foot! He might not bring any women home to meet Mother but he sure didn’t sit in this bed reading paperwork or dictating letters or whatever it was he did. Maisie didn’t know if she felt angry or sad. She thought actually it was a mixture of both with a big dollop of jealousy and envy thrown in for good measure.

      But she’d only got herself to blame for this, she admitted silently. He hadn’t wanted to even see her tonight, let alone bring her to his house and certainly not his bedroom. Knowing that didn’t help at all.

      He was out of her league in every way, she told herself, pretendingto look out of the glass doors leading to the balcony one last time. What on earth had she been doing in thinking there was a chance with him? Suddenly the loss of the few pounds in weight which had so cheered her earlier seemed utterly pathetic. Laughable. Not that she felt like laughing.

      ‘Come downstairs and I’ll fix you a drink while I change.’ His voice was gentle, all amusement gone.

      Maisie heard it with something like horror. Was he feeling sorry for her now? Pride brought her head up and injected a bright note into her voice. ‘Lovely.’ She turned from the view and sailed across the room, quite forgetting about the vertiginous sandals and almost doing the splits because of her mistake.

      ‘Careful.’ Blaine caught her in his arms as she catapulted forward, saving something of her dignity in the process but causing her a bigger problem when she found herself held against a hard male chest, his shirt smelling deliciously of some nice washing liquid.

      ‘It’s my sandals …’ She glanced up at him when he didn’t seem in any hurry to let her go. His eyes were piercing, their light trained on hers, and his face was very still. ‘I … I’m not used to heels.’

      ‘Your hair smells of apple blossom.’ His voice was husky, preoccupied. ‘And it’s so silky and soft.’ His fingertips were against her lower