The Sicilian's Wife. Kate Walker

      ‘I take it she’s back from university now then is she?’

      ‘That’s right. Finished her degree and everything. She got back at the weekend—on her own, surprisingly.’

      ‘On her own?’

      No. That question had been too sharp, betraying too much of an interest and a degree of shock than was wise.

      ‘Yes, I thought she’d bring the boyfriend with her.’

      Belatedly, the housekeeper realised that keeping her employer’s friend standing on the doorstep was not the most polite approach. Mrs Moore moved further back into the wide, tiled hallway.

      ‘Won’t you come inside, sir? I’m sure Miss Megan would be delighted to see you.’

      Privately, Cesare took the liberty of doubting that she would be any such thing. The way he and Megan had parted the last time he had seen her, at a New Year party given by her father, he had little hope that ‘delighted’ would describe her reaction to him now. When he had resolved on this visit, he had had every confidence that he could soon overcome any initial resistance, but the mention of a boyfriend was an unexpected complication, one he should have forseen but, foolishly, had not.

      ‘I’ll tell her you’re here…’

      ‘No!’

      Idiota! He reproved himself inwardly at the realisation that once again he had almost given himself away. That ‘No’ had been too quick, the lapse into his native Italian giving too much away.

      Hastily he switched on a covering smile, fixing his deep brown eyes on the housekeeper’s face. It was a calculated move, one that had melted far harder hearts than hers in the past, and it had exactly the effect he wanted now.

      ‘Don’t announce me. I’d like to do it myself—give her a surprise.’

      ‘Of course. She’s in the library.’

      Mrs Moore waved a hand in the direction of a door at the far end of the hall.

      ‘I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you. If you want my opinion she’s a little run down at the moment—far too pale and thin for my liking. She’s probably been burning the candle at both ends and not eating properly.’

      ‘Probably.’

      It was a struggle to contain his impatience. Would the woman never go?

      At last she seemed to realise that he was anxious to move and turned in the direction of the kitchen. But then just as Cesare felt some of the tension that held his muscles taut start to ease she hesitated and turned back again.

      ‘Should I bring in some coffee? A cold drink?’

      ‘I’ll ring if we need anything.’

      It was the tone he adopted with difficult employees. One that demanded instant, unquestioning obedience—and always got it. It worked this time too. The housekeeper nodded, made a small, awkward movement, almost as if she was coming close to bobbing a respectful curtsey, then turned and trotted away, her heels clicking in the silent hall.

      At last!

      Cesare gave a deep sigh of relief as he pushed both his hands through his jet-black hair. It was almost as if the housekeeper had sensed his intent, the reason why he was here tonight, and had set herself up as the moral guardian of the daughter of the house, the defender of Megan’s honour, against the dark intrusive force of a sexually mature male.

      His beautifully curved mouth twisted slightly cynically as he shut the door quietly. He didn’t want to alert Megan to his presence. Wanted to come up on her unawares. And it wasn’t her honour he wanted to steal. It was her heart.

      Megan had heard the doorbell some time earlier but had decided to ignore it. If it was important then Mrs Moore would come and fetch her. If it wasn’t, then the housekeeper could deal with it. The older woman knew much more about her father’s daily life than she did since she had been away at university. And besides, she wasn’t in the mood for company.

      ‘What am I going to do?’

      Sighing, she pushed aside the sleek fall of her auburn hair and propped her chin on her hands, elbows resting on the table at which she sat. A book lay open in front of her, one she had been making a pretence at reading. But it had been simply for something to do, and her mossy-green eyes had been left so unfocused by tears that the words on the pages danced in front of her vision in a totally incomprehensible blur.

      ‘What am I going to do?’

      She had asked the question of herself again and again more times than she cared to remember, but there had never been a hope of an answer in her mind. She didn’t know what to do, or where to turn next.

      ‘Megan?’

      The sound of the door opening jolted her head up, but it was the figure who appeared in the doorway, tall, dark and devastating that had her blinking in stunned disbelief, unable to believe that she was seeing correctly.

      ‘Cesare?’

      Her heart gave one violent, breath-snatching thud against her ribcage, leaving her gasping in shock. Cesare Santorino was the last person she had expected to see here tonight. The last person she wanted to see as well.

      But that didn’t stop her foolish emotions going into overdrive simply to see him.

      She had once adored every inch of this man’s tall, rangy body, dreamed of losing herself in his arms, of drowning in the deep, molten bronze of his eyes. The image of his forcefully carved features had etched itself into her memory, so that for many nights the last thought in her mind as she drifted asleep had been of the slash of high, slanting cheekbones, the shockingly sensual curve of his wide mouth, the hard strength of his jaw and chin.

      ‘What are you doing here?’

      To her annoyance, her voice came and went like a badly tuned radio and she had to fight to get it under control. It was just the way she was feeling, she told herself angrily. Just the low mood that had already affected her so badly. Nothing more.

      She was over Cesare, had been over him for months; ever since that disastrous party at New Year when he had humiliated her so badly. Before then she had worshipped the ground he walked on, but that night he had taken her devotion, her pride, and trampled it underneath his beautifully polished, handmade leather shoes.

      ‘If you want to see my dad, then he’s not here…’

      ‘I know,’ Cesare cut in sharply, a faint frown drawing his dark straight brows together. ‘It was you I came to see.’

      ‘Me?’

      That frown, and something in the intonation of his lyrically accented voice set her nerves on edge, raising the tiny hairs on the back of her neck in wary apprehension. She was suddenly painfully aware of the blurred marks of tears on her cheeks, only roughly scrubbed away with the back of her hand.

      ‘What did you want me for?’

      She got to her feet as she spoke, moving away from the direct light of the window, into a more shadowy part of the room.

      ‘I didn’t think you ever wanted to speak to me again.’

      ‘Why ever not?’ Infuriatingly it was touched with a thread of amusement that scraped over her skin.

      ‘You made it plain that you didn’t want to waste your time with me.’

      His slow, sexy smile did terrible things to what little composure she had left, making her feel as if a powerful cord was tightening around her heart and tugging hard.

      ‘Oh, Megan, cara, you weren’t in any fit state to spend time with anyone—waste or not.’

      ‘I’d had a glass or two of champagne!’

      But what she was never going to admit was that it had not been the sparkling wine that had intoxicated her, but the sheer impact of his presence,