Paper Marriages. Jacqueline Baird

must be getting soft in his old age—then he dismissed the thought; age was not something he wished to dwell on. He cast her a sidelong glance. She was resting her head back, the elegant arch of her throat exposed by the open neck of the blue blouse she was wearing, as was the shadowy cleavage of her luscious breasts. He felt a tightening in his groin. What the hell was he thinking of? The girl was ill!

      ‘So, Penny, tell me,’ he said, calmly determined to divert his wayward thoughts. ‘How is it in the twenty-first century a woman of your age is still terrified of flying? Surely you must have tried to get over your fear before now. I know you and your family fly down to the South of France at least a couple of times a year.’

      ‘There are such things as boats and trains,’ Penny remarked, slanting him a wry glance. With her nausea gone, she had time to look around. The cream leather armchairs and the bar all portrayed the wealth of the man at her side. The fact she was still in the safety seat, and had no intention of moving until the plane landed, did not stop her appreciating the luxury the plane afforded.

      ‘But as it happens I’ve never been to the South of France—it was Dad and Veronica’s holiday. They stayed in England for Christmas, but when I came home for the Easter and summer vacations, they took off the next day. It was a chance for them to have a break on their own while I was there to look after James. I’ve never flown before. In fact, technically you could say I’ve never been outside of the UK.’

      ‘You have never flown!’ Solo declared incredulously. ‘I don’t believe it. You’ve never even been abroad?’

      ‘Unless you call the Channel-nel Islands abroad. No… James and I had a week in Guernsey two summers running. It is a nice journey by boat, and there is a lovely beach at St Peter’s Port. The weather is generally better than in mainland Britain.’

      ‘I need a drink.’ Solo got to his feet. He also needed to think. ‘Want anything?’ he asked curtly.

      ‘No, I’m fine.’ Penny looked up. His eyes burned into hers. He was angry.

      Solo shook his dark head in exasperation, and moved to the bar. For years he-STRICKEN, had naturally assumed Penny had benefited from her father’s upturn in fortune at his expense. But now he was not so sure; either she was a great actress, or too soft-STRICKEN, for her own good. Unfortunately for him he was beginning to think it might be the latter.

      The red dress apart, Penny’s clothes appeared to be classic but conservative. Today she was wearing a blouse and neat-fitting navy trousers, suitable for travelling. Her blonde hair was tied back-ck and she looked the same as she had at eighteen. And she had never flown before!

      To a man who spent half his working life travelling in his own jet the notion was unthinkable. Plus he had known Veronica, and he could easily believe she would dump her child on Penny and take off to the high life. He was a bit surprised that Julian Haversham had agreed, but then he’d been an old man with a young wife—what else could he have done? That thought brought Solo up cold.

      Solo was silent for the rest of the trip, and Penny turned her head towards the window and stared out at the vast expanse of clear blue sky. He was probably angry and disgusted with her for being ill. Served him right if he was fed up with her already. The whole sorry mess was his fault, and on that thought she fell asleep. When the plane slowed and the noise increased, she started awake with a nervous jolt. But she did not have time to feel ill before the aircraft touched down.

      Solo unfastened her seat belt. ‘I think I better carry you,’ he said, his mPANIC-outh tight.

      ‘No. No.’ Penny struggled to stand up, knocking his hand away. ‘I can manage, just lead me to a house on terra firma, and a bathroom,’ she said with feeling.

      Her mouth felt dry, her blouse was sticking to her, and it did nothing for her self-esteem to see Solo looking as cool and elegant as ever.

      The customs officer waved them through without even looking at their passports.

      ‘You must be well known,’ Penny murmured as they exited Naples airport. Unaccustomed to the heat and the brilliant sunlight, she shielded her eyes with one hand and glanced up at Solo.

      But his attention was fixed on a white-haired, casually dressed man in shorts and a black shirt who flung his arms around Solo like a long-lost brother, and a rapid conversation in Italian ensued. Then the older man turned to smile at Penny with sympathy and Solo quickly introduced him as Nico.

      When she was seated in the back of an elegant black car, Solo beside her, he explained. ‘Nico and his wife look after my home, and they both speak a bit of English, so anything you need feel free to ask them.’

      They drove for what seemed miles in silence. With each breath Penny took she was aware of the faint scent of Solo’s aftershave. He was too close sitting beside her, his arm casually resting along the back of the seat, his jacket pulled open, and the white shirt did nothing to hide the breadth of his muscular chest.

      When the car suddenly turned and she fell against him, she quickly straightened up and looked out of the window, and was glad of the distraction as the car was angling into a concealed driveway flanked by massive stone pillars and lined with trees.

      She gasped when the house came into view. ‘This is your home!’ she exclaimed, turning stunned green eyes to his perfectly chiselled profile.

      Amazingly, colour striped his high cheekbone. ‘Yes, it is, and I like it,’ he said, his voice hardening almost defensively, and stepped out of the car, opened Penny’s door and held out his hand.

      A pretty fantasy—there was no other way to describe it. The pale blue stuccoed house, with delicately carved white-painted shutters, had fantastic sculptured scrolls and smiling nymphs at each corner and marching along a stone balustrade at the base of the high slate roof were twelve sculptured figures. In the vast expanse of a paved forecourt were three fountains with elegant dolphins and mermaids. The design was quirky classical, but so not Solo…

      He was an aloof, arrogant man, and if she had had to picture his type of house it would have been something impressive and solid in granite, with no frills, as hard as he was.

      ‘Penny.’

      She glanced up. ‘Yes,’ she said and, ignoring his hand, she got out of the car and looked around. Beyond the open courtyard there was a terrace with a riot of colourful flowers and shrubs leading to an oval swimming pool. A sloping lawn ended at a row of orange and lemon trees with a view of the sparkling blue sea beyond.

      ‘Do you approve?’ Solo asked, moving to stand beside her, and deliberately sliding an arm around her waist to hold her at his side.

      ‘It’s beautiful,’ she answered honestly. ‘But not what I expected.’

      ‘Things rarely are. As I am beginning to realise,’ Solo said enigmatically, and urged her towards the porch.

      Nico preceded them in and a smiling dark-haired woman of about fifty waited for them. ‘My wife, Anna.’

      ‘Welcome back, signor, and this must be Miss Haversham. Good morning,’ Anna said with a heavy Italian accent.

      Was it still morning? Penny wasn’t sure—the effect of Solo’s hand on her waist, warm and possessive, added to her confusion and, glancing at her wrist-watch, she registered it was almost one. ‘Good afternoon.’ She tried to smile.

      Solo grasped Penny’s arm and led her across the marble-floored hall to the foot of the stairs. ‘Penny has had a bad journey,’ he explained quietly. ‘Leave the luggage till later, Nico. I am going to take her up to her room. She needs to rest.’

      ‘Wait a minute,’ Penny said as her delighted gaze swept around the beautiful hall, the delicately painted antique Italian furniture. A roll-top desk against one wall, a gorgeous hall table. ‘Can I—?’

      ‘No, upstairs,’ Solo said firmly and, striding forward, he almost dragged her up the curving staircase, and along a wide landing and into a room.

      ‘Why the rush, I am feeling