The Sicilian Surrender. Sandra Marton

from her face and held out her hand. “Fallon O’Connell,” she said, but when he reached for her hand she laughed, drew it back, wiped the wetness on her trouser leg before holding it out again. “I’m soaked.”

      “So you are.”

      Stefano smiled as he clasped her hand in his. God, she was beautiful! Who was she visiting in Sicily? A man? He felt an irrational surge of jealousy for some faceless stranger. Maybe she wasn’t visiting a man. Maybe he ought to stay on the island instead of returning to New York and celebrate his newfound freedom.

      “And your name is…?”

      He laughed. “Sorry. I’m Stefano Lucchesi. It’s very nice to meet you, Miss O’Connell.”

      “Fallon, please. It’s nice to meet you, too, Mr.—”

      “Stefano.” He let go of her hand, though he really didn’t want to, sat back and folded his arms. “Now that we’ve been formally introduced, tell me why you can’t let my driver take you to your destination.”

      “You’ll think I’m crazy.”

      “I doubt that.”

      “Well, you see, I don’t know the address.”

      Stefano grinned. “A mystery vacation?”

      She laughed. She had a great laugh, light and musical and real.

      “I wish. I’m not on vacation at all.”

      “Ah. Don’t tell me. You’re the American sales rep for Lamborghini.”

      She laughed again, and he thought how nice it was to be able to make her eyes crinkle up that way.

      “I’m here on assignment for a magazine, but the person who hired me didn’t give me an address. It didn’t seem necessary, because she said she’d have a car pick me up.”

      Stefano felt his smile tilt. “She said?”

      “Yes.”

      He drew a deep breath. “I don’t suppose you’re a model, Miss O’Connell.”

      “It’s Fallon, remember? And yes, I am. Did you just recognize me?”

      She said it with a smile but there was disappointment in her eyes. Why? he wondered. Because he hadn’t recognized her sooner? Yes, that would be the reason. He knew the kind of woman she was, aware of her looks, trading on them, assuming no man could resist her. And he, like a fool, had been busy proving her right.

      Until now.

      She was connected to Carla, a part of Carla’s plan to violate his sanctuary. And he wanted nothing to do with her.

      “No,” he said curtly, “I didn’t recognize you.”

      “Oh. Then, how—”

      “There’s talk all over the island of the idiots who are going to take foolish pictures for a useless magazine.”

      It was a lie. There’d been no talk. Carla had kept to the bargain; she’d been discreet and he’d surely told no one, but it was as good an excuse as any. He was angry, angrier than he had the right to be, and for no good reason. What Fallon O’Connell did for a living was her affair, not his.

      Apparently, she thought so, too. Her smile vanished; that lovely face turned cool.

      “I don’t consider my occupation useless, Mr. Lucchesi.”

      “My apologies,” he said in a way that made a mockery of the words. She knew it, too, because color swept into her cheeks.

      “You don’t know anything about my profession, mister! The pictures will be beautiful, and thousands of readers would tell you how much the articles in the magazine—”

      “I’m sure they would,” he said, cutting her short, “but then, there’s no accounting for bad taste.”

      Just for a second, he thought she was going to slug him. The thought had a certain appeal. Her hand swinging in an arc, his reaching out to stop her, grabbing her by the shoulders, pulling her against him and crushing that lush mouth beneath his until her indignation became desire…

      Damn it, was he crazy?

      “Okay.” Her voice was low and trembling with repressed anger. “That’s enough.”

      She reached for the door; he caught her hand to stop her and felt a bolt of electricity shoot from her fingers to his before she jerked back.

      “How you earn your living is your affair. The point is, I know the place you want.” He leaned forward and tapped his driver’s shoulder. “Luigi. The lady wants to go to the castello. Take her there.”

      “I’d rather walk than accept a favor from you.”

      “Don’t be a fool. How can you go someplace if you don’t know its location?”

      “Just tell me where it is and we’ll call it even.”

      “My driver will take you.”

      “Damn it, are you deaf? I don’t want to spend another minute in this car!”

      “It isn’t the car, it’s me.”

      Her eyes flashed. Soaked to the skin, as disheveled as a wet cat, she still had a presence about her.

      “You’ve got that right!”

      “In that case…” Stefano wrenched the door open, stepped into the road and slammed the door shut. “Arrivederci, Miss O’Connell. Luigi?” He slapped the side of the car. “Andante.”

      Fallon O’Connell said something to him. He couldn’t hear it but this close to the smoked glass window, he could see her mouth open in angry indignation.

      Whatever it was, he suspected it wasn’t polite.

      She reached for the door and he slapped the car again. Luigi, ever obedient, discreetly activated the door locks and floored the gas pedal.

      The car shot away from the curb.

      Stefano strode into the terminal, got halfway through it and stopped. What the hell was he doing? He cursed under his breath, an eloquent, earthy string of Sicilian that would have made his grandfather proud as he took his cell phone from his pocket and called his pilot.

      “Change of plans,” he said briskly. “We’re not going anywhere today. In fact, you might as well take the next few days off. I’ll be staying in Sicily for a while.”

      Of course he’d stay, he thought grimly as he hurried back to the taxi stand. What had he been thinking, to risk leaving the castello while Carla and her people were there?

      She had instructions. So did his house staff. None of the Bridal Dreams people were to be permitted past the door. Carla had been upset; where would she put her little crew? she’d said. She’d already told them they’d be staying in the castle.

      Untell them, he’d said coldly.

      For all he gave a damn, she could put them in sleeping bags on the rocky beach, but there was an inn a few miles away and that was where she’d arranged they’d spend the week.

      He’d checked to make sure she’d really made the reservations, and he’d pushed up the installation of a full security system for the castello by a couple of months. He’d even gone a step further and arranged for around-the-clock security people to patrol the grounds.

      “Taxi, signore?”

      Stefano nodded, handed over a few bills and climbed into the cab.

      “Il Castello Lucchesi,” he said.

      Still, how could he be sure his orders were followed unless he was there?

      He’d been stupid to leave his home while strangers were on the property. Going back was the only way to safeguard his privacy.

      An