Flame Of Desire. Carole Mortimer

around the iris. ‘I’m fine,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I just didn’t see you until it was too late.’

      The hand dropped away from her arm. ‘I am well aware of that.’ His voice was curt, losing its silky quality. ‘You were completely out of control as you came down that hill. I am only surprised there was not more damage done than there was.’

      His censure angered Sophie, all the more so because she knew he was right. ‘To me or to your car?’ she asked sarcastically, her head thrown back, her hair streaming down her back.

      ‘Both,’ he answered abruptly. ‘Is your bicycle still workable?’

      She picked it up, noticing the slightly bent handlebars but determined not to tell this arrogant man. ‘It seems all right to me,’ she told him moodily.

      He nodded impatiently. ‘Would you like me to drive you anywhere?’

      Sophie frowned. ‘What for?’

      Luke Vittorio sighed. ‘I did not know if you felt too shaken to cycle the rest of the way to your home. You live on one of the hillside farms, perhaps?’

      She almost laughed at his wrong assessment of her. He obviously considered her to be a simple farm girl, the thought of her being the daughter of Simon and Rosemary Bedford not even crossing his mind. It wasn’t surprising considering her clothes and the fact that she was riding a dilapidated bicycle, nevertheless she found his condescension annoying, determined not to tell him of her identity and surprise him at dinner this evening. She would love to see this man squirm, and perhaps this incident had given her the ammunition to do just that.

      ‘I live not far from here,’ she evaded. ‘I can make it there all right.’

      ‘Perhaps you had better give me your address anyway.’

      She raised her eyebrows. ‘Why?’

      ‘You may suffer some delayed injury. I will of course check up on your health.’

      Sophie smiled, a taunting smile that held little humour. ‘If I suffer any delayed injury you can be sure I’ll let you know, Mr Vittorio.’

      His brown eyes narrowed speculatively, sweeping over her slender figure, violet eyes and long silver-blonde hair with slow insolence. ‘You know who I am?’

      She gave a short laugh. ‘It would be hard not to. You’re a celebrity.’

      He appeared unimpressed by her attempt at breathless adoration. ‘Nevertheless, I think it would be better if I knew where you live.’

      ‘There’s really no need.’ She concentrated on checking her cycle over, her hair falling forward in a straight gleaming curtain. ‘There’s really nothing wrong with me.’

      ‘Perhaps,’ he agreed. ‘Your hair, is it natural?’

      Her head shot up at the unexpectedness of his question. ‘Well, it isn’t dyed, if that’s what you mean,’ she said resentfully.

      ‘And violet eyes,’ he mused.

      She was surprised he had noticed her hair, let alone the colour of her eyes. The artist in him again, she supposed. ‘They’re natural too, I’m afraid,’ she answered tauntingly.

      ‘I did not presume they were not.’

      ‘But you doubt the naturalness of my hair.’

      He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I was merely curious.’

      Sophie’s attention was caught by the girl stepping elegantly out of the passenger side of the Mercedes, a girl who was instantly recognisable as Eve Jeffers. This girl was so beautiful, her features so perfect, her hair a black shining cap, her figure faultless, that she almost didn’t look real.

      She came to stand next to Luke Vittorio, her lacquered nails resting intimately in the crook of his arm. ‘It’s getting late, Luke darling,’ she purred in a voice that grated on Sophie’s nerve-endings. ‘We should be on our way.’

      Sophie bristled angrily. No concern for her health here, not even a polite query. This girl might be beautiful, but there was something about her that Sophie didn’t like; perhaps it was the coldness in her eyes or the faint hardness to her mouth, but whatever it was she didn’t like her.

      Luke Vittorio nodded. ‘You go back to the car, I will be with you in a moment.’

      ‘We wouldn’t want to keep our beautiful hostess waiting.’ Eve arched an eyebrow at him. ‘I’m sure she’s just longing for you to arrive.’

      Luke’s mouth tightened. ‘Go back to the car, Eve. I want no more of your innuendoes today,’ he added harshly.

      ‘I’m sure Rosemary wouldn’t consider them innuendoes,’ she purred. ‘And then there’s that brat of hers to look at,’ she taunted before walking gracefully back to the car.

      Sophie’s anger had been increasing by the second. What did this girl mean by these remarks about her stepmother? Of course Rosemary was looking forward to her weekend guests’ arrival, but why should the model imply that she was especially looking forward to Luke Vittorio being there? She didn’t like the implication behind that at all—or the implication that she was a brat.

      He turned back to her. ‘So you will not tell me where you live?’

      ‘There’s no need.’ He would know soon enough! And so would Eve Jeffers, although she felt sure the other girl wouldn’t give a damn.

      ‘Very well,’ he nodded curtly, before turning and walking away.

      Sophie watched the car speed out of sight before making some attempt to straighten the handlebars on her bicycle. They wouldn’t straighten up completely, but at least it was rideable now. She would get Martin to have a look at it when she reached home.

      The Mercedes was parked alongside several other cars in the driveway as she pedalled round to the back of the house to enter through the kitchen. Her stepmother would never forgive her if she let any of the guests see her like this.

      Joycy was arranging the tea things as she came into the room, but stopped what she was doing to stare at Sophie. ‘What happened to you?’

      She put a selfconscious hand up to her hair. ‘Nothing. Why?’

      ‘Your face is covered in dirt. What have you been doing?’

      ‘I had a slight accident on my bicycle,’ Sophie admitted sheepishly.

      ‘Again?’ Joycy shook her head. ‘I’ve told you so many times not to use that contraption. It wobbles terribly and the brakes don’t work properly.’

      Sophie knew that, now. If the brakes had been working properly she wouldn’t have come off the damn thing. ‘Perhaps Martin could take a look at it for me.’ Martin was Joycy’s husband, and her father’s chauffeur and butler.

      Joycy laughed. ‘If I remember correctly the last time he looked at it he told you it was ready for the scrap heap.’

      ‘But I have to have transport of some kind.’

      ‘Martin is the chauffeur.’

      ‘Transport of my own,’ Sophie said patiently. ‘While you take the tea things into the lounge I think I’ll try and sneak up to my room.’ She ran one of her dusty hands down her denims. ‘I’m not really presentable.’

      ‘You certainly aren’t! You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?’

      ‘Only dented my pride a little. Flying over the handlebars of a bike isn’t exactly the height of elegance.’

      Joycy frowned. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? You look a little pale.’

      Sophie grinned. ‘Well, I wouldn’t mind one or two of your delicious scones to tide me over until dinner.’

      ‘There can’t be much wrong with you if you still have your appetite.’