From Florence With Love. Lucy Gordon

me about your house,’ she said, changing the subject to give them both a bit of a break. She reached out and tore off another strip of bread, dunking it in the oil that she couldn’t get enough of, and looked up to see a strange look on his face. Almost—tender?

      Nonsense. She was being silly. ‘Well, come on, then,’ she mumbled round the bread, and he smiled, the strange look disappearing as if she’d imagined it.

      ‘It’s very old. We’re not sure of the origins. It seems it might have been a Medici villa, but the history is a little cloudy. It was built at the time of the Florentine invasion.’

      ‘So how come your family ended up with it?’

      His mouth twitched. ‘One of our ancestors took possession of it at the end of the seventeenth century.’

      That made her laugh. ‘Took possession?’

      The twitch again, and a wicked twinkle in his eye. ‘We’re not quite sure how he acquired it, but it’s been in the family ever since. He’s the one who renamed the villa Palazzo Valtieri.’

      Palazzo? She nearly laughed at that. Not just a fortress, then, but a proper, full-on palace. Oh, boy.

      ‘I’ll show you round it tomorrow. It’s beautiful. Some of the frescoes are amazing, and the formal rooms in the part my parents live in are fantastic.’

      ‘Your parents live here?’ she asked, puzzled, because there’d been no mention of them. Not that they’d really had time, but—

      ‘Si. It’s a family business. They’re away at the moment, snatching a few days with my sister Carla and her new baby before the harvest starts, but they’ll be back the day after tomorrow.’

      ‘So how many rooms are there?’

      He laughed. ‘I have no idea. I’ve never counted them, I’m too busy trying not to let it fall down. It’s crumbling as fast as we can patch it up, but so long as we can cheat time, that’s fine. It’s quite interesting.’

      ‘I’m sure it is. And now it’s your turn to run it?’

      His mouth tugged down at the corners, but there was a smile in his eyes. ‘Si. For my sins. My father keeps trying to interfere, but he’s supposed to be retired. He doesn’t understand that, though.’

      ‘No. It must be hard to hand it over. My father wouldn’t be able to do it. And the harvest is just starting?’

      He nodded. ‘The grape harvest is first, followed by the chestnuts and the olives. It’s relentless now until the end of November, so you can see why I was in a hurry to get back.’

      ‘And I held you up.’

      ‘Cara, accidents happen. Don’t think about it any more.’ He pushed back his chair. ‘I think it’s time you went to bed. It’s after midnight.’

      Was it? When had that happened? When they were outside, sitting in the quiet of the night and watching the twinkling lights in the villages? Or now, sitting here eating bread and cheese and olive oil, drinking wine and staring into each other’s eyes like lovers?

      She nodded and pushed back her chair, and he tucked her arm in his so she could feel the solid muscle of his forearm under her hand, and she hung on him and hopped and hobbled her way to her room.

      ‘Ring me if you need anything. You have my mobile number on my card. I gave it to you on the plane. Do you still have it?’

      ‘Yes—but I won’t need you.’

      Well, not for anything she’d dream of asking him for …

      His brows tugged together. ‘Just humour me, OK? If you feel unwell in the night, or want anything, ring me and I’ll come down. I’m not far away. And please, don’t lock your door.’

      ‘Massimo, I’m feeling all right. My headache’s gone, and I feel OK now. You don’t need to worry.’

      ‘You can’t be too careful,’ he said, and she could see a tiny frown between his brows, as if he was still waiting for something awful to happen to her.

      They reached her room and he paused at the door, staring down into her eyes and hesitating for the longest moment. And then, just when she thought he was going to kiss her, he stepped back.

      ‘Call me if you need me. If you need anything at all.’

      ‘I will.’

      ‘Good. Buonanotte, Lydia,’ he murmured softly, and turned and walked away.

CHAPTER FOUR

      WHAT was she thinking about?

      Of course he hadn’t been about to kiss her! That bump on the head had obviously been more serious than she’d realised. Maybe a blast of fresh air would help her think clearly?

      She opened the French doors onto the terrace and stood there for a moment, letting the night air cool her heated cheeks. She’d been so carried along on the moment, so lured by his natural and easy charm that she’d let herself think all sorts of stupid things.

      Of course he wasn’t interested in her. Why would he be? She’d been nothing but a thorn in his side since the moment he’d set eyes on her. And even if he hadn’t, she wasn’t interested! Well, that was a lie, of course she was interested, or she wouldn’t even be thinking about it, but there was no way it was going anywhere.

      Not after the debacle with Russell. She was sworn off men now for life, or at least for a good five years. And so far, it hadn’t been much more than five months!

      Leaving the doors open, she limped back to the bed and pulled her pyjamas out of her flight bag, eyeing them dubiously. The skimpy top and little shorts she’d brought for their weightlessness had seemed fine when she was going to be sharing a hotel room with Claire, but here, in this ancient historic house—palazzo, even, for heaven’s sake! She wondered what on earth he’d make of them.

      Nothing. Nothing at all, because he wasn’t going to see her in her nightclothes! Cross with herself, her head aching and her ankle throbbing and her bruises giving her a fair amount of grief as well, she changed into the almost-pyjamas, cleaned her teeth and crawled into bed.

      Oh, bliss. The pillows were cloud-soft, the down quilt light and yet snuggly, and the breeze from the doors was drifting across her face, bringing with it the scents of sage and lavender and night-scented stocks.

      Exhausted, weary beyond belief, she closed her eyes with a little sigh and drifted off to sleep …

      Her doors were open.

      He hesitated, standing outside on the terrace, questioning his motives.

      Did he really think she needed checking in the night? Or was he simply indulging his—what? Curiosity? Fantasy? Or, perhaps … need?

      He groaned softly. There was no doubt that he needed her, needed the warmth of her touch, the laughter in her eyes, the endless chatter and the brilliance of her smile.

      The silence, when she’d simply held his hand and offered comfort.

      Thinking about that moment brought a lump to his throat, and he swallowed hard. He hadn’t allowed himself to need a woman for years, but Lydia had got under his skin, penetrated his defences with her simple kindness, and he wanted her in a way that troubled him greatly, because it was more than just physical.

      And he really wasn’t sure he was ready for that—would ever be ready for that again. But the need …

      He’d just check on her, just to be on the safe side. He couldn’t let her lie there alone all night.

      Not like Angelina.

      Guilt crashed over him again, driving out the need and leaving sorrow in its wake.