Italian Attraction. Lucy Gordon

up and extracted the shrunken black morsels with a pair of tongs. She did it deftly but she’d had lots of practise.

      ‘I know.’ Jackie grinned, finishing the last of the wine in her glass and smacking her lips. ‘I just hope Blaine doesn’t offer to help. I bet he controls a barbecue beautifully. Fancy another glass?’ she added, rising to her feet.

      ‘Lovely.’ Maisie proffered her own half-full glass. ‘Just top it up, would you.’

      She watched Jackie walk across to the long table at the side of the patio where all the drink was gradually beginning to sizzle, but when her friend got waylaid by one of her sisters Maisie leant back against the upholstered back of the swing-seat and shut her eyes. This was very pleasant, she admitted to herself, letting the seat move gently to and fro beneath its canopy of bright red linen. There was a small breeze in the garden and, shaded as she was from the blazing heat of the June sun, she felt comfortably warm rather than sticky. And it had been so sweet of Jackie to think of her, to be concerned.

      The gorgeously fruity rich red wine she’d consumed thus far had already left her feeling mellow, a result of skipping breakfast in an effort to fast forward the diet, she thought ruefully. She would have to be careful to eat something before she drank any more; Roberto’s wine was always delicious but extremely potent and she didn’t want to get tipsy. She didn’t trust herself at the moment, that she wouldn’t get maudlin and burst into tears, and she’d rather die than do that in front of anyone.

      As Jackie sat down beside her, Maisie didn’t open her eyes as she said, ‘Thanks for this, Jackie.’

      ‘I am not Jackie.’

      Maisie opened her eyes and sat up so abruptly she was in danger of knocking the glass of wine Blaine was holding out to her all over him. As it was, only a drop fell on to the pale blue shirt. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Maisie stared at the stain as though it covered a vast expanse.

      ‘It is nothing.’ He smiled at her as he handed her the wine. ‘Jackie is tied up for the moment so I thought I would keep you company.’

      Maisie stared at him. He had her wine, so had Jackie asked him to come and talk to her? Probably. If only to keep Blaine out of her father’s hair. Not that Roberto had much hair. Unlike his brother who had plenty, on his body as well as his head. She tore her eyes away from the drift of black at the top of his shirt where a couple of buttons were undone and tried to ignore how his trousers had pulled tight over muscled thighs. She had to make conversation—fast. She couldn’t let him suspect even for a moment that she was bothered by him. ‘When—’ her voice had emerged as a squeak and she took a swallow of wine before she tried again ‘—when are you flying home?’ she said, as though she didn’t already know.

      ‘Tomorrow evening.’

      She nodded. ‘I suppose you’re in a hurry to get back and see your father?’ she said, before she realised it probably wasn’t the most tactful thing in the world to say.

      If Blaine objected to being reminded of how ill his father was he gave no sign of it, however, merely inclining his head and saying quietly, ‘It was at my mother’s wish I came to England to see my brother, but I did not like leaving her at such a difficult time. She has some distance to travel to the hospital each day, and I worry her mind may not always be on her driving.’

      Maisie nodded again. Even arrogant irritating pigs were allowed to worry about their mothers, she supposed. ‘Couldn’t your mother get a cab or maybe have friends drive her?’

      ‘Yes on both counts.’ He took a deep swallow from his own glass before he added, his voice wry, ‘But my mother has a mind of her own. She does not always listen to reason.’

      Neither did his father, if what Jackie had said was true. Blaine certainly had an interesting mix of genes in that very male body of his. ‘Jackie said your mother’s American.’

      ‘Very American.’ It was rueful. ‘And my father is very Italian. It made for a stimulating childhood if nothing else. They fight like cat and dog but think the world of each other, nonetheless. I understand Roberto’s mother was very different. She was his childhood sweetheart and theirs was a peaceful, tranquil existence. He loved her very much, I know this.’

      Did he mind that his father had loved his half-brother’s mother so much? He didn’t appear to. Maisie took refuge in being a third party. ‘And your mother doesn’t mind that?’

      ‘Of course not. Luisa had died before they met, long before they met, when Roberto was in his last year of school, in fact.’

      That might be the case, but she didn’t think she’d like to know that a previous relationship had been so altogether perfect. Not that there were going to be any more relationships or men for her. Not serious ones anyway. Maybe the odd date when she felt better, a no-strings attached type thing, but nothing more than that. Twice now she had been in love and both times had ended in disaster; she’d had enough. Men were a different species, let alone a different sex, and they weren’t to be trusted. Any of them.

      ‘You frown an awful lot for such a young woman.’

      Maisie found the greeny-blue gaze was fixed hard on her face and she flushed. She would have given a month’s supply of chocolate to tell him to mind his own business. As it was he was Jackie’s uncle and this was supposed to be a nice friendly afternoon. She took a deep breath and then said sweetly, ‘I don’t, actually, not usually. It must be the company.’ And then smiled to insinuate she’d been joking when they both knew she hadn’t.

      Blaine shut his eyes, leaning back in the seat as he said lazily, ‘Are you always this prickly? No, don’t bother to answer that. It is me, is it not? You do not like me for some reason. I sensed this earlier.’

      Maisie did not know what to say and so she said nothing but her face turned a deeper shade of beetroot.

      ‘You are very different to how Jackie described you.’

      She stared at the handsome face. A loaded statement if ever there was one. She let a few moments tick by and, when she couldn’t stand it any more, she said, ‘How?’

      ‘How what?’ He opened his eyes.

      He knew what she was asking. ‘How am I different?’

      ‘How long have you got?’

      From across the garden Jackie waved gaily. It probably looked as though she and Blaine were having a nice tête-à-tête, Maisie thought grimly. How wrong could you be? ‘OK,’ she said flatly. ‘Let me put it another way. What exactly did Jackie say about me?’

      Blaine took a few sips of wine. ‘She said you were gentle, warm, kind and easily put upon. And pretty.’

      Jackie had made her sound like a cocker spaniel. She eyed Blaine warily. ‘And you don’t agree with that?’

      ‘I suppose one out of the five holds up.’

      She knew she shouldn’t be saying this; it was simply asking for trouble to give him more ammunition but she couldn’t resist knowing. ‘Which is?’

      ‘The last.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Sit still and I’ll get some food.’

      The last? The pretty bit. Maisie stared after the broad male back. Did he realise that right at the moment she would rather hear that than the rest? Not that she appreciated the inference that she was aggressive, cold and hard, of course, far from it, but when all was said and done …

      Blaine returned in a short while with two plates holding salad, savoury eggs, baked potatoes in their jackets, corn on the cob and several morsels of charcoal masquerading as steak and chicken. ‘This was actually the best there was,’ he said, when he saw Maisie glance at the plates.

      Loyalty to Roberto prevented her from speaking the truth, namely that she wasn’t surprised. ‘This is lovely.’ She really couldn’t tell which was the steak or the chicken. ‘I can’t bear my meat underdone.’

      Blaine moved a little