Читать книгу A Night Of Royal Consequences - Susan Stephens, Susan Stephens - Страница 10
ОглавлениеHE NOTICED THE woman sitting at the bar right away. Even from behind she was attractive. It was something in the way she held herself, and her relaxed manner with his friend, Marco, the barman. He’d just ended a call with Max, and was in the worst of moods. Max had lost no time in Luca’s absence causing unrest in Fabrizio. Max had been a thorn in his side since they were boys. Thanks to his mischief, Luca should not be visiting his beautiful lemon groves on the Amalfi coast, but should return immediately to Fabrizio, but this was an annual pilgrimage to a place he loved amidst people he cared for, and nothing, not even Max, could distract him from that. Though on this occasion, he could only spare a couple of nights here.
The woman was a distraction. She was watching everyone come in through the mirrors behind the bar. Was she waiting for a lover? He felt a stab of jealousy and wondered why he cared when she could just as easily be waiting for a family member, or for a friend.
He’d dropped by the hotel to invite Marco to the annual celebrations at the start of the lemon-picking season. He and Marco had grown up together, as Marco’s father had worked for the late Prince. Standing at the end of the bar where he could talk discreetly to Marco when he was free, he saw the woman clearly for the first time. She was confident and perky, and obviously enjoying the chance to trial the Italian language. Laughter lit her face when she got something wrong and Marco corrected her.
Feeling mildly irritated by their obvious rapport, he returned to working her out. Her profile was exquisite, though she seemed unaware of this, just as she seemed unaware of the appeal of her slight, though voluptuous body. She was understated, unlike his usual, sophisticated type. He couldn’t help but be intrigued. Dressed impeccably, though plainly for this setting in one of the coast’s most famous hotels, as if she was playing a role, she was almost too perfect. Her red hair was lush and shiny, cut short for practicality, rather than fashion, he guessed. Her eyes were green and up-tilted, giving her a faintly exotic look. A light tan and freckles suggested she’d been here no more than a week and lived somewhere cooler.
This was a lot of thought to expend on a woman who seemed unaware of his interest. Or was she? His groin tightened when she turned to stare at him boldly and was in no hurry to look away.
Interesting.
‘Good evening.’ After politely acknowledging the woman, he gave Marco a look that left his friend in no doubt that Luca wished to remain incognito.
Sensing mischief afoot, Marco grinned. They exchanged the usual complicated handshake, while the woman looked on with interest. She was even more beautiful than he’d first thought. Her scent was intoxicating. Wildflowers. How appropriate, he thought as Marco left them to go and serve another customer. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’
She levelled a stare on his face. ‘Do I know you?’
The bluntness of her question took him by surprise, as did her forthright tone. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marco lift a brow. His friend would call security if Luca gave the word, and the woman would be politely moved on. An almost imperceptible shake of Luca’s head knocked that idea out of court.
‘My name is Luca,’ he told her as he extended his hand in greeting.
She ignored his hand. Intelligent eyes, framed by long black eyelashes, viewed him with suspicion.
‘I don’t believe we’ve met,’ he pressed, waiting for her to volunteer her name. ‘I don’t bite,’ he added when she continued to withhold her hand.
‘But you’re very persistent,’ she said, making it clear there would be no physical contact between them.
Persistent? Outwardly, he remained deadpan. Inwardly, he cracked up. Women referred to his charm and thought him attentive. Clearly, this woman had other ideas. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘Fizzy water, please,’ she replied.
Turning to Marco, he murmured, ‘Aqua frizzante per la signorina, e lo stesso per me, per favore.’
‘Sì, signor,’ Marco replied, serving up two sparkling waters.
Her gaze remained steady on his as she took her first sip. There wasn’t a hint of simpering or recognition in her eyes, just that desirable mouth smiling faintly. Even now she’d had time to think about it, he was a man in a bar and that was it. She had no idea who he was, and would trust him as far as a glass of water was concerned, but no further. If she was unaware that his face had been plastered all over the news lately, since he’d ascended the throne of Fabrizio, something big must have happened in her life.
So, beautiful mystery woman, he mused as she returned his interest coolly, who are you, and what are you doing in Amalfi?
* * *
Straightening the short silk skirt on her designer dress, Callie wished she had worn the Capri pants Rosie had insisted were essential to Callie’s Italian adventure instead. So chic, Rosie had said as Callie had turned full circle, wishing she could get away with a new pair of jeans and a top. The Capris were still in the wardrobe upstairs in the hotel, as she’d been unsure which shoes to wear with them.
At least Capris would have been decent. The dress was anything but. Far too short, it was enticing. She could only imagine what this incredible-looking man had thought when he’d first seen her perched at the bar. How could she convey the fact that she wasn’t here for that type of business, and that this was, in fact, a holiday? The thought of an Italian adventure had excited her, but she hadn’t envisaged such a dynamite opening scene. She fell well short compared to the other, more sophisticated women in the bar. There was barely enough fabric in her skirt to cover her fundamentals. She couldn’t move for fear of it riding up, and with her naked thigh so close to the man’s denim-clad muscles, that was a pressing concern.
‘You didn’t tell me your name.’
She turned to look at him as the dark velvet voice, with its seductive hint of an Italian accent, rolled over her. Strange how sound could send shivers spinning up and down her spine. Her chin felt as if it had half a universe to travel, as she moved from scrutinising his muscular thighs, to staring into a pair of mesmerising black eyes. Mesmerising and amused, she noticed now. He hadn’t missed her fascination with the area below his belt. Her cheeks burned as she volunteered with a direct stare into his eyes, ‘My name is Callista.’
His lips pressed down in the most attractive way, drawing her attention to the fact that his mouth was almost as expressive and beautiful as his eyes. ‘Greek for most beautiful,’ he remarked. ‘That explains everything.’
‘Really?’ She did her best to simper and then hardened her tone. ‘I’ve heard of people being born with silver spoons in their mouths, but yours must have been coated in sugar.’
He laughed, and then affected a wounded expression. ‘I’m crushed,’ he exclaimed, holding both hands to his powerful chest.
‘No, you’re not,’ she insisted good-humouredly, starting to like him more now he’d proved to have a sense of humour. ‘You’re the most together person I’ve ever met.’
He smiled. ‘So what is Callista the huntress doing on her own in a hotel bar?’
‘Not what you think,’ she flashed back.
‘What I think?’ he queried.
‘What are you doing on your own in the bar?’ she countered.
He laughed again, a blinding flash of strong white teeth against his impressive tan. ‘I’m here to see the barman. What’s your excuse?’
‘A holiday.’ She levelled a stare on his face. ‘What do you do for a living?’
The bluntness of her question seemed to take him by surprise, but he soon recovered. ‘This and that.’
‘This and that, what?’ she pressed.
‘I guess you could call me a representative.’
‘What do you sell?’
‘I promote a country’s interests, its culture, industry and people.’
‘Ah, so you’re in the tourism business,’ she exclaimed. ‘That’s nice.’ And when he nodded, she asked, ‘Which country do you represent?’
‘Are you staying here long?’ he asked, changing the subject.
The fact he’d ignored her question didn’t escape her notice and she gave him a suspicious look. Then, obviously deciding it couldn’t do any harm to tell him a little more, she added, ‘Not long enough.’
She was enjoying the man’s company and decided to prolong the exchange. He excited her. It was no use pretending when every nerve ending she possessed was responding with enthusiasm to the wicked expression in his laughing black eyes. She’d never flirted before, and was surprised to find she rather liked it. This man could turn her insides warm and needy with a look.
‘Have you been dancing yet?’ he enquired, shooting her an interested look.
‘Is that an invitation?’
‘Do you want it to be?’
‘No, sadly.’ She gave him a crooked smile. ‘These shoes are killing me.’ Twirling a foot, she stared ruefully at the delicate designer shoes with their stratospheric spiky heels. Could anyone walk in them?
‘You could always slip them off and dance,’ he suggested.
As he spoke a band struck up for the evening’s entertainment somewhere outside on the terrace. Imagine dancing beneath a canopy of stars, she thought. How romantic. She glanced at her companion, and immediately wished she hadn’t. He really did have the wickedest black eyes, which, for some reason, made her think of slowly stripping off her clothes while he watched. She shivered inwardly at the thought. What she should be doing was making it clear that she didn’t pick up men in bars. She should collect up her things, get down from the stool and walk away. It was that easy.
Sex with him would be fun. And seriously good.
What was wrong with her? This wasn’t the type of simmering heat she’d read about in novels and magazines, but hot, feral lust, that promised very adult pleasures indeed.
‘You are extremely entertaining, signorina.’
‘Really?’ Goodness, she hadn’t meant to be. He certainly was. Sensuality emanated from him. If she embarked on her Italian adventure with Luca, it could only lead to one place. Fantastic! Callie’s inner harlot rejoiced, so now the thought of lying close to him, skin to skin, with those strong, lean hands controlling her pleasure—
‘Signorina?’
‘Yes?’ She blinked and refocused on his eyes...his disturbingly experienced eyes. However attractive and compelling she found him, she had to be careful not to take these newfound flirting skills too far. So the adventure of a lifetime is over before it begins? The adventure of a lifetime was great in theory, but in practice it threatened all sorts of unknown pleasures—dangers, Callie corrected her inner demon firmly. She had more sense than to let things go too far. Concentrating fiercely on her glass of water, she tried not to notice Luca’s brutal masculinity as it warred with her inner prude. She gave up in the end. He’d won this point. He was far better at flirting than she was.
What else was he good at?
Stop that now! Didn’t she have enough to contend with—a crotch-skimming skirt, and heels custom-made to prevent a stylish exit—without going head to head with a sex god in jeans?
‘Another aqua frizzante, signorina?’
How did Luca make that simple question sound so risqué? ‘Yes, please.’
Oh, so her sensible self was on holiday too?
She wanted to know more about him. What was wrong with that? Chances like this didn’t come around every day. So shoot me if I’m easy. She wasn’t ready to leave yet. And, anyway, why should she be the one to go?
Marco quickly refilled her glass and Luca handed it to her. She sucked in a sharp breath as their fingers touched. He was like an incendiary device to her senses. Using the mirror behind the bar, she surveyed the other men in the room to see if any compared. No, was the simple answer. They were all without exception safe-looking guys, dressed neatly in business suits. There was no one else slouched on one hip, wearing extremely well-packed jeans and a crisp white shirt open a few buttons at the neck to reveal a shading of dark hair. She jumped guiltily when she realised that Luca was staring back at her through the mirror.
‘Taking everything in?’ he suggested with that same wicked look.
He couldn’t be interested in her. It didn’t make any sense with so many attractive women in the bar. Had he heard she’d won some money? He might be a particularly good-looking con man on the make, though he didn’t seem in need of cash and Marco the barman seemed to know him. Having survived her father, she had no intention of falling for a good-looking man simply because he was charming.
Falling for him?
‘You’re frowning, signorina,’ Luca murmured in a way that made all the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention. ‘I hope I’m not the cause of your concern?’
‘Not at all,’ she said briskly as his direct stare sped straight to her core where it caused havoc all over again. On any level Luca was concerning. Lacking airs and graces, with his rugged good looks he could easily be a roustabout from the docks. Equally he could be a practised seducer. And now was not the time for her body to shout hallelujah! Instead, she should be thanking him for the drink and walking away. ‘Would you like a nut?’ she asked instead. Luca grinned and raised a brow in a way that thrilled her. ‘Before I eat them all,’ she added in a tone that told him not to tease as she pushed the bowl towards him.
‘It would be easier and far tastier to come out to supper with me,’ he said, angling his chin to stare her in the eyes.
Not a chance. That would be courting danger.
‘Supper?’ Luca pressed. ‘Or more nuts?’
She glanced with embarrassment at the almost empty dish—and gasped with shock when Luca took hold of her hand. She had never felt such a shock at a physical connection with another human being. The disappointment when she realised he’d only taken hold of her hand to steady it as he poured the last few nuts from the dish onto her palm was humiliating.
‘Enjoy your supper, signorina,’ he said, straightening up.
‘You’re going?’
‘Will you miss me?’
‘Only if I run out of nuts.’
He huffed a laugh that made her heart race like crazy. ‘You could come with me.’
She could singe her wings and crash back down to earth too. ‘No, thank you.’ She smiled, a little wistfully, maybe, but she knew she was doing the right thing. Luca was like a magnet drawing her into danger with those dark laughing eyes. She was enjoying this newfound flirting skill far too much. ‘Don’t let me keep you from your supper.’
‘I choose to be here.’
The way he spoke made breath hitch in her throat. The way he looked at her made everything inside her go crazy. It was everything about him, the Italian accent, his deep, husky voice, and his ridiculous good looks, and perhaps most of all the mesmerising stillness of his magnificent body. She was hypnotised—and determinedly shook herself round.
‘Signorina?’
He was waiting for her decision.
‘Enjoy your supper.’ She wanted to go with him. She wanted to be a bad girl for once in her life. Bad girls had more fun. But then she would have to live with regret. How could she not? She would regret sleeping with him and not knowing him better. She would regret not sleeping with him, and never having the chance again.
‘Enjoy your nuts—’
She couldn’t believe it when he walked away. Oh, well, that was that, then. Everything went flat when he walked out of the door, and he didn’t look back. He hadn’t suggested they meet again, and he hadn’t asked for her number. She’d probably done herself a favour, Callie reassured herself. He’d expect too much, more than she was prepared to give, anyway.
Saying goodnight to Marco, she got down from the barstool. She felt impatient with herself as she walked away. She couldn’t miss a man she didn’t know. She’d feel better once she was back in her room. She might have dressed up tonight, as per Rosie and Ma Brown’s instructions, but she was still Callie from the docks inside. But not for long, Callie decided when she reached her room. She couldn’t hang around the hotel aimlessly; she had to do something—get out, see more of the real Italy. This trip was supposed to be an adventure. She wasn’t tied to the past, or frightened of the future. Roll on tomorrow, she thought as she climbed into bed, and whatever it might hold.
* * *
As soon as he got back to the palazzo he called Marco. ‘Who is that woman?’
‘Signorina Callista Smith? Staying at the hotel on her own, if that’s what you’re asking, my friend.’
‘Am I so obvious?’
Marco barked a laugh down the phone. ‘Yes.’
‘Do you know anything else about her?’
‘Only that she comes from the north of England and that her father died recently, so this is a rebooting exercise for Callie. That’s how she described it while we were chatting. And that’s all I know about her.’
‘Okay. It explains a lot, though I’d guessed some of it.’
‘And?’ Marco prompted.
‘And it’s none of your business,’ Luca told his old friend. ‘See you on the estate for the celebrations tomorrow night?’
‘The start of the lemon-picking season,’ Marco confirmed. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world, but can you spare the time? I thought Max was kicking off in Fabrizio.’
‘I have controls in place to keep Max on a leash.’
‘Financial controls?’ Marco guessed.
‘Correct,’ Luca said calmly. Max’s allowance was generous under their father’s rule, and was even more so now that Luca had the means to increase it. Max had never liked to work and with no other source of income he looked to Luca to support him.
‘And before you ask,’ Marco added, ‘Signorina Smith is booked into the hotel for another few days.’
‘You’ve been checking up on her?’
Marco laughed. ‘You sound suspicious. Do you care?’
He was surprised to discover that he did. ‘Back off, Marco.’
‘That sounds like a warning.’
‘And maybe I’ve discovered a conscience,’ Luca suggested. ‘She’s innocent and she’s alone, and you are neither of those things.’
‘You feel responsible for her already?’ Marco commented knowingly. ‘This sounds serious.’
‘I’m a caring citizen,’ Luca remarked dryly.
‘I’ll do as you say,’ Marco offered with his customary good humour. ‘And I’ll watch with interest to see how long your concern for Signorina Smith’s innocence lasts.’
He told Marco what he could do with his interest in Callista Smith in no uncertain terms, reminded him about the celebrations, and then cut the line.
What was he doing? He was a driven man with a country to care for, and a practically out-of-control brother to deal with. And he had to find a bride to provide an heir and continue the dynasty. He shouldn’t be wasting time on contemplating an affair—wouldn’t be, if he hadn’t found Signorina Smith so appealing. He had to remind himself that she was an ingénue with her life ahead of her, and, yes, everything to learn. If they never saw each other again it would be better for both of them. She should learn about sex and the harsh realities of life from a man who could make time for her.
Just don’t let me run into that man, Luca reflected dryly as he sank into the custom-moulded seat of his favoured bright red sports car. He’d have to kill him. No! He had no time to waste on romancing a woman who might have intrigued him tonight, but who would surely bore him by tomorrow when she proved to be as shallow as the rest.
Gunning the engine, he drove into town with his head full of Callista Smith. He planned to eat at his favourite restaurant. She should have been with him. Top international chefs worked at the palazzo, but Signorina Smith had put him in the mood for more robust fare. Tomorrow he would work alongside his seasonal staff in the lemon groves. In lieu of more challenging distractions, for which he had to thank Signorina Smith for providing some very entertaining images to keep him awake tonight, he’d fuel up on good food instead.
‘Hey, Luca... Alone tonight?’ The restaurant owner, who’d known Luca since he was a suspicious child tagging along behind his newly adoptive father, rushed out of the kitchen to give him a warm hug.
‘Unfortunately yes. But don’t worry. I can eat enough for two.’
‘You always had a huge appetite,’ the elderly owner approved.
True, Luca mused dryly as he ran his experienced eye over the women seated at the tables. They all stared at him with invitation in their eyes, but not one of them had the power to hold his interest. Not like Callista Smith.
* * *
She was surely the most ungrateful person in the world, Callie concluded as she woke to yet another day of sublime Italian sunshine. And frowned. She was staying in the most beautiful place imaginable in the most fabulous hotel, and yet still she felt as if something was missing. But how could that be, when she was nestled up in crisp white sheets, scented with lavender and sunshine, wearing the ice-blue, pure cotton nightdress trimmed with snowy white lace that Ma Brown had said Callie must have for her trip of a lifetime.
If money can’t make me happy, what can I do next?
Well, she’d spent most of the money on staying at this hotel, so she wouldn’t have to worry about her win on the scratch card and what it felt like to have some extra cash at her disposal for too much longer, Callie concluded with her usual optimism. Leaping out of bed, she threw the windows open and the view snatched the breath from her lungs. Steep white cliffs dropped down to pewter beaches where the shoreline was fringed by the brightest blue water she’d ever seen. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply. Flowers and freshly baked bread, overlaid by the faint tang of ozone, prompted her to take a second breath, just so she could appreciate the first.
What was so terrible about this?
She was lonely, Callie concluded. She missed the Browns. She missed her colleagues at work. Maybe it hadn’t been much fun at home with her father being drunk most of the time, but the Browns more than made up for it, and even caring for her father had taken on a regular and predictable pattern. She still felt sad when she thought about him and his wasted life. He could have made so much more of himself with his natural charm and undeniable good looks, but instead had chosen to gamble and drink his life away, putting his trust in unreliable friends, rather than in his daughter Callie, or the Browns.
It was no use dwelling on it. She was determined to make a go of the rest of her life, which meant that decisions had to be made. She wasn’t going to sit around in the hotel doing nothing for the rest of her stay. Nor was she going to monopolise Marco and risk bumping into the man with the devastating smile again. Luca was out of her league, the stuff of fairy tales. She had wracked her brains to try to find a film star or a celebrity who could eclipse him and had come up short. There was no one. It wasn’t just that Luca was better looking, or had presence to spare, but the fact that he was so down to earth and made her laugh. And thrill. She liked him so much it frightened her, because that wasn’t normal, surely? You couldn’t just meet a man in a bar and never stop thinking about him...imagining his arms around her, his lips pressed to hers...body pressed to hers... That was ridiculous! She was being ridiculous, Callie concluded, pulling away from the window to retreat into the airy room. She could fantasise about Luca all she liked—well, had done for most of the night, but she had enough sense to stay well away.
‘Room service...’
She turned and hurried across the room to answer the door. ‘Sorry I took so long. I slept in today.’
‘I can come back,’ the young maid offered.
‘No. Please,’ Callie exclaimed. ‘Your English is very good. Can I ask you something before you go?’
‘Of course. My name is Maria,’ the young woman supplied in answer to Callie’s enquiring look. ‘If I can help you, I will.’
Maria wasn’t much older than Callie. Her long dark hair was neatly drawn back, but her black eyes were mischievous, and she had the warmth of Italy about her that Callie was fast becoming used to. ‘If you wanted to work outside in the sunshine, Maria—we don’t get very much where I come from,’ Callie explained ruefully. ‘Where would you look for a job?’
‘Oh, that’s easy.’ Maria’s face brightened. ‘This is the start of the lemon-picking season when the demand for casual labour is at its highest. There’s a big estate belonging to the Prince just outside town. They’re always looking for temporary staff at this time of year.’
‘The Prince’s estate?’ Callie exclaimed. ‘That sounds grand.’
‘It’s very friendly,’ Maria assured her. ‘It must be for the same people to come back year after year.’
‘Do you think I could get a job there?’
‘Why not?’ Maria frowned. ‘But why would you want to work as a picker?’
Callie could see that it must seem odd for her to be staying at a five-star hotel, yet jumping at the chance to work in the fields. ‘I need a change,’ she admitted, ‘and I’d love to work in the open air.’
‘I can understand that,’ Maria agreed. ‘I’d go today if I were you, so you don’t miss the party.’
‘The party?’ Callie queried.
‘There’s always a party at the beginning of the season,’ Maria explained, ‘as well as at the end. Apart from exporting lemons around the world, they make the famous liquor Limoncello on the Prince’s estate, and his parties are always the best.’
‘Is the Prince very old?’
Maria snorted a laugh. ‘Old? He’s the hottest man around.’
Two of the best-looking men in one town seemed impossible, but as she wasn’t likely to bump into the Prince, and was determined to avoid Luca, her heart could slow down and take a rest. ‘I can’t thank you enough for this information,’ she told Maria.
‘If there’s anything else you need, anything at all, Signorina—’
‘Call me Callie. You never know when we’ll meet again,’ Callie added, thrilled at the prospect of having a real goal to aim for.
‘In the lemon groves, maybe,’ Maria suggested.
‘In the lemon groves,’ Callie agreed, feeling excited already at the thought of working in lemon groves that she’d only seen in a photograph before.
She was excited and couldn’t wait to embark on her new plan, Callie mused as she took her shower. She wouldn’t be Callie from the docks for much longer, she’d be Callie from the lemon groves, and that had a much better ring to it.
* * *
This was his favourite place in the world, Luca concluded as he swung a stack of crates onto the back of a truck. Hard, physical labour beneath a blazing sun, surrounded by people he loved, who couldn’t have cared less if he were a prince or a pauper. Max had been dealt with for now, and was cooling off after his drunken rampage in the local jail, Luca’s royal council had informed him. He should take this last chance to celebrate at the party tonight, his most trusted aide Michel had insisted. ‘I’ll come back right away, if you need me,’ he’d told Michel. Luca had never resented the shackles of royal duty. He felt humbled by them, and honoured that the late Prince had trusted him with the responsibility of caring for a country and its people. The only downside was picking a princess to sit at his side, when so far none of the candidates had appealed to him.
To lie at his side, to lie beneath him, to give him children.
He ground his jaw and thought about Callista. She could lie at his side and lie beneath him, though he doubted she’d remain calm or accepting for long. If he were any judge, she’d want to ride him as vigorously as he thought about riding her, with pleasurable thoroughness and for the longest possible time. Callista had more spirit in her little finger than all the available princesses put together possessed in their limp and unappealing bodies. But the fact remained: he had to choose a wife soon. His father’s elderly retainer, Michel, had point-blank refused to retire until Luca took a wife. ‘I promised your father I’d watch over you,’ Michel had said. ‘What this country needs is a young family to inject life and vitality into Fabrizio, to lead the country forward into the future.’
He’d sort it, Luca concluded. He always did. The buzz of interest surrounding him at his father’s funeral suggested suitable breeding stock wouldn’t be too hard to find. A very agreeable image of Callista chose that moment to flash into his mind. Callista naked. Giving as good as she got, verbally, as well as in every other way. She might be young and inexperienced, but her down-to-earth manner promised the type of robust pleasure that an insipid princess would be incapable of providing.
And how does this advance my hunt for a wife?
Loading the last crate of lemons, he groaned as he remembered Michel’s words: ‘Yours will be a bountiful reign with a harvest of children as abundant as the lemons on your estate,’ Michel had assured him. Right now it was Luca’s face that looked as if he’d sucked a lemon when he contemplated the current selection of brides.
Work over, he tucked his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and eased his shoulders, grimacing as he thought about the stack of neglected folders on his desk. Leafing through them had confirmed his worst fears. All the princesses were excellent contenders for the role of his wife, but not one of them excited him.
What would Callista be doing now? She’d better not be sitting at that bar. He’d drag her out, and—
Really? He grinned, imagining her reaction to that. There was nothing insipid about Callista. She wouldn’t fall into line, or be content to bask mindlessly in luxury while working dutifully on creating an heir and a spare. Even Michel would find Callista difficult to lure into the royal fold.
Grazie a Dio! The last thing he needed was a headstrong woman fighting him every step of the way!
But a bolt of pure lust crashed through him as he imagined her in his arms. Finding a suitable princess could wait a few days.
* * *
Callie stared up in wonder at the royal gates marking the boundary of the Prince’s estate. They were everything she’d expected and more. They were regal and imposing with gilt-tipped spears crowning their impressive height, while lions, teeth bared, grinned down at her. ‘Hello,’ she murmured, giving them a wink. The lions scowled back.
‘Very welcoming,’ she managed on a dry throat. Should she be using another entrance? Was there a back entrance? Well, it was too late now. She was here. And then she spotted a notice. It was only about twelve feet high. ‘Numbskull,’ she muttered. Turning in the direction indicated by the bright red arrow, she walked over to a disappointingly modern control box attached to the far side of the gate. Pressing the button, she jumped with surprise when a metallic voice barked, ‘Sollevare la testa, si prega.’
‘I’m sorry, but I don’t speak Italian very well...’
‘Look up, please,’ the same metallic voice instructed.
She stared at the sky.
‘At the camera.’
Okay, numbskull squared, that small round lens just in front of me is a camera!
The metallic voice hadn’t shown any emotion, but Callie could imagine the person behind it rolling their eyes. Finally, she did as instructed.
‘The photograph is for security reasons,’ the metallic voice grated out. ‘If you don’t wish to enter the estate, please step back now.’
‘No—I do. I mean, yes. I’m here to apply for a job. I’m sorry if I should have used another entrance...’ Her mouth slammed shut as the massive gates swung open.
‘Report to the foreman in the first barn you come to.’
‘Yes, signor...um...signora?’ The sex of The Voice would remain a mystery for ever, Callie thought as she stepped into a very different world.
This was a world of control and order, Callie concluded, as well as extreme magnificence on every level. Awestruck, she stared down the length of an incredible avenue composed of a carpet of glistening, white marble beads. At the end of this lay a pink stone edifice, bleached almost white by the midday sun. Both elegant and enormous, the palazzo boasted turrets and towers that could have come straight from a book of fairy tales. Cinderella’s castle, she mused wryly. The driveway leading up to the palace was broad and long, with stately cypress trees lining the route like sentries. Butterflies darted amongst the colourful flowerbeds lining her way, and birds trilled a welcome as she walked along, but there was no sign of the barn The Voice had referred to.
‘Hey! Per di qua! This way!’
She turned at the sound of friendly voices to see more pickers following her into the palace grounds. They’d halted at what she could now see was the shrubbery-concealed entrance to a pathway.
Callie scolded herself as she hurried to join them. There was another sign, and it was a huge one, but she’d missed it completely, being too busy ogling her surroundings. The sign read, ‘Benvenuto ai nostro personale stagionale!’ Even she knew what that meant. ‘Welcome to our temporary staff!’
It was certainly a warmer greeting than the stained sheet of lined paper pinned up on the noticeboard outside the pub, which warned staff to use the back door not the front, on pain of immediate dismissal.
The pickers had waited for her and were all in high spirits. She blended right in with denim shorts and a loose cotton top, teamed with a pair of market-find trainers. She was ready and excited for whatever lay ahead. This was an adventure. This was what she’d been waiting for. This was something to tell the Browns.
It was good news to hear she could start right away and be paid in cash if she wanted. That suited Callie. She planned to check out of the posh hotel and move to a small bed and breakfast in town to extend her stay. She’d already called to confirm the B & B had rooms. She wanted to get to know the real Italy, and, with her father’s example behind her, she knew better than to fritter her money away. She’d tasted the high life, and was glad to have done so, but had come away feeling slightly let down. This was so much better, she concluded as she trooped out of the barn with the other pickers. There were no airs and graces here, and, more significantly, no need to wear those excruciatingly painful high-heeled shoes.
The Prince’s estate was like a small town. She hadn’t guessed how big it was from the road. There were dozens of gangs of pickers working throughout the spectacular lemon groves. This was heaven, Callie thought as she straightened up and paused for breath. Yes, the work was hard, but the sun was warm, the scent of lemons was intoxicating. She had thick gloves to protect her hands and a tool to pick the lemons that were out of reach. The camaraderie was incredible. Everyone wanted to help the newcomers. The party Maria had told her about at the hotel was definitely on tonight, and all the pickers were invited. What could possibly be better than this?
She soon returned to the rhythm of picking. With a lightweight bucket tied around her waist, dropping fruit into it as she went, she loaded the lemon gold into crates that were taken away on gleaming tractors. By the time the blazing sun had mellowed into the amber glow of early evening, she felt as if she’d been working there all her life.
She’d even made a new friend called Anita, a big, bonnie woman, as Ma Brown would have called her, with a ready smile as big as Texas. Anita came from the north of England each year to pick lemons, to feel the sun on her face, to prepare her for the long, cold winter, Anita said. ‘I’m on my own,’ she’d explained to Callie, ‘but when I come here, I have a ready-made family.’
That was when Callie told Anita about the Browns. ‘It’s people that make things special, isn’t it?’ she’d asked.
This wasn’t just a great way to extend her stay in Italy, Callie concluded as Anita offered to show her the way to the cookhouse, this was an entirely new slant on life, if she had the courage to seize it.
Seize it she would, Callie determined. Her limbs might be aching from all the unaccustomed exercise, but she felt exhilarated for the first time in years. This, this was freedom.
