In the Italian's Sights by Helen Brooks Page B

emotions, living as they did in a land of such powerfully distinct colours. Azure sky, cobalt sea, golden sunshine, silver olives, green vines, red brick, white marble—the list was endless. She had read somewhere before starting on her journey that the three major active volcanoes on the entire continent were all situated in Italy, and since arriving on its shores that didn’t surprise her. In fact it was fitting for such a fiery, passionate race. She just hoped the simmering volcano in the shape of Vittorio downstairs didn’t explode tonight.
    She sat on for another hour or more, until she found herself dozing in the chair and returned to bed. She was on the verge of falling asleep when she heard a soft knock at her door. Sure it was Sophia, she flung back the light covers and padded barefoot across the room, opening the door quietly.
    ‘Did I wake you?’ Vittorio was leaning against the far wall, hands thrust in his pockets and his expression hidden in the shadows. ‘Were you asleep?’
    So surprised her voice came out in a squeak, she managed to say, ‘No, I wasn’t quite asleep,’ and she wished with all her heart she was wearing an alluring feminine nightie rather than her sensible cotton pyjamas dotted with fat little teddy bears. She must look like a schoolgirl.
    ‘In view of your concern for Sophia I thought you might still be awake.’ His voice was soft, but he didn’tmove from his position some feet away. ‘I wanted to reassure you that Santo has left the house intact. Just,’ he added darkly.
    ‘They came to see you? I didn’t hear them,’ she said guilelessly, before blushing as she realised she’d given away her desire to eavesdrop. Great spy she’d make.
    If he’d noticed, he didn’t comment. ‘There is to be a meeting of the two families tomorrow, but that is not what I came to tell you.’ He levered himself off the wall and came closer, and it was all she could do not to step back a pace. ‘Sophia wishes you to stay for a while.’ His eyes were black in the shadows, his handsome face without expression. ‘There is a great deal to arrange very quickly if she is going to marry Santo before her condition becomes obvious, and the enormity of it has overwhelmed her. She has no mother or sister, no female confidante, and at such a time…’ He shrugged. ‘She does not have the rapport with my housekeeper, and in the matter of shopping for a wedding dress, a trousseau…’
    Shock rendered her speechless for a moment. Swallowing hard, she looked at him wide-eyed. ‘But she must have friends? And didn’t you say there is a grandmother?’
    ‘Our grandmother is ninety years old,’ he said drily, ‘and, whilst she would not thank me for saying so, arrangements of this kind would be beyond her. As for friends—’ again the shrug ‘—Sophia wants you. I understand she is to put the request to you tomorrow morning, but I felt it only fair that you have some time to consider such an undertaking. I am very aware this is your holiday, but your remark about being sisters under the skin…’
    Again his voice died away, but this time Cherry peered at him more closely. If she wasn’t mistaken, her soft heart was being played on here. ‘But…’ She paused, hopelesslyout of her depth. ‘Sophia doesn’t know me.’ The suggestion was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, so why was she considering it for even a second?
    He shifted position slightly and every nerve in her body responded. ‘Do you not think that sometimes you can know more about someone in five minutes than five years with someone else?’ he murmured very, very gently.
    He was so close now the warm fragrance of the aftershave she’d smelt earlier was teasing her senses. ‘I’m—I’m not even Italian,’ she protested, as though that was news to him.
    He brushed aside the feeble prevarication. ‘That is of no importance. Sophia knows what will be required. You would merely provide a helping hand, listen to any problems