Cinderella In The Sicilian's World

‘Signor di Luca,’ she said, when at last she reached him, her obvious nerves making her words trip over themselves. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you. I... I saw you at your godfather’s funeral.’

He had to bend his head to hear her properly, for her voice was soft and melodic and her faltering words rang with such genuine condolence that Salvatore felt a wave of unexpected emotion washing over him. It wasn’t the first time this had happened since he’d learned that his godfather had died, but it was hard for him to get his head around, because he was a man who didn’t do emotion. He was someone who prided himself on his detachment and had told himself repeatedly that the old man had been given a happy release from his earthly bonds.

For although he owed a deep sense of gratitude to the man whose generosity had allowed him to spread his wings and leave his native land, he had never loved him. He had never loved anyone since his mother’s callous and brutal rejection.

So why had his eyes prickled with tears and his heart contracted with pain when he had been taken to view the cold and silent body of his godfather? Why had he felt as if something had ended without him quite knowing what it was?

‘And I’m very sorry for your loss,’ the curvy brunette was saying, biting her voluptuous bottom lip rather nervously.

‘Grazie. He is at peace now after a long illness, and for that I give thanks.’ Salvatore watched as she chewed her bottom lip again and as he found himself increasingly fixated on that dark, rosy cushion an idea occurred to him, which he was finding impossible to shift. ‘You are meeting someone?’ he probed softly.

She shook her head. ‘No. No, I’m all alone. I came on a whim,’ she answered and then shrugged rather apologetically, as if aware of having given more information than he’d asked for.

‘Then you will join me for a drink?’ he questioned, inclining his head towards the vacant stool next to him. ‘Or perhaps you disapprove of the fact that I am sitting in the sunshine, listening to the sound of the sea at such a time, when my godfather was buried only yesterday and now lies deep beneath the soil?’

Again, she shook her head and her thick black curls shimmered in the light sea breeze. ‘I make no such judgment,’ she said, placing her helmet on the bar and wriggling onto the bar stool he was holding out for her. ‘In the village you must have noticed people chattering even while they carried the coffin towards the cemetery. It is always like that. Life goes on,’ she continued, with a quiet rush of confidence. ‘Such is the way of the world.’

She sounded both old and wise as she spoke, as if she were repeating the words of her elders, and Salvatore’s eyes narrowed as he tried to guess her age because that was a safer bet than focussing on her delicious bottom. Late-twenties, he thought. Possibly more.

‘In many ways, my godfather’s death was a blessed release,’ he said, staring into dark-lashed eyes which were the colour of the old and expensive bourbon he’d first encountered when he’d arrived in America, so young and so very angry. And something in those eyes made him confide in her about the old man’s final years. ‘You are aware that he lay in a coma this past decade?’ he questioned. ‘Not seeing, not speaking and possibly not hearing anything which went on around him?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, I do. One of my friends was one of the many carers you employed to look after him, Signor di Luca. We thought it was wonderful you didn’t move him out of the village into some big institution in the city. Particularly as you are a stranger to these parts. And of course, everyone knows that you visited regularly, which couldn’t have been easy for a man as busy as you must be.’ She hesitated. ‘You are very kind.’

Salvatore tensed, briefly startled by her words because this wasn’t a character assessment he was used to. Unsolicited praise wasn’t something which came his way very often, unless from women cooing over his prowess in bed. Yes, he was often applauded for his business acumen and ability to be ahead of the curve. And, yes, he was a significant philanthropist. But to be commended for his personal kindness? That really was a one-off. As he looked at her sweet face he felt the stir of something unrecognisable deep in his heart. Something which did not sit easily with him. Was it the realisation that, suddenly, he really was all alone in the world? Even though his godfather had not been sentient for over ten years, he was his last and only link with his past.

Salvatore shook his head, as if he could dislodge the dark thoughts which were stubbornly refusing to shift. He needed a distraction, he decided, and here was one sitting next to him in the shape of this local beauty. But would it be wise to pursue such a diversion? He examined his motives for wanting her to stay. He didn’t want to seduce her. Hell, no. Not only was she most definitely not his type, she probably had a fistful of vengeful brothers and uncles who would demand he married her if he went within touching distance!

But the thought of spending a couple of uncomplicated hours in her company and letting her naïve chatter wash over him was suddenly appealing. Besides, wasn’t there something a little careworn about her features? As if she had been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. A moment of unfamiliar compassion spiralled up inside him as he came to a rapid conclusion.

‘Do you have to rush away?’

Lina narrowed her eyes, wondering if she’d heard him correctly but also wondering what had caused that intense look of pain to have crossed his face. Was he thinking about his godfather, or had it been something else? She reflected how strange life could be sometimes. When here was a man who appeared to have everything, yet for a moment back then his expression had seemed almost...haunted.

He was waiting for an answer to his question and she knew exactly what she should say. Thank him politely but decline. Walk away from the bar and the faint sense of edginess he exuded, while reminding herself that she and this man had nothing in common. Some bone-deep instinct warned her he could be dangerous—and who in their right mind would willingly embrace danger? But vying with that certainty was something stronger. Something which was telling her to do the very opposite. Hadn’t she driven away from the village today precisely because she wanted to experience something different—and wasn’t this her opportunity to do just that?

Up this close, his proximity was making her body react in a way which was shocking yet delicious. Her nipples had begun to tighten beneath her handmade blouse—and now a low curl of heat was pulsing somewhere deep inside her and setting her blood on fire. Was this what it was all about? she wondered as she felt her lips grow dry. Was this what all her friends chattered about—a desire which had always eluded her up until now?

‘No, I don’t have to rush away.’

‘Then will you have a glass of wine with me?’ A flicker of humour danced in the azure depths of his eyes. ‘Are you old enough to drink?’

He was flattering her, she knew that. But Lina shook her head. She didn’t want wine. She wanted as clear a head as possible. ‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s much too hot. I’d like a granita, please.’

‘A granita,’ he repeated thoughtfully. ‘I haven’t had one of those in years.’

He ordered two and the granitas were delivered in chunky little glasses clouded with condensation and it wasn’t until after they had drunk for a moment, in silence, that the Sicilian tycoon turned to her again.

‘Do you realise you have me at a complete disadvantage?’ he observed slowly. ‘You seem to know exactly who I am, while I have no idea what your name is.’

She took another sip before replying and the sweet-sharp taste of the lemons was icy against her lips. And wasn’t it bizarre that her senses suddenly seemed raw, so that the granita tasted better than any granita she’d ever had, and the glittering sea had never appeared bluer than it did right now?

‘It’s Nicolina Vitale,’ she said. ‘But my friends call me Lina.’

There was a heartbeat of a pause. ‘And what would you like me to call you?’

His question hung on the air—as fragile as a bubble. An innocent question which suddenly didn’t feel innocent at all because the smokiness in his eyes was making her want to tremble, despite the heat of the day. Lina was a stranger to flirting, mainly because she’d never met anyone she’d wanted to flirt with, but suddenly she was finding it easy. As easy as the smile she slanted him, as if she mixed with handsome billionaires every day of the week.

‘You can call me Lina,’ she said huskily.

His blue eyes hardened with something she didn’t recognise, but it was gone so quickly that she didn’t have time to analyse it.

‘So are you going to stay here for a while, Lina Vitale?’ he was enquiring softly. ‘Are you going to throw caution to the wind and have lunch with me?’

Lina was aware of a sudden rush of colour to her cheeks as briefly she wondered what her friend Rosa would say if she could see her now. She wouldn’t be teasing her about being a cold fish, would she? And those two spurned suitors would have been forced to retract their cruel comments about her being uptight and frigid.

‘Why not?’ she said shyly, and gave him a breathless smile.

CHAPTER TWO

THE AFTERNOON SUN was low in the sky and people were beginning to make their way back to the sunbeds now that the fierce heat of midday had subsided. Against the ocean’s glitter, Lina could see women on loungers reapplying suncream and thought how cool and composed they all looked.

Unlike her. It was hot down here on the sand and her body was reacting to it in a way which wasn’t particularly attractive. Sweat was beading her forehead beneath her thick curls and her clothes were sticking to her skin. She shifted a little in her seat, still unable to believe she was having lunch with a world-famous tycoon.

She wondered if she’d outstayed her welcome. Probably. Though since she had no experience of this kind of affair, it was impossible to know. But surely someone like Salvatore di Luca must have grown bored with the conversational limitations of a village girl by now. Maybe it was time she gave him an exit route.

Pushing her plate away, she glanced up into his arresting face and, once again, her heart gave a powerful punch of pleasure. ‘I guess it’s time I was going.’

‘You don’t say that with any degree of conviction,’ he observed, an unfathomable expression darkening his ruggedly handsome face. ‘And you’ve barely touched your lunch.’

This much was true. Lina felt a rush of guilt as she stared at her plate. She was fond of her food and had been brought up never to waste anything and certainly not a meal as expensive as this. But she’d barely been able to swallow a morsel. The food had tasted like sawdust and her throat had felt tight with a tension she couldn’t seem to shift. Because beneath the fierce light of Salvatore’s potent charisma, she could feel her senses unfurling. As if the cautious and inexperienced Lina Vitale was blossoming into someone she didn’t recognise, dazzled by the attentions of a man who was little more than a handsome stranger.

He had commandeered a shaded table which sat on the edge of the sea, where, after a little persuasion, she had removed her socks and trainers so that her bare toes could wriggle luxuriously in the sand. Then she’d sat back in her chair watching the crystal blue waters lapping against the crushed silver shore, as armies of waiters rushed over to serve them. It was the most luxurious thing which had happened in her twenty-eight years and Lina found herself savouring every moment. Terrified of doing the wrong thing, she’d watched Salvatore closely throughout the meal to make sure she didn’t let herself down. But he had surprised her. He hadn’t behaved remotely how she thought a billionaire would behave. He hadn’t ordered lobster or scallops or any of the fancier items which adorned the menu. Instead, he had rolled up the sleeves of his white silk shirt and devoured his meal as hungrily as any labourer and Lina had been surprised at his very traditional choice of tomato sauce, fried aubergine and ricotta cheese.

‘I didn’t notice it on the menu,’ she said.

‘That’s because it isn’t. But they always make it for me when I come here.’

‘Was it something your mother used to cook?’ she guessed.

As far as she was aware, it was the only awkward part of the meal for his face suddenly grew cold. Cold as the ice bobbing around in her glass of sparkling water. Suddenly his voice sounded like stone. ‘No,’ he clipped out. ‘My mother wasn’t into cooking.’

She found herself wishing she could take the words back and attempted to lighten the mood by asking other questions, more questions about his life, and he filled in some of the gaps which village gossip had been unable to provide. He told her that he’d been a humble waiter in America when he had overheard his boss complaining how difficult it was to transfer money internationally. At the time, Salvatore had been doing a course on digital technology at night school and this one remark had inspired him to invent an amazingly simple phone app which solved just that problem. He’d made a fortune in the process.

‘Just like that?’ Lina asked, wide-eyed.

‘Just like that,’ he agreed.

‘And then what did you do?’

He then went on to explain that he had diversified, buying up property and department stores and a small airplane company which chartered rich passengers between the different Caribbean islands. And when he’d made more money than any man could spend in a hundred lifetimes, he poured his funds into a charitable foundation for children, set up in his name.

But he seemed more interested in talking about her, though Lina couldn’t quite shake off the feeling that he was regarding her with the interest one might display towards an unusual exhibit at the zoo. Maybe he saw her as some kind of relic as she chattered away about the family dressmaking business. Like some sort of curiosity.

She remembered his stand-out incredulous question.

‘So you’ve never even been abroad?’

‘I almost did once,’ she replied, a little defensively. ‘Last year, I was supposed to go to Florida for my cousin’s wedding and I was going to spend a little time working out there, but...’

‘But?’ he probed.

‘My mother got ill and said she’d rather I didn’t go, so I didn’t.’

‘Let me guess—she got better straight away?’

‘She did, yes. How did you know that?’

He had given a bitter laugh. ‘Human nature. Otherwise known as manipulation. You don’t need to be a genius to work it out.’

But now the empty coffee cups and scatter of amaretti crumbs on the table indicated that the meal was well and truly over and Lina was aware that she really ought to make a move.

‘I’d better go,’ she said again.

‘You sound as if you don’t want to go anywhere,’ he observed, lifting his fingers in a careless gesture, which instantly had a waiter scurrying towards them with the bill. ‘Is there something special you need to be back for?’

Lina couldn’t help the feeling of dread which fluttered inside her stomach as she reached beneath the table to retrieve her trainers and wondered what he’d say if he knew what she was really going home to. Not the pared-down and slightly amusing version of village life with which she’d regaled him, but her mother’s sour face and incessant demands. Cheap denim and cotton stacked into high piles, waiting for her to turn them into skirts and shirts and knock-off designer dresses. The endless hours alone with her whirring sewing machine and then those long and desperately lonely evenings which followed—the silence broken only by the constant chiming of the church bells. Suddenly it all seemed so empty—and more than a little bit sad. Was that what made her look into his eyes with a sudden rush of resolve, which was accompanied by an unfamiliar sense of defiance?

‘Not really, no,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to get back in time for dinner, of course.’

‘Of course.’ There was the merest flicker of a pause as he deposited a wad of notes on top of the bill and his blue eyes were shuttered when he glanced up at her again. He slid his wallet back into his jacket pocket. ‘Well, then. What would you have been doing this afternoon if you hadn’t bumped into me?’

Lina thought about it. She would have driven to her favourite hidden cove, hoping that nobody else would be there. And, after swimming until she was cool and pleasantly tired, she would be attempting to brush the stubborn sand from her body and performing a few clumsy acrobatics as she tried to modestly remove her swimsuit from behind a towel. ‘I was planning on going swimming,’ she said.

He looked across at the rows of loungers which were laid in neat lines. ‘Swimming?’ he repeated. ‘You mean here?’

Lina followed his gaze, noting that the occupants of the loungers wore bikinis which were little more than a series of flimsy triangles, which someone as curvy as her would never be able to get away with. She thought about the swimsuit she’d stuffed at the bottom of her rucksack. Imagine the reaction if she took to this exclusive beach wearing that! She’d probably be frogmarched straight off for committing a crime against fashion!

‘No, not here,’ she said quickly. ‘This beach is private. Only guests of the hotel are allowed to use it.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ he said, with the cool confidence of a man for whom no door was ever closed. ‘Nobody’s going to stop you from swimming.’

Not while you’re with me, went the unspoken subtext but Lina still shook her head. ‘No, honestly,’ she said quickly, unable to keep the sudden panic from her voice. ‘Forget I ever said it. I don’t... I don’t really want to swim here, if it’s all the same with you.’

He gave her a considered look. ‘Well, what about a swim at my villa, if you don’t want an audience?’

Lina’s throat thickened with an emotion she didn’t recognise. Just as she didn’t recognise the sudden hopeful squeak of her voice. ‘You mean you’re staying here? In Sicily?’

He shrugged. ‘Only tonight. My plane will take me back to San Francisco tomorrow.’

‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’

‘It’s no trouble. My car is outside.’

‘So is my scooter.’

‘So why don’t I get my chauffeur to ride your bike for you, and I can drive you to my villa myself? You can have a swim and leave when you like.’

‘Won’t your chauffeur mind driving my scooter?’

‘He isn’t paid to mind,’ he drawled arrogantly. ‘He’s paid very handsomely to do exactly what I tell him to do.’

Salvatore watched as she worried her bottom lip again, a gesture which left her mouth looking so unbelievably kissable that he wondered if it was done for precisely that effect. He was used to instant acquiescence—especially from women—but Lina Vitale kept him waiting for an answer and the novelty of that was more than a little exciting.

‘Okay,’ she said eventually, pushing a thick handful of hair back from her face. ‘Why not?’

Why not? Salvatore frowned. She obviously didn’t realise that he wasn’t usually given to handing out invitations to waifs and strays and that a little gratitude might have been welcome. He pushed back his chair. He couldn’t work her out. Not only that—but he still hadn’t quite worked out his own motives for inviting her. Was he intending to seduce her? To peel off those over-long denim shorts and the almost puritanical cotton shirt to see what voluptuous delights lay beneath?

His mouth hardened. No. He had never been into one-night stands and even if he were he certainly wouldn’t choose a woman from a tiny mountain village who would probably read too much into it. He was being kind, that was all. Hadn’t she praised him for such kindness earlier?

So stop being such a cynical bastard and make the poor woman’s day.

‘Come on, then. Let’s go,’ he said abruptly, rising to his feet and causing a woman on a nearby table to completely miss her mouth as she prepared to take a drink of wine.

As Lina had suspected, Salvatore’s chauffeur looked distinctly unimpressed at being presented with her helmet and told to drive her scooter. But he didn’t protest. His bulky body dwarfed the small fifty cc machine, but by then Salvatore was opening the passenger door of the limousine and Lina was climbing inside. And, oh, it was gorgeous. It smelt of leather and wealth, and the powerful engine made less noise than her hairdryer as Salvatore drove along familiar roads before turning onto a hidden track on the opposite side of the mountain.

And this, Lina quickly realised, was a completely different world from the one she usually inhabited. A quietly wealthy part of the island, where rich tourists parted with huge amounts of money in order to be able to live the Sicilian dream—or rather, their version of that dream. But it was difficult to concentrate on the scenic beauty of these new surroundings. Difficult to look anywhere other than at the powerful thrust of Salvatore’s thighs.

‘Comfortable?’ he questioned obliquely.

‘Very,’ she lied.

The shades he had donned made him seem even more sexy and inaccessible than before. Because he is inaccessible, she reminded herself fiercely. He’s a hunky billionaire who’s got a whole different life on the other side of the world. But none of those thoughts seemed to have any effect on her escalating excitement. It didn’t stop her breasts from hardening, or lessen the imperceptible tension which seemed to be building between them within the confined space of the car. Soon, it had reached such a pitch that Lina felt as if she’d forgotten how to breathe normally, and as a pair of ornate iron gates swung silently open she reached into her rucksack and surreptitiously turned off her phone, determined that nobody was going to disturb this day, least of all her mother. Because this was a one-off. She knew that. She wasn’t going to entertain any unrealistic expectations or try to second-guess what was about to happen, she was simply going to enjoy every second of it.

‘Madonna mia!’ she breathed, unguarded pleasure slipping from her lips as the gates closed behind them. ‘Is this for real?’

A faint smile touched the edges of his lips. ‘Do you like it?’

‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘Yes, I like it.’ Alighting from the car, she stood in the courtyard and stared up at an imposing house, surrounded by tall palm trees which soared up into the bright blueness of the sky. Dotted around the place were antique terracotta pots containing bright flowers and in the distance she could see the dark glitter of a swimming pool.

A housekeeper appeared from within the shadowed entrance of the house—a sharp-eyed woman wearing black who failed to return her nervous smile of greeting. But Lina heaved a silent sigh of relief because at least she didn’t recognise the woman as being from Caltarina. How difficult would that have been?

‘Carla, could you please arrange to have coffee sent down to the pool?’ Salvatore’s voice was smooth and entitled, before turning to Lina. ‘Come with me and I’ll show you where you can change.’

Lina followed him through the grounds, telling herself she should be enjoying every aspect of this lovely garden, but it wasn’t flowers or shrubs she wanted to look at, and it wasn’t the exotic cacti or carefully positioned statues which were dominating her attention. She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from Salvatore’s broad shoulders where the thick black waves of his hair were curving decadently over his collar and making her wonder what it would be like to trickle her fingers through them. She stared at the fluid thrust of his hips as he walked along the path with a confident stealth which radiated power and strength.

At last they came to a vast infinity pool—its water as dark as sapphires—with panoramic views over the green and golden countryside. But even that knockout view didn’t have any impact on her sudden overwhelming sense of self-consciousness at being in such an intimate situation with a man she didn’t really know.