Carol Marinelli – Tall, Dark and Italian: In the Italian's Bed / The Sicilian's Bought Bride / The Moretti Marriage (страница 10)

‘No.’ He was resigned. ‘He is still in Genova, checking the automobile rental agencies, as I believe I told you. So far, he has had no luck in tracing their whereabouts.’

Tess sighed. ‘I’m sorry.’ And she was. As much for him, she realised with some confusion, as for herself.

His expression softened. ‘You are not getting a very favourable picture of my country, are you, Tess? Or perhaps I should say, of my family. Despite his youth I accept Marco is also to blame.’

She managed a smile. ‘Thank you for saying that.’

‘My pleasure.’ His voice stroked her senses. Then, with gentle insistence, ‘You are not at all like your sister, are you, little one?’

Despite his reference to her size, the sudden intimacy of his words couldn’t be ignored and she seized on the first thing she could think of in response. ‘You’re sure they’re in Genoa, signore?’ she asked hurriedly. ‘Is it a big city?’

‘It is a very big city,’ he said drily, ‘and at this point I am not sure of anything.’ A trace of weariness entered his voice. ‘That is why I am going to Viareggio. Marco may have confided his plans to his sister.’

‘To his sister? I didn’t know he had a sister.’

And why should she? she thought foolishly. It wasn’t as if Castelli had confided his family connections to her. But somehow she’d got it into her head that Marco was an only child. Or perhaps, she’d only hoped he was. If Castelli had more children, he was even further out of reach.

He was regarding her with mild speculation now and she wondered what was going on behind his polite façade. What was he thinking? That she’d been presumptuous to say what she had? Or that she had no right to question his private affairs?

‘My daughter married at the end of last year,’ he replied at last, apparently deciding she deserved an answer. ‘Maria—that is her name—she and Carlo, her husband, own a small albergo in a village not far from the city.’ He paused. ‘If you come with me, you can meet her for yourself.’

Tess sucked in a breath. She hadn’t expected him to repeat his invitation and now that he had she was unsettled again. She knew she should still say no. Closing the gallery would be irresponsible and reckless. How would his daughter feel if her father turned up with a strange woman? Pretty peeved, Tess was sure.

No, she couldn’t do it. Even if the idea of taking off for the day was almost irresistible, she had to keep her head.

Italian men had a reputation for liking women and Castelli was a married man besides. She’d be mad to put herself into his hands.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last, feeling real regret as she voiced the words. ‘I don’t think your wife would approve.’

‘My wife?’ He gazed at her strangely. ‘What does my wife have to do with my asking you to accompany me on this trip?’

‘Well…’ Tess’s face felt as if it were burning. Put like that it did sound as if she was attributing motives to him he clearly didn’t have. ‘I just thought—that is, I’m sure the rest of your family will think it odd if you turn up with—with a strange woman.’

His mouth flattened. ‘Ah, a beautiful woman, cost intendi?’ he remarked softly, and Tess felt as if she couldn’t get enough air. A faint smile lightened his expression. ‘You think my wife and my daughter would not approve of my friendship with the attractive sister of my son’s innamorata, no?’

Tess had never felt more embarrassed in her life. ‘We’re hardly—friends, signore. I just meant—’

‘I know what you meant, Tess,’ he assured her smugly, and she felt as if she wanted to scream with frustration. ‘Relax, cara. There is no conflict of interest. There is only my daughter. My wife and I live separate lives.’

Tess wasn’t convinced. ‘But she still lives in your house, yes?’

‘She lives in my house, no,’ he teased her mockingly. ‘Sono divorziato, Tess. We are divorced. Gina makes her home in New York.’

Chapter Five

SHE didn’t look as if she believed him and Rafe acknowledged that divorce was still not a common thing in his country. Indeed, hadn’t his own mother been horrified that he should consider such a thing? Catholics did not get divorced, she’d told him severely. Marriage vows were meant to last.

But Rafe couldn’t believe that anyone should be condemned to spend their lives with someone who flouted their vows so freely. Who, he suspected, had only married him to escape the rigorous dictates of her elderly father.

‘I’m sorry,’ Tess said now, cupping the back of her neck with her hands and drawing his eyes to the rounded breasts pressing against her sleeveless top. ‘It’s really none of my business.’

‘No.’ He conceded the point because he realised he was behaving totally out of character for him. Dio mio, he was too old to be—what?—flirting with a girl who was almost young enough to be his daughter. Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration, he conceded. But he was forty-three. More than old enough to have more sense.

‘Anyway,’ she continued, evidently taking his response at face value, ‘I mustn’t keep you.’ She forced a polite smile. ‘Will you let me know if—if your daughter does know where they are?’

And Rafe felt his resolve faltering. Dammit, what was wrong with inviting her to go to Viareggio with him? It wasn’t as if he had any ulterior motive for doing so. She was Ashley’s sister. She deserved to know what was going on.

Yeah, right.

‘I had thought you might like to question Maria yourself,’ he said, ignoring his conscience. ‘Can I not persuade you to change your mind?’

Her hands dropped to her sides then and the colour that had ebbed and flowed from her cheeks all the time she had been speaking to him deepened again. ‘Oh—really,’ she said, making a distracted gesture towards her outfit. ‘I couldn’t go out dressed like this.’

‘Why not?’ She looked perfectly fine to him, bare legs and all. And when had he noticed them ? ‘This is not a formal visit, cara. You must have considered that what you are wearing was good enough to come to work, no?’

Tess lifted her shoulders, once again attracting his attention, this time to the gap of creamy flesh that widened between her top and her shorts. ‘I don’t know,’ she murmured uncertainly, but he could tell she was weakening. ‘How long would I be away from the gallery.’

‘Um—two hours.’ Or three! Rafe was not altogether truthful. ‘Does it matter? Which is more important, pleasing your sister’s employer or finding Ashley?’

‘Well—finding Ashley, of course.’

Rafe inclined his head. ‘Then shall we go?’ he said, knowing he was giving her no option, and with a nervous little shrug she obediently picked up her bag.

He’d parked the Ferrari in a no-waiting zone and he noticed how her eyes widened at his audacity. Or perhaps she was just impressed with the automobile, though he doubted it. He didn’t know why, but he had the feeling that possessions didn’t matter much to Tess Daniels. Which was a novelty.

‘I suppose it would be worth more than a parking attendant’s job to tow your car,’ she remarked as she folded her legs into the front passenger seat and Rafe felt a momentary spurt of indignation. He didn’t need her to remind him that the authorities often turned a blind eye to his indiscretions. But he doubted that any defence he made would enhance his reputation in her eyes, so he chose not to comment on it.

‘Are you comfortable?’ he asked instead, getting behind the wheel, and he was gratified to see that she looked embarrassed now.

‘How could I not be?’ she remarked at last as he started the powerful engine. ‘This is a Ferrari, isn’t it? I saw the horse on the bonnet.’

Rafe winced. ‘It’s a stallion,’ he said drily, and then wished he’d kept his mouth shut when she said,

‘Oh, yes. An Italian stallion. I’d forgotten.’

Rafe glanced in his mirror and then took his chance to pull out into the stream of traffic. But her mocking words still rankled and, ignoring the safer path, he said, with a definite edge to his voice, ‘I hope that was not meant as a criticism.’

Her lips parted then, and she turned her head to look at him, wisps of white-blonde hair blowing about her face. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, lifting a hand to tuck several strands behind her ear. And, although he was fairly sure she knew exactly what he’d meant, he chose not to argue with her.

‘Non importa. It does not matter,’ he declared, but he was intensely aware of her beside him. Aware of her bare arms only inches from his sleeve, aware of the way her shorts rode up her thighs, exposing a smooth length of slim leg. He took a breath. ‘Do you know Viareggio, signorina?’

She hesitated and he wondered if she intended to pursue what he had said earlier. But eventually all she said was, ‘I’ve never been to Italy before so all I know is Porto San Michele, I’m afraid. And my name is Tess. I know you haven’t forgotten it. Or have I offended you and that’s why you’ve suddenly become so—so formal?’

They were leaving the small town behind them now, the hilly environs above the harbour giving way to a coast road that wound its way south. But it wasn’t of the elegant little seaport of Viareggio that Rafe was thinking. He was wontering how to answer her without compromising his fear that he was getting in too deep.