LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘LUCY—check out the guy on the end table. Have you ever seen anything so gorgeous?’

      Lucy Winters felt herself shrivel inwardly as Nina’s penetrating stage whisper reached her ears—and, presumably, those of everyone else around them at the pavement café. She stared down at the guide to Tuscany she was studying, wishing she could climb inside it, closing the covers behind her.

      Her only hope was that this unknown Adonis was either stone-deaf or spoke no English. But one swift, embarrassed glance in his direction told her instantly that her optimism was unfounded.

      She saw a profile that Michelangelo might have sculpted in bronze, etched now with lines of total disdain. A high-bridged, aristocratic nose complemented a firm mouth, curling in contempt and annoyance, and a strong chin jutted arrogantly as their owner signalled to the waiter for his bill. He turned to pick up a flat leather briefcase from the adjoining chair, and for a moment his eyes, cold as frozen amber, met Lucy’s.

      They said that ice could burn. And Lucy felt as if she’d been scorched from head to foot.

      She muttered urgently, ‘Nina—for heaven’s sake. He heard you.’

      ‘Well, what of it?’ Nina was unrepentant. ‘That’s what these Italian studs live for—being looked at—admired. There he goes.’ She leaned back in her chair, sighing gustily. ‘God, look at the way he moves his hips. I bet he’s a sensation in the sack.’

      Lucy, wincing at her companion’s crudity, watched the tall figure’s retreat with more clinical interest.

      Yes, he was almost classically good-looking, although his thick, waving black hair was worn rather too long for her taste, she decided with detachment. And he moved with a careless grace which was probably instinctive rather than studied. But he’d clearly resented being the object of Nina’s blatant interest, and made no bones about it either. And who could blame him?

      Not, Lucy thought, a man to cross.

      She said drily, ‘I think there could be more to him than that. He was wearing a designer suit—probably Armani.’

      Nina giggled. ‘I was more interested in what was underneath it,’ she returned, unabashed. ‘I’m beginning to like Italy.’

      She signalled to the waiter to bring two more cappuccinos, and Lucy returned to her guidebook.

      Not for the first time in the forty-eight hours since their arrival, she found herself wondering if she’d done the right thing.

      It had been a total shot in the dark, agreeing to share a villa in Tuscany with three other girls who were comparative strangers to her. But she’d been desperate to get away—to have a break—a complete change of scene.

      And when she’d heard Nina, who worked in the accounts department, lamenting the fact that the fourth member of their projected house party had let them down virtually at the last minute, she’d heard herself, to her own astonishment, saying, ‘I’ll go with you.’

      Three weeks of Tuscan sun would have been unthinkable while she was with Philip. He liked action holidays—white-water rafting, orienteering in Scotland, rock-climbing in Wales—and Lucy had masked her apprehension and tried to join in. Flotilla sailing in the Greek islands had been the nearest thing to relaxation he would agree to, but Lucy had turned out to be not a very good sailor.

      Maybe his open irritation and impatience with her during that last trip should have alerted her to the fact that all was not well with their relationship. Or maybe love really did make you blind, after all, she thought, trying not to look at the pale band on her finger where his ring had been.

      When he’d told her, quite abruptly, that there was someone else, she’d been devastated. But, looking back, she realised the signs had been there for a while.

      She’d watched numbly while he briskly packed his things, and moved out of the flat they’d been sharing. Hers, of course, to begin with, but that was through choice. Now she had to choose again—to decide whether to stay there with all her memories or find somewhere new.

      ‘You can always camp out with us for a while,’ her sister Jan had told her, her pretty face wrinkled with concern. ‘Until you find your feet.’

      Lucy loved Jan, and her enormous rugby-playing brother-in-law, and her pair of permanently mud-stained nephews, but she’d known that moving in with them all, however temporarily, was not the answer.

      ‘That’s one of the reasons I’m taking this holiday—to think—to get my life sorted.’ She’d tried to smile. ‘It takes time to adjust.’

      ‘But

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