LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER THREE

      ‘HOW ON EARTH am I going to converse with everyone?’ questioned Darcy as she stepped out onto the sunny courtyard. ‘Since my Italian is limited to the few words I learnt from the phrasebook on the plane and that phrase about the lightning strike?’

      ‘All my staff are bilingual,’ Renzo said, his show of bad temper in the car now seemingly forgotten. ‘And perfectly comfortable with speaking your mother tongue.’

      The words mocked her and Darcy chewed on her lip as she looked away. Mother tongue? Her own mother had taught her to say very little—other than things which could probably have had her prosecuted if she’d repeated them to the authorities.

      ‘Pass Mummy that needle, darling.’

      ‘Pass Mummy those matches.’

      ‘If the policewoman asks if you’ve met that man before, tell her no.’

      But she smiled brightly as she entered the shaded villa and shook hands with Gisella, the elderly housekeeper, and her weather-beaten husband, Pasquale, who was one of the estate’s gardeners. A lovely young woman with dark hair helped Gisella around the house and Darcy saw her blush when Renzo introduced her as Stefania. There was also a chef called Donato, who apparently flew in from Rome whenever Renzo was in residence. Donato was tanned, athletic, amazingly good-looking and almost certainly gay.

      ‘Lunch will be in an hour,’ he told them. ‘But sooner if you’re hungry?’

      ‘Oh, I think we can wait,’ said Renzo. He turned to Darcy. ‘Why don’t we take a quick look around while our bags are taken to our room?’

      Darcy nodded, thinking how weird it felt to be deferred to like that—and to be introduced to his staff just like a real girlfriend. But then she reminded herself that this was only going to work if she didn’t allow herself to get carried away. She followed him outside, blinking a little as she took in the vastness of his estate and, although she was seeing only a fraction of it, her senses were instantly overloaded by the beauty of Vallombrosa. Honeybees flitted over purple spears of lavender, vying for space with brightly coloured butterflies. Little lizards basked on baked grey stone. The high walls surrounding the ancient house were covered with scrambling pink roses and stone arches framed the blue-green layers of the distant mountains beyond. Darcy wondered what it must be like growing up somewhere like here, instead of the greyness of the institution in the north of England, which had been the only place she’d ever really called home.

      ‘Like it?’ he questioned.

      ‘How could I not? It’s beautiful.’

      ‘You know, you’re pretty beautiful yourself,’ he said softly as he turned his head to look at her.

      Remembering the way he’d snapped at her in the car, she wanted to resist him, but the light touch of his hand on her hip and brush of his fingers against her thighs made resistance impossible and Darcy was shaking with longing by the time they reached the shuttered dimness of his bedroom. It was a vast wood-beamed room but there was no time to take in her surroundings because he was pulling her into his arms, his lips brushing hungrily over hers and his fingers tangling themselves in her curls.

      ‘Renzo,’ she said unsteadily.

      ‘What?’

      She licked her lips. ‘You know what.’

      ‘I think I do.’ His lips curved into a hard smile. ‘You want this?’

      Sliding down the zip of her cotton dress, he peeled it away from her and she felt the rush of air against her skin as it pooled to the ground around her ankles. ‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘That’s what I want.’

      ‘Do you know,’ he questioned as he unclipped her lacy bra and it joined the discarded dress, ‘how much I have been fantasising about you? About this?’

      She nodded. ‘Me, too,’ she said softly, because the newness of the environment and the situation in which she found herself was making her feel almost shy in his presence.

      But not for long. The beat of her heart and the heat of her blood soon overwhelmed her and had her fumbling for his belt, her fingers trembling with need. Very quickly she was naked and so was he—soft, shuttered light shading their bodies as he pushed her down onto the bed and levered his powerful form over hers. She gripped at the silken musculature of his broad shoulders as he slowly stroked his thumb over her clitoris. And she came right then—so quickly it was almost embarrassing. He laughed softly and eased himself into her wet heat and for a moment he was perfectly still.

      ‘Do you know how good that feels?’ he said as he began to move inside her.

      She swallowed. ‘I’ve…I’ve got a pretty good idea.’

      ‘Oh, Darcy. It’s you,’ he groaned, his eyes closing. ‘Only you.’

      He said the words like a ragged prayer or maybe a curse—but Darcy didn’t read anything into them because she knew exactly what he meant. She was the first and only woman with whom he hadn’t needed to wear a condom, because her virginity had elevated her to a different status from his other lovers—he’d told her that himself. He told her she was truly pure. He’d been fascinated to find a woman of twenty-four who’d never had a lover before and by her fervent reply when he’d asked if she ever wanted

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