LITMIR.BIZ

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out paper and pencils and sketching. But although she sat outside, intending to draw the garden, her pencil kept trying to catch Alessandro’s likeness instead.

      One evening, strangely dissatisfied, she decided on an early night. Sleep was impossible. The memory of him filled her off-duty hours as easily as he touched every moment of her working day.

      It was long after midnight before she gave up trying to get to sleep. Staggering blearily into the studio house’s kitchen, she made herself a cup of tea. Comfort eating was the only way to distract herself from thoughts of her delicious employer—or at least push him to the back of her mind—so, grabbing a packet of biscuits, she headed back to her bedroom. One look at the tangled bedclothes was enough to put her off. She decided to take her guilty pleasure out onto the veranda.

      Unlocking the studio’s French doors, she opened them wide. The night air was still, and fragrant with flowers. Stepping out into the dusky garden was like the first welcome of a deliciously cool swimming pool. She shivered at the thrill. It was a perfect night with no moon; every star was visible above the darkness of the estate.

      ‘Buona sera, Michelle.’ Alessandro’s voice came to her, soft and low through the dusk.

      She whirled around. He was leaning back lazily on the swing-seat outside her apartment, a glass in his hand. Immediately she tried to cover herself with her hands, conscious that the sliver of satin and lace she was wearing was hardly decent enough to wear in front of a guest—especially this guest!

      ‘Would you like to join me for a drink, Michelle?’ He picked up a bottle of wine from the table beside him and filled his glass. Holding it out to her, he watched her hesitant approach with a smile.

      ‘Me?’ she breathed.

      ‘I don’t see anyone else around.’

      ‘But—but I can’t! I’m not dressed…’

      ‘You look fine to me.’ His smile flashed very white in the soft glow filtering through the studio’s curtains. ‘I couldn’t sleep, and came out looking for some fresh air. Was there ever a country estate with fewer places to sit? Don’t the Bartletts use this place?’

      Michelle shook her head. ‘They prefer their computers. Guests are sometimes shown around before dinner, but apart from that I’ve usually got the gardens to myself.’

      He chuckled. It was a soft, intimate sound, perfectly in tune with the warm dusk. ‘I never expected you to venture out here after dark. You seem so quiet and reserved.’

      ‘I love it out here, and it’s perfectly safe.’

      ‘That’s not surprising. The security lights around the villa are triggered by every step. When I was walking on the terrace I felt as though I was in a Broadway production. I wanted somewhere relaxing.’

      He was wearing an open-necked shirt, as perfectly white as the one he had arrived in. It shone like nicotiana flowers against the gloom, but the fragrance of him was altogether more sexy. It combined male musk with an elusive cologne that was expensively discreet. Michelle’s fingers clenched on the condensation-frosted glass in her hand. It wasn’t enough to cool her thoughts.

      She took a sip of her drink and coughed, not accustomed to the champagne bubbles.

      ‘Champagne is my secret vice.’ He chuckled, and as they sat back the atmosphere relaxed. ‘I met the gardener this afternoon. He’s very proud of the estate’s strawberries. When they didn’t appear on the menu this evening, I engaged in a little private enterprise and picked some for myself. Can you think of any better way to make the best of a sleepless night?’

      Michelle shook her head. Her eyes were becoming more accustomed to the dark. Now she could see there was a dish on the table, too. He took a few berries from it and dropped them into her glass of champagne. Each one made a loud plop and an indulgent fizz in the stillness.

      ‘The perfect finishing touch,’ he murmured, watching her.

      As she raised the slender glass to her lips she wrinkled her nose with pleasure at the rich aroma of ripe fruit and vintage wine. He smiled. Women were one of his greatest pleasures, but Miss Michelle Spicer was unlike any girl he had met before. She was as refreshing as a glass of ice-cold Vernaccia. He watched her, and knew that drinking champagne must be a rarity for her, from the way that half-smile danced across her face each time she took a sip.

      She had completely forgotten the low cut of her nightdress, and the way its bias-cut satin clung to the rise of her breasts. Only a woman who spent too much time studying the form of other things could be so unaware of her own beauty. Alessandro knew a lot of women. They all played on the effect they could have on a man. By contrast, Michelle seemed totally innocent.

      ‘You eat the strawberries when they’ve had time to marinate in the champagne.’

      Michelle smiled and popped one of the ripe berries into her mouth. The strawberries were like no others she had ever tasted. There were as soft and sweet as an angel’s kiss. The thought made a connection in her mind.

      As they sat together in the warm night, she looked across at Alessandro shyly. His profile was stunning as he looked up at the wide sky full of stars. In her mind, his lips promised beautiful words, spoken just for her. More than that, she fantasised about the touch of them against her skin. Sitting next to him like this was a fragile bubble of happiness. The gentle chorus of insects, the cool breeze on her skin, and the perfume of ripening fruit and flowers all added to the magic. Not even a bat, arriving to flicker around the heliotropes, could destroy this moment.

      Alessandro looked to see if she was affected by it, and chuckled. ‘Strawberries, champagne and a stranger after midnight—you’re taking it all in your stride, Michelle,’ he teased her gently.

      There was a bitter-chocolate quality about his voice that sent a tremor right through Michelle’s body. He noticed.

      ‘You’re cold—dannazione! If I’d brought my jacket I’d offer it to you. Why don’t you go inside and fetch something?’

      ‘I don’t have anything,’ she replied, hoping he would believe her. This was all too precious to spoil.

      ‘Then sit closer to me. I can shield you from any chill.’

      ‘I’m not cold.’ Not any more, she thought, taking in a long, slow breath.

      She wondered what to do if he insisted she moved nearer to him. Torn between doing the right thing and imagining how wonderful the wrong thing would be, she was tense with indecision. Then the fragrance of night stole over her. Sultry top notes of lavender and jasmine were lightened by the sweet, more elusive scent of roses. For Michelle, this was a dream come true. With nothing to do but enjoy her surroundings, she began to lose herself in fantasy.

      ‘This is what I imagine a real English country garden would be like,’ she said eventually.

      ‘Then you are homesick, Michelle?’

      ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, signor! I didn’t mean to say that out loud.’

      ‘Don’t worry about it.’ His voice was a low, seductive sound, steady against the background crackle of insects. ‘And, as I shall be calling you Michelle, you should call me Alessandro.’

      When he said that, she tensed, concentrating on the strawberries clustered at the bottom of her glass. He handed her a solid silver teaspoon. One by one she spooned them out, savouring every mouthful and every moment.

      ‘You didn’t answer my question, Michelle. Are you homesick?’

      ‘No, not at all—unless you count being sick of home.’ She stopped, remembered that part of her life was over, and smiled. ‘Although I’ve put all that behind me now. I’m a free agent.’

      She saw him raise his eyebrows and rushed to explain.

      ‘That is—I mean—I don’t have a home in England any more. And I never did manage to get my

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