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through the door. The terracotta tiled floor, stone walls and pale oak cupboards gave it a rustic charm, but at the same time it was fitted with every piece of modern equipment she could want. It was a perfect setting to take photographs of the recipes she had now perfected for the cookery book, and she was keen to start work. She discovered that the pantry and fridge had been well stocked and she was debating what to cook for dinner when the sound of voices from outside the kitchen window made her glance towards the garden.

      Dante was standing with a tall, slim blonde-haired woman wearing very short shorts that revealed her long tanned legs. The woman turned her head and Rebekah saw that she was stunningly beautiful. A tight knot formed in her stomach as she watched the woman laughing with Dante. It was clear they shared a close relationship. Was the blonde his mistress? If so, then why had he insisted on her coming to Tuscany with him? And why on earth did she feel jealous?

      Feeling angry with herself, she went to investigate the upper floors of the house. Her suitcase had been left in the hall and she carried it upstairs. There were five bedrooms on the first floor, one of which was obviously the master suite. Next door to Dante’s room, the guest bedroom had been prepared, she assumed, for her. It was a pretty room, with the same neutral-toned walls as the rest of the house and a lemon-yellow bedspread.

      The blinds at the window shaded the room from the hot sunshine of a Tuscan summer’s afternoon, but Rebekah still felt too warm in her skirt and jacket. A cool shower was tempting. Taking a shower cap from her case, she walked into the en suite bathroom and emerged ten minutes later to slip into a lightweight floral cotton skirt and T-shirt that she had packed for the trip. She was pulling a comb through her hair when there was a knock on her door, and she spun round to find the woman she had seen in the garden standing in the doorway.

      Close up, she was a few years older than Rebekah had thought, perhaps in her early thirties. But, if anything, she was even more stunning than she had looked from a distance, with a model’s slim build, perfect hair, perfect tan—perfect everything, in fact.

      ‘Hi! You must be Rebekah?’ the woman said in a distinctive American accent. ‘I’m Nicole Sayer … duh …’ she tutted impatiently ‘… Castelli! I’ve only been married for two months and I keep forgetting to use my new name. My husband Vito and I are old friends of Dante’s.’ She finally paused for breath and held out her hand to Rebekah. ‘It’s great to meet you. I was so surprised when Dante phoned and said he was bringing someone to Tuscany with him. He never has before.’ She gave Rebekah a speculative look. ‘I guess the two of you must be good friends.’

      Rebekah felt herself blush. ‘Actually, I’m his cook.’ She suddenly remembered why the woman’s name was familiar. ‘You’re a photographer, aren’t you? I’m writing a cookery book based on my grandmother’s recipes, and Dante mentioned that you might take photographs for me.’

      Nicole’s smile held genuine warmth. ‘I’d love to. I used to work as a freelance photographer in New York, but now Vito and I have settled in Italy. I’m going to head back to my home in Siena,’ Nicole explained as she turned to walk out of the room, ‘but I’ll be in touch in the next couple of days to arrange a photo shoot.

      ‘By the way—’ she paused in the doorway ‘—I’ve hung the clothes that Dante ordered for you in the wardrobe.’

      Rebekah gave her a puzzled look. ‘What clothes?’

      Nicole crossed the room and pulled open the wardrobe door. ‘These,’ she said, indicating the array of outfits hanging from the rail. She took out a beautiful jade-green silk dress and gave Rebekah a teasing smile. ‘You must be a very special cook for Dante to buy you designer clothes.’

      Rebekah took a pale pink silk blouse from the rail. All the clothes were classical and elegant, in an array of pretty pastel colours. They were the sort of things she would love to wear if she could afford them.

      ‘There’s obviously been a mistake,’ she told Nicole. ‘I don’t know why Dante ordered these clothes, but they can’t be for me.’

      Nicole looked amused. ‘Maybe he wanted to surprise you.’

      Or maybe Dante had bought her dozens of new outfits for another reason, Rebekah thought grimly after Nicole had left and she went in search of him. His bedroom door was open, and as she looked into the room he strolled out of his bathroom wearing nothing more than a towel sitting low on his hips. His damp hair was slicked back from his brow and beads of moisture clung to his chest hairs.

      She tapped on the door to alert him to her presence and tried to ignore the tug on her insides when he smiled at her.

      ‘Did you meet Nicole? She came up to introduce herself.’

      ‘Yes, I met her. She seemed to think the clothes hanging in my wardrobe belong to me—paid for by you.’

      ‘That’s right. Do you like them?’

      Rebekah took a deep breath. Her heart was beating very fast and she felt confused and angry, and shaken by a memory that was still painfully raw.

      ‘I can’t accept them. I can’t allow you to buy me gifts.’

      Dante picked up a towel from the bed and rubbed his wet hair. ‘Why not?’

      ‘Because you can’t buy me,’ she told him fiercely.

      He stilled, and gave her a searching look. His smile faded and his eyes were cool and assessing. ‘What do you mean—buy you?’

      ‘Don’t think that because you’ve spent a fortune on me I’ll do what you want.’

      For a few seconds the atmosphere in the room trembled with an ominous silence.

      ‘And what do you think I want?’ he asked in a dangerous voice that sent a shiver down Rebekah’s spine.

      She crossed her arms over her chest in an unconsciously defensive gesture as she said, ‘For me to be your mistress while we are in Tuscany.’

      ‘You think I bought you the clothes in payment for sex? What kind of man do you think I am?’ He gave a savage laugh. ‘On second thoughts, don’t answer that question—you’ve made your opinion of me quite clear.’

      Dante could not have sounded hurt, Rebekah told herself. But what if she had misjudged him? She bit her lip. ‘Are you saying you didn’t buy them for that reason?’ she asked uncertainly.

      He threw the towel on the bed and strode towards her. Rebekah had never seen him so furious. His face looked as though it had been carved from granite and his eyes glittered with rage and bitter contempt. Too late, she feared she had made a terrible mistake.

      ‘How dare you insult my integrity?’ he said in a blisteringly angry tone. ‘The only reason I bought clothes for you is because I felt bad that I had sprung the trip to Tuscany on you at short notice. I thought it was unlikely you would own summer clothes suitable for the temperatures here in Italy. But you were too unwell to spend a day shopping in London, so I phoned a boutique in Siena and ordered some things for you.’

      His hands shot out to grip her arms and he jerked her against him. ‘I wasn’t trying to buy your favours,’ he grated. ‘I don’t need to, mia bella.’

      Realising his intention, Rebekah tried to twist her head away from him, but he captured her jaw and held her prisoner while he brought his mouth down on hers. It was a kiss of anger and wounded pride. He ground her lips beneath his in fierce, furious possession, tangling his fingers in her hair so that she could not escape the onslaught.

      But within seconds his anger turned to fiery passion that was far more dangerous. She gasped as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. Dante deepened the kiss so that it became a slow, drugging assault on her senses. She knew there was no point in trying to fight him when he was so much bigger and stronger than her, but suddenly his lips were no longer hard and demanding but softer as he coaxed a response from her. Rebekah did not realise he had steered her over to the bed until she felt the edge of the mattress behind her and, before she could protest, he tumbled her down and

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