The Forbidden Ferrara

It was all still there, of course—the doubts, the worry and that other nagging emotion that he knew nothing about. But right now, with the breeze lifting her hair and the sun warming her face, she could push it to the back of her mind.

She wouldn’t have admitted it in a million years, but she loved to watch him drive. Loved the confidence with which he handled the car, the subtle movement of his fingers as he shifted gears, the flex of powerful thigh muscle as he urged the car forward. Cristiano made driving a car sexy. To her, everything he did was sexy and that incurable attraction had always been her downfall.

Dragging her eyes away from temptation, Laurel anchored her hair with her hand and glanced over her shoulder. ‘No security?’

‘I think I may have run them over when I left the villa. I was in a hurry.’ His swift smile managed to be disarming and devastating at the same time. ‘Don’t worry. I’m capable of protecting you and anyway, there is security where we are going.’

‘Oh.’ Her hopes of staying somewhere discreet and private dashed by that revelation, Laurel tried not to feel disappointed that there would be other people around. ‘Where are we going?’

‘It’s a surprise. But you can trust me to have your happiness at the forefront of my list of priorities.’

She could have pointed out that her happiness had been right at the bottom of his list of priorities in the past but she could see he was trying so she bit her tongue and said nothing.

‘Have I been there before?’ ‘Not exactly.’

Resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going to reveal anything before he was ready, she leaned her head back against the seat and just watched the countryside. ‘We’re driving towards Mount Etna. You’re going to drop me into the crater of an active volcano and finish me off for good?’

‘Tempting.’ The corners of his mouth flickered. ‘And yes, we’re driving towards Mount Etna.’

Her eyes fastened on the peak in the distance. ‘I’ve always loved this part of Sicily.’

‘I know.’ They were off the autostrade now and climbing upwards, the car waltzing round the bends under Cristiano’s expert control.

‘Taormina?’ Her heart gave a little jump as she realised where they were going. ‘You’re taking me to Taormina?’ It was the place they’d spent part of their honeymoon and she’d been dizzy with the romance of the place. Yes, it was a favourite tourist haunt but with good reason. It was stunning.

The medieval town that had inspired poets and authors for centuries perched on the cliff whilst beneath lay the sparkling perfection of the Mediterranean, its surface reflecting all the colours of a peacock’s wing.

As the sea breeze lifted her hair and cooled her skin, Laurel’s smile faltered. ‘Are we going back to the same hotel?’

‘No. I wish you’d trust me.’

&nb

sp; ‘I’m trying.’

‘Try harder.’

That was all he would say and she held her breath as he negotiated a narrow road, one side of which fell into an almost vertical drop down to the sea.

This was Sicily at its most spectacular, mountains and sea coming together in dramatic perfection and there, carved into the hillside, was the Teatro Greco, the ruins of the ancient Greek theatre that was one of the most famous archaeological sites in Sicily.

It was the most breathtakingly seductive place she’d ever visited.

Leaving Taormina behind them, he drove on and Laurel was just coping with the thud of disappointment that this wasn’t their destination after all when he stopped the car by a pair of tall, imposing iron gates. All around them were dark cypresses, olive trees and pines. Orange and lemon trees filled the air with their unforgettable Mediterranean scent and for a moment she closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

Even without looking she would have known she was in Sicily.

‘Do you have that key?’

Roused by his voice, Laurel opened her eyes and stared at the gates and then at the key on her lap. ‘This key opens those gates?’

‘Try it and see.’

She stepped out of the car, feeling the sun burning her head. The jeans she’d worn to travel back to foggy London were too hot for this climate and suddenly she couldn’t wait to change into something cooler. Without the movement of the car to cool the air it was baking hot, the ground dry and parched from the lack of rain.

Despite the less than encouraging volume of rust clinging to the handle, the key slid joyfully into the lock but before she could turn it the gates started to open.

The car inched forwards behind her. ‘I admit that I added a few mod cons,’ Cristiano confessed, his smile apologetic. ‘The key is symbolic rather than essential. Get back in. It’s too hot to walk.’