The Italian's Token Wife

The awareness heightened when, ten minutes later, Rafaello turned to her and said suddenly, ‘It is time to cool down—and I am sure Benji would enjoy a swim. Come—’

As he spoke he was aware of a degree of disingenuousness about his invitation. True, he would like to cool down, and probably both mother and child would enjoy a swim, but what he himself would enjoy most would be seeing what Magda looked like in a decent swimsuit.

His thoughts flew back to the previous afternoon, when he’d been surprised to see that, hideously saggy swimsuit apart, she really had a quite unexpectedly pleasing figure. Now, after a morning in Olivia’s expert hands, and wearing what he knew would be a beautifully styled piece of swimwear, the results would be, he anticipated, even more pleasing…

His expectations were rewarded. Magda did, indeed, look every bit as good in the sleek peach-coloured one-piece as he had hoped. Cut high in the leg, it emphasised the slenderness of her thighs and hips, her hand-span waist and, most enticingly of all, the gentle swell of her breasts.

Her skin tone had ripened from the Tuscan sun to a warm honey, and with her lovely hair loose over her shoulders as she slowly and self-consciously walked into the pool area, her little boy held by the hand, he could not take his eyes from her.

How had she been hiding all that natural loveliness all this time? He cursed himself for his own blindness—he’d been blinded by that muddy-coloured hair, scraped back, her total lack of attention to her appearance and those atrocious, unspeakable clothes. And now—

Whatever the size of the bill Olivia presented to him, he would have paid it ten times over just for the pleasure of seeing Magda walk towards him now, with her shy, natural grace…

He came near to her. He was all ready for his swim, clad in nothing but his trunks, and he realised from the surge of blood he felt, as powerful as it was instinctive, he would need to get into the water pretty damn fast if those faint stains of colour on her cheeks were not to turn fiery red. Already he could tell she could not cope with his almost nudity—and if her gaze dragged downwards, from where it seemed to be fixated on his torso, then she would have cause to blush indeed!

With a lithe movement he launched himself into the water. The cold had the effect he wanted—for now, at any rate. Several strongly executed lengths later he surfaced to find Magda sitting nervously by the shallow flight of steps leading into the water, Benji already immersed, splashing away mightily. Rafaello hauled himself gracefully and effortlessly out of the water, and reached for Benji’s inflatable ball.

‘Catch!’

He tossed it towards the little boy, who gave a crow of delight and started to paddle towards the floating ball as fast as his chubby little legs and rubber ring would carry him. He batted at it, and it swirled away, and he chased after it. Magda laughed, and so did Rafaello. He lowered himself into the pool and started to play with the child.

It was, he discovered, extraordinarily easy to entertain an infant. All that was required was a complete lack of dignity and a willingness to engage in a highly repetitious game of throw the ball, throw it again, and again, and again…

‘He won’t get tired of it before you do,’ warned Magda. She was still sitting there, feet in the water, knees pressed together, feeling incredibly, exposingly self-conscious.

Rafaello laughed, and she felt a warmth spreading through her. Her mind was still in a total daze. Could this really be Rafaello di Viscenti, who hadn’t even wanted to call Benji by name, now playing with him with every sign of pleasure?

And could this really be Rafaello di Viscenti, who had previously looked at her with such disdain, who had looked at her just now, as she’d walked towards him, as if he were unable to take his eyes away from her for a single moment.

I can’t take it in—I can’t believe this is happening!

If this was nothing but a dream, it was one she never, ever, wanted to wake from.

‘So—where would you like to go today?’

Rafaello’s voice was inviting. And why not? He was relaxed—more relaxed than he’d been since he could remember, since before his father had started to be fixated upon the idea of him marrying Lucia. He felt, he realised, carefree, with nothing to do but enjoy himself and be pleasurably self-indulgent. Yes, the future of Viscenti AG lay in his hands, and he would take up his responsibilities in due course, but right now global expansion could wait—right now he had another project to pursue.

A very pleasurable one.

He cast a look at the object of his attention.

‘Firenze? Pisa? Sienna?’