Could anyone handle Marco di Fivizzano?
Opening the shutters, she was just in time to see him stride across the courtyard. He looked better each time she saw him—dangerous and more ruthless, more stand-well-back-unless-you-want-your-fingers-burned, in a really serious way. Especially this morning when, like last night, he’d consigned his city look to history. The men in her fantasies were always rugged and tough, but Marco made her imaginary men seem pathetic. His well-packed jeans and heavy-duty belt added fuel to her already overheated fantasies. There wasn’t a spare inch of flesh on him. In jeans and a chequered shirt with the sleeves rolled back to reveal his powerful forearms, he appeared to be made entirely of hard muscle. And she would have to be made of wood not to wonder what it would be like to be in his bed.
She didn’t have time for this!
Just as well, Cass thought, ducking back behind the window as Marco stared up.
Could he feel her looking at him? Were his animal instincts switched to super-alert this morning? She would have to be more discreet if she stood a chance of keeping this job.
Once she was out of the shower and wrapped in towels, she considered her vast selection of clothes. These amounted to one summer dress, ‘just in case’, a couple of pairs of shorts and half a dozen tops. She’d packed two pairs of jeans and a fleece in case the evenings turned cold...
And why was she taking such trouble over the selection of clothes to garden in?
Any other day and she would have grabbed the first thing to hand—shorts and a clean top. She was working with the soil, not auditioning for the role of the next notch on Marco di Fivizzano’s bedpost.
So what underwear should she choose?
She scanned the unpromising heap.
Something comfortable, obviously! Did it matter, so long as she could work all day and not feel as if she was in danger of splitting her difference?
She chose her biggest knickers and a sports bra that supported her full breasts properly.
Maria and Giuseppe were back, so she dropped in a few casual questions over breakfast. They knew about as much as she did about their boss’s plans for the next few days. Giuseppe mentioned something about a visit to the Fivizzano vineyards to choose some wines for an important party in Rome, but that was the only nugget she managed to glean before she went back to work.
* * *
A few days passed and then a few days more, and she barely caught a glimpse of The Boss. She kept telling herself that this was great—no pressure—but she was always on the lookout for him. She couldn’t help herself. Marco di Fivizzano was a once-in-a-lifetime attraction. She gathered from Maria that he spent a lot of time inspecting his estate. It certainly felt as if she was very much ‘below stairs’, while he was the master of the house, whose daily life was none of her business. There was no common ground between them, no reason for them to meet—but she could dream, Cass consoled herself ruefully as she collected up her tools to go to work.
Dreams were free, and dreams were safe—or they were until Marco emerged from the house. He only had to glance her way for her heart to go crazy. He was formally dressed and had brought up the Lamborghini.
Was he going out on a date?
And why should she care?
Because smart chinos and an ice-blue shirt pointed up his pirate tan?
Lame.
But he’d teamed them with a casual, beautifully tailored taupe coloured linen jacket, and if she could just see his face...
Nope. He had lowered his sunglasses and his expression was hidden from her.
Good. Did she want him to think she was interested?
She returned to digging the trench she had started to protect her seedlings if the rains came. And those rains would come. Straightening up, she tested the air like a hound on point.
Maria had told her that although the house and estate seemed ageless and indestructible to Cass, it was, in fact, as vulnerable to the elements as any other ancient structure. The path of the river had changed over the centuries and it now presented a danger to the house. Maria had also said that in the fierce storm of 2014 trees had been uprooted and the river had flooded its banks. It was unusually still today...ominously so. Even the birds had stopped singing. She noticed Marco was also glancing at a sky tinged with acid yellow and streaked with angry clouds. She wondered briefly if he’d remembered an umbrella, and then accepted with a grin that men like Marco di Fivizzano never got wet because divine alchemy would ensure that rainclouds blew away from him.
So it fell on poor saps like me, Cass reflected wryly as she thrust her spade vigorously into the moistly yielding earth.