Emerald Mistress

The jet had landed at Galileo Galilei soon after dawn, and they had driven out of Pisa in a four-wheel-drive that had awaited them at the airport. Harriet had slept through most of the flight and was still sleepily relaxed, turning her head to view him with a sense of intense pleasure. ‘It’ll be very old and very large and very luxurious,’ she forecast.

‘Wait and see.’

For a moment Harriet spared a thought for Gemma Barton. Having talked to Boyce, she had decided not to press charges against his former girlfriend. Gemma had admitted everything she had done, and had agreed to undergo a residential course of treatment at a psychiatric facility. Her parents had taken their troubled daughter back to England with them. Rafael had disagreed with that more sympathetic approach but, to do him justice, he had not interfered.

Having left the motorway behind, they were travelling on a winding rural road that curved round a snow-capped mountain in a series of tortuous bends. On one side the ground fell sharp as a blade into a deep ravine with thickly forested slopes. Looking down at that endless drop made Harriet’s tummy flip, but Rafael was a true Italian, she thought ruefully, for he still drove with the speed and dexterity of a male on a straight road. Above, the sky was a clear continental blue so bright it made her blink.

‘Do you know…you haven’t even kissed me yet?’ she heard herself say.

Rafael cast her a surprised glance and then laughed out loud. ‘I was being considerate. You were so tired last night, and you’re bruised all over—’

‘Not that bruised,’ she told him.

He needed no further encouragement. He shot the car to a halt at a viewpoint overlooking the valley, released her seat belt and reached for her. He did all of those things in what seemed like one smooth, continuous movement. Hungry eyes flared over her sparkling eyes and pink cheeks. ‘You’re coming on to me…I like that…’

‘Do you?’ She was so desperate to feel his mouth on hers that she was tingling with anticipation.

‘There was another angle to my restraint,’ Rafael murmured huskily. ‘If I’d kissed you, I was scared that I might not be able to stop.’

A curl of heat flared low in her pelvis and she shifted tautly in her seat, making an infinitesimal move closer to him.

He flicked a strand of copper hair back from her white brow. ‘You don’t scare easy, do you?’

‘No.’ Gazing up into his lean, bronzed face, she felt her breath trip in her throat. She was almost mesmerised by the raw sexual intensity of his smouldering appraisal and the hot pulse of her own response.

He brought his sensual mouth down on hers, and a pang of such feverish longing gripped her that she shivered. His kiss was so sweet and addictive she wanted the next before the first was complete. Breathing raggedly, he lifted his proud dark head again. ‘I want to continue this in the comfort of my own bed.’

‘Spoilsport,’ she framed, through swollen lips.

‘Hussy,’ he growled, with a grin that revealed a flash of perfect white teeth as he settled her very gently back into the passenger seat.

Harriet very much enjoyed her new feeling of confidence around Rafael, but she would not have let him know. After all, he might have forgotten what he had admitted in the heat of the moment when he had snatched her back from the threat of Gemma’s car wheels. She wasn’t about to remind him that he had confessed to flaunting Frankie Millar in front of her to see whether or not she was jealous. However, that revelation had done real wonders for her self-esteem.

He turned the car on to the narrow unmade road that threaded through the mountains, and finally struck off on what appeared to be a grassy farm track. Spreading chestnut trees dappled the lane with shade and sunshine. Crimson poppies, golden broom and cobalt-blue cornflowers flourished in the long grass. A very old lichen-covered red-tiled roof came into view, and she sat forward for a better look. Below the terracotta roof stretched a long, low building of ancient stone, with windows at different heights and in no set formation. The farmhouse had a mellow charm and appeal that was timeless.

‘Is this it?’ Harriet asked doubtfully.

‘This is it—the Cavaliere fattoria, or home farm. What do you think?’

Harriet was already scrambling out of the car to get a closer look. ‘It’s like we’ve stepped back in time.’

‘Valente was born here.’

She whirled round, blue eyes agog. ‘On a farm? Your father, the hot-shot businessman? You’re kidding me!’

‘I kid you not. He was the youngest son, and he hated country life. He left here under a cloud and never came back.’

‘From what you’ve said about him, he kind of took his cloud everywhere with him. What did he do?’

Rafael thrust open the weathered oak door. She looked around with interest. A few pieces of antique country furniture had been retained, but there was no clutter. The décor had been scraped back to the bare-boned beauty of old wood and rough walls.

‘Valente made his initial fortune by cheating people with various business scams. He was clever enough to keep himself out of prison,’ Rafael shared with quiet derision. ‘Then he married a neighbour’s daughter fo

r her money and abandoned her in Rome when she was pregnant. She was too proud to return to her family, and she died in labour along with the child—alone and broke. My grandparents were so ashamed that they disowned their son.’

‘But this is your house now, so you must have got to meet them.’

‘I met my grandmother before she died, five years ago. Two of her sisters survive her, and a host of other relatives. Now…to practicalities,’ Rafael remarked with amusement. ‘The facilities are basic in this house. You have a free choice. We don’t have to stay here. Are you willing to rough it with me?’