‘Why?’

Why? Oh, hell. ‘I haven’t got anywhere to go, have I?’ she shrugged.

‘And you only remembered that on the way down here?’

‘Yes,’ she sighed.

He nodded his dark head as though she had just confirmed every bad opinion he harboured about her. Then, in one of those complete turnabouts in manner which he could make to such devastating effect, he smiled—just smiled—and her heart turned over. The man was too charismatic for his own good!

‘You’re precious,’ he murmured as he dipped a hand into his jacket pocket and came out with something. ‘I adore you for it. Tell me what you think of that,’ he invited amiably, offering her what looked like a glossy magazine.

Bemused, confused, most definitely wary, because his tone had gone from bitingly sarcastic to tender so quickly that she just didn’t trust it, she took the magazine while her eyes remained fixed on his handsome face.

His expression told her nothing.

But then again, she mused as she lowered her eyes to study what was now in her hands, that face of his was just too riveting for anyone to see past its beauty and read what was going on in his mind!

She was staring at a glossy coloured brochure, not a magazine, she realised. A brochure with a photograph of a lovely red-roofed villa set in the middle of the most delightful surroundings.

For some reason it reminded her of Grandpa. She wasn’t sure why, unless it was because she had been thinking about him earlier; she could draw no comparison between Grandpa’s very modest smallholding and the aerial view of very large country estate she was seeing in this picture.

The villa itself was a low, rambling place, with yellowing walls and green paint-washed wooden frames to the windows and doors. There were outbuildings, a swimming pool and several large fenced paddocks, not to mention fruit groves and long rows of grape vines spreading out over rolling countryside.

A magical place, she decided, set in magical surroundings.

Puzzled as to why Sandro wanted her to look at this, she opened the brochure’s cover, expecting to gain enlightenment from its inner pages. But the print was in Italian—though there were more photographs, of the inside of what looked like a commercial wine cellar lined with huge old-fashioned oak barrels, and another one showing a beautifully cared for stable block.

‘Are you thinking of investing in a vineyard?’ she asked in a guess, since the brochure reminded her of those you found in the very best estate agents.

‘Wine-making is not one of my family’s interests,’ Sandro answered reflectively. ‘As you know, we are bankers by tradition. But I stayed close to this place a while back and was enchanted by it. What do you think?’

‘I think it’s beautiful,’ she answered softly. ‘All that blue sky and open space and peace and tranquillity...’

‘No buses, no trains,’ he wryly tagged on. ‘No shops within miles of the place...’

‘No people?’ she asked.

‘Local people, who have worked the land for as far back as their family history will take them. But, no,’ he said quietly. ‘No people in the way that you mean.’

‘Perfect, in fact, then,’ she murmured wistfully.

‘You could say that,’ he agreed.

The mobile phone in his pocket began to ring then, and as he turned his attention to answering whoever was calling him Joanna got to her feet and moved a couple of steps away to look over the brochure in relative privacy. As a barrage of friendly Italian began to wash over her, she heard the name of the person Sandro was speaking to.

‘Ah, Guido!’ he greeted. ‘Ciao! Ciao...!’

After that she was lost, but the name Guido was familiar to her—very familiar. He was just one of Sandro’s many relatives—a cousin who worked as a lawyer for the Bonetti Bank. He was also the man who had stood witness for Sandro at their wedding.

Guido wasn’t built in the same physical mould as Sandro, nor did he wield the same power. But he was a nice enough man. He had been keen to like her because she was marrying Sandro, all of whose family had been eager to like the woman their great chief had chosen to spend the rest of his life with.

Even Sandro’s mother, she recalled, her eyes glazing over as her mind built a picture of Sandro’s slender, dark-haired mother, who had been so warm in welcoming Joanna into her family. Her husband was dead, so she’d poured all of her love into her only child. Anything Sandro wanted, his mother wanted for him too. ‘You are my daughter now,’ she had said kindly. ‘Make my son happy and I will be forever your friend.’

But Joanna had not made her son happy.

‘Si—Si,’ Sandro murmured, bringing her attention swinging back to him in time to watch him grin before he continued in another fast spate of Italian.

She hadn’t seen him this at ease with himself since she’d come back into his life, she noted bleakly. Hadn’t seen that attractive grin warm his mouth, or heard that happy lilt in the deep bass of his sensual voice.

Tags: Michelle Reid Billionaire Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net