She tried to see him as they would. As a famous actor, one whose presence commanded every stage, even the one on his family’s terrace. He was almost too beautiful to look at, his face freshly shaved, revealing the strong jaw she liked to run her lips across. Then there was the hair, falling over his eyes, so he had to brush it away, as she had done so many times.
He was wearing a pair of grey suit trousers and a blue shirt, open at the collar to reveal a dusting of chest hair. The material was thin enough for her to make out the muscles beneath, and she could feel her hands twitch as she remembered what it felt like to touch him there.
‘Shall we refill the trays?’ one of the waiters asked, tearing her concentration from the scene on the terrace. Flustered, Cesca turned to him. ‘Yes, please. Gabi should have some more antipasti in there for you.’
He must have heard her voice cutting through the living room, because the next moment Sam was turning to look at her. Cesca caught his gaze, standing glued to the spot, feeling goose pimples breaking out on her skin in spite of the evening warmth.
Her breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining the longing she could see on his face. She was sure it was on hers anyway. The visceral need to touch him, to be held, to feel safe within the confines of his muscled arms.
Stop it, she told herself. Stop it right now. He’s not yours.
Before she could turn around, Sam broke her gaze, laughing at something somebody had said. She watched as a woman leaned up to whisper in his ear. Cesca’s stomach lurched like a drunk man when he laughed again. That flirtatious bastard. She was doing the right thing leaving tomorrow. There was no way she could take much more of that.
Tomorrow. She just needed to make it through until tomorrow. Then perhaps the mess in her head might somehow disappear.
By ten the party was in full swing. Cesca’s staff had less to do, as Sandro’s staff bore the brunt of the work, with the guests more interested in drinking wine than eating the delicacies Gabi had prepared. So she filled their trays with drinks, directing them through the crowds of people mingling on the terrace. The air was warm and fragrant out here, from the scented candles burning on every counter and table top. Cesca was just making her way back into the house, her tray empty of glasses, when she felt a hand encircle her wrist.
Her heart sped when she looked up to the see the owner of it. Then disappointment suffused her when she saw who it was. She quickly bit the feeling down, trying to hide it with a welcoming smile. ‘Cristiano,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise you were back.’
‘I’m only here for two nights,’ he told her. ‘I’ve come to sign the papers for that restaurant we visited. The Carltons were kind enough to invite me to their party.’
Cristiano looked at home among this crowd. As comfortable as she was awkward. What was it with Italian men, how were they able to own any room or terrace they walked into?
‘Well it’s lovely to see you. I’m afraid I’m working so I should go back in.’
His grip tightened. ‘Please stay with me. I don’t know anybody here. I was about to run down to the beach and climb over the fence to get back home.’
His wide-eyed expression made her laugh. ‘Let’s hope you have more luck than I did.’ She blushed when she remembered falling over, when she drank too much wine with him by the lake.
Cristiano laughed. ‘Oh I was very lucky that night. I got to spend time with a beautiful lady. Plus she was kind enough to flash me her knickers.’
Now her cheeks were burning. ‘That was an accident.’
His laughter was louder than before. ‘I know, that’s why I enjoyed it so much.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I’m so sorry about the night at the restaurant. It was too good an opportunity to turn down. I promise I didn’t take you there with ulterior motives. I really did want to take you on a date.’
She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter, really it doesn’t. We had a nice time anyway.’
‘Yes we did,’ he said. ‘But still, it was a terrible way to treat such a beautiful lady. I would like to make it up to you.’
‘There’s no need. And even if there was, you couldn’t. I’m flying back to London tomorrow.’
His face fell. ‘Such a shame. You’ll always remember me as the Italian who ignored you on a date.’
‘Of course I won’t. I’ll remember you as the kind person who took pity on a poor English girl and made her laugh. Plus you bought me lots of coffee in the piazza.’
She smiled at him, and he returned her grin. Cesca was starting to get that end-of-a-holiday feeling. The one where you felt sad to say goodbye to things, knowing you wouldn’t be seeing them again.
With his lips still curled up, Cristiano reached out to stroke her cheek. ‘You really are very lovely, tesoro. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.’
He was going to kiss her. Cesca could see it in his eyes, as heavy lidded as they were. She opened her mouth to say something, but then his lips were soft and warm against hers.
‘Can I have a word, please?’ Someone grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her away from Cristiano’s grasp. Shocked, Cesca turned to Sam, surprised by the look of anger on his face.
‘Sam. It’s a pleasure to see you again,’ Cristiano said.
Sam completely ignored him, pulling Cesca through the crowd. As they made it to the corner of the house, the fireworks began to explode over the lake, turning the sky a myriad of colours. Cesca tried to shout at him, to tell him he was hurting her, to ask him where they were going. But it wasn’t until they’d made it past the secluded garden beyond Foster’s wine cave that he even slowed down.
‘Sam, what is it?’