Vettori's Damsel in Distress (Harlequin Romance Large Print) (10 page)

‘Of course you do. And I have no confidence in the weather forecast. Experience suggests that we’re going to be freezing for a while yet.’

They walked in silence for a while, their boots crunching against the frozen snow, their breath mingling in the bitter air, but Dante had offered her something special and she wanted to give him something in return. Something that would show him that she had not been rejecting him.

Something personal, something that she would only share with someone she— Someone she trusted.

‘It’s blonde,’ she said.

‘Blonde?’ He glanced down at her.

‘You wanted to know the natural colour of my hair. It’s white-blonde.’

‘Really?’

‘I have to dye my brows and lashes or they’d be invisible. There must have been a Scandinavian roustabout with the Fair the year before I was born.’

‘I can’t imagine you as a blonde,’ he said.

No, well, she’d seen the quality of blonde he was used to dating. ‘I did once consider leaving a natural streak,’ she said. ‘For dramatic effect.’

‘
Cara
...you are all the drama a man can take.’

‘Is that a compliment? No, it’s not... Anyway,’ she said, rapidly moving on, ‘Great-Uncle Basil said I’d look more like Lily Munster than Morticia Addams so that was that.’

‘You are like no one, Angel. You are individual. Unique.’

Unique?
‘Not exactly the kind of compliment a woman queues up to hear but I’ll take it.’

‘You don’t need me to tell you that you’re stunning, Angelica Amery. You have Roberto and Gennaro and Nic and Marco lining up to turn your head.’ She laughed and he drew her closer to his side.

The café was closed when they arrived back and they went in the back way.

At the first landing Dante stopped. ‘Go and tell the kittens that their
mamma
will be home soon. Have a warm bath. I’ve got a few things to do.’

‘Do you ever sleep, Dante?’

‘Not much,’ he admitted.

‘Not enough,’ she said, lifting her cold hands to his face and smoothing her thumbs across the hollows under his eyes. ‘You need to quieten your mind before you go to bed.’

The world stilled. ‘How do I do that?’ he asked.

‘First you switch off your computer. Then you write a list of the things you have to do tomorrow so that you don’t stay awake trying to remember them.’

‘But I’ve turned off my computer,’ he reminded her. ‘How do I do that?’

‘Use a notepad and a pen.’

‘That’s a bit old school.’

‘Maybe, but that’s the rule.’

‘Okay, pen, paper, list. Then what?’

‘You take a bath—don’t have the water too hot; your body needs to be cool to sleep.’

He leaned against his office door, folded his arms. ‘Go on.’

‘Sprinkle a few drops of lavender oil on your pillow before you get into bed and, when you close your eyes, think about all the good things that happened to you today.’

‘Good things? What do you suggest? Our trip to the police station? That I’ve been lumbered with two more kittens and their injured mother? Spent hours in a freezing—’

‘Don’t be such a grouch. You helped a stranger who was in a fix. Rescued a cat that would have died without you doing something big, something difficult. You spoke to your father.’

She rubbed her hand over his arm, a gesture of comfort to let him know that she was aware how hard it must have been to ask him for help.

He looked at her hand, small, white, with perfect crimson-tipped nails, lying against his shabby worn waxed jacket sleeve, and for a moment he couldn’t think about anything but reaching out and wrapping his arms around her, just holding her.

‘Think about how good that pizza tasted.’

He looked up, realised that she was looking at him with concern. He straightened, breaking the contact. ‘Is that it?’

‘No. Last thing of all, you should think about all the good things you’re going to do tomorrow so that you wake up happy.’

‘Is that more of your mother’s wisdom?’

‘Yes...’ Her eyes sparkled a little too brightly. ‘Can I give you that hug now, Dante?’

‘A metaphorical one?’

‘Actually, I think you deserve the real thing,’ she said, stepping close and, before he could move, she’d wrapped her arms around him, her cheek was against his chest. ‘You have been a one hundred per cent good guy today, Dante Vettori. Think about that.’

Dante closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of this woman who had blown into his life like a force of nature.

She smelled of pizza and chocolate, there was a hint of antiseptic where she’d washed after handling the cat. And something more that he was coming to recognise as indefinably his Angel...

‘You can hug back,’ she murmured after a moment. ‘It doesn’t hurt.’

How could she be so sure? How could you want something so much and dread it at the same time? But ever since she’d asked him to hug her while they were waiting for the vet, leaning against him as she’d put her feet up, he’d been thinking about how it would feel to really hold her, to kiss her, live for the moment. What would happen if he followed through on those kisses without any thought of the past or the future?

Selfish thoughts. Dangerous thoughts. But if anyone deserved a hug it was Angelica and he tightened his arms about her, holding her close for a long perfect minute, but she was wrong about it not hurting. It hurt like hell when, after a while, she pulled away.

CHAPTER NINE

‘If you licked the sunset, it would taste like Neapolitan ice cream.’

—
from
Rosie’s Little Book of Ice Cream

G
ELI
STOOD
AT
the top of the stairs hugging her arms around her, holding in how it felt to have Dante’s arms around her. Not in some crazy mad moment when one or both of them had temporarily lost control, but the kind of hug you’d give a friend in a shared moment. Special, real...

He was special. She could not imagine how hard it must have been for him to call his father and ask for his help but he’d done it for her. Okay, he’d done it for the cat, but if it hadn’t been for her he wouldn’t have been out there in the freezing night looking for a stray cat in the first place.

He
was
special and she would be his friend and if that was all he could give then she’d ask for nothing more.

* * *

Dante watched as Angelica ran up to the top floor to check on her precious kittens then went into his office and sat down at his desk. He’d left his laptop on and the screensaver was drifting across the screen waiting for him to touch a key and continue with his dry, full of facts report that, despite all the promises and encouragement from the minister, would be filed and forgotten.

He turned the machine off, pulled a legal pad close, uncapped a pen and wrote the number one in the margin.

Quieten his mind. Make a list...

It began easily enough as he jotted down half a dozen of the most urgent things he had to do in the coming week. He added a note of something to include in his report. Crossed that through. Wrote:
vision
,
passion
... He underlined the last two words. What was it Angelica had asked him?
‘What would you show them?’

The life, the music but, above all, the people. Not some slick documentary film but real people talking straight into the camera, telling those who would tear this place down what was so great about it. Why they should think again.

He sent a text to Lisa, wishing them both
buon viaggia, buona fortuna,
so she’d see it when she woke. He hoped he’d done the right thing. That Lisa and Giovanni’s love would heal the rift between their families. If it did they would have Angelica’s crazy arrival to thank for that.

Angelica—

She had never had a father, had lost her mother at a pitifully early age. She might wear the protective black she’d hidden behind as a child but on the inside her world was richly coloured and filled with wonderful memories. Tragedy, need, had not shattered her family; it had bound it together.

She’d asked him if he saw his mother and he’d implied that she hadn’t had time for him. The truth was that he’d been so angry that she’d found someone else—had
looked
for someone else when he’d sacrificed his world to stay with her—that he’d walked away. He could hear Angelica telling him that he should be grateful that his mother had been strong enough to look forward, move on. Be grateful for the small half-sisters she and her husband had given him and reach out to make them part of his world.

This evening, when he’d called his father to ask for a favour, they’d spoken as if they were strangers and yet assistance had arrived within minutes. Angelica had assumed guilt, but all he’d heard was the fear of a man with his head buried in the sand.

He looked at the phone lying beside the pad, then picked it up, flicked through the photographs, staring at one he’d downloaded from
Celebrità
for a long time before he sighed, thumbed in a text to let his father know that they’d found the cat, adding his thanks for his prompt response. There was more, but some things had to be said face to face. He added his initial and pressed send then, with the phone still in his hand, he texted his mother to let her know that he’d call her in the morning.

He tapped the end of the pen on the pad for a moment, added one final item to his list and then went upstairs.

The apartment was quiet. The kittens were curled up together in the shelter of their box. And, hanging from the knob of his bedroom door, was a small linen drawstring bag with a hand-embroidered spray of purple lavender. It contained a little glass phial with a handwritten label—
lavender oil
and a date—and a note.

Gloria—as in Knickerbocker Gloria of ice cream fame—produces this from her own garden. It’s a bit magic, but then she’s a bit of a witch.

I’ve done with the bathroom so use the tub—a shower will only wake you up.

Dormi bene. Sogui dolci. G.

Sleep well. Sweet dreams.

* * *

The café did not open on Sunday and Geli got up early to the sound of bells ringing across the city, fed the kittens, gathered cleaning stuff from the utility room and, with a sustaining mug of tea, went down to her workroom.

Dante had cleared out everything but her boxes and she set to work cleaning everything thoroughly before setting up her work tables and drawing board, putting together her stool. Her corkboard was hung and was waiting for the scraps of cloth, pictures—anything and everything that would inspire her.

Three hours later, everything was unpacked, her sewing machines tested, her Mac up and running and all the boxes flattened and neatly stacked away in the corner, ready to be reused when she found somewhere of her own. Not that she could hope to find somewhere as perfect as this.

It was a fabulous space, and she took a series of pictures on her phone which she sent to her sisters, attached to an email explaining that there had been a problem with the apartment she’d rented but that she had found temporary accommodation and everything was great. She might even make a snowman later.

Elle replied, asking for a picture of the snowman.

Sorrel wanted to know:
what problem?
And actually her sister was probably just the person to fight her battle with the bank if things got sticky. She’d chase them up on Monday.

Right now she just itched to sit at her drawing board and begin working on an idea for a design that had been forming in her head ever since she’d seen those black beads in the market. Dusty, hungry; it would have to wait until she’d had a shower and something more substantial than a pastry for breakfast.

She was heading for the bathroom when Dante, dishevelled and wearing only a robe, emerged from his room and her heart jumped as if hit by an electric current.

‘Angel—’ He was sleep-confused, barely awake, giving her a moment to catch her breath. Gather herself. ‘What time is it?’

‘
Buongiorno
, Dante,’ she said with what, considering the way her heart was banging away, was a pretty good stab at cool amusement. ‘Did you sleep through your alarm?’

He dragged a hand through his hair and his robe gaped to expose a deep V of golden skin from his throat to his waist, the faint spatter of dark hair across his chest. Releasing the knee-weakening scent of warm skin.

‘I don’t have an alarm clock,’ he said, leaning against the door frame as if standing up was still a work in progress, regarding her from beneath heavy lids. ‘I don’t need one.’

‘No?’ She knew what the time was, but raised her wrist and pointedly checked her watch. ‘You intended to sleep until ten o’clock?’

‘Ten?
Dio
, that lavender stuff is lethal.’

It wasn’t just the lavender that was lethal. Wearing nothing but a carelessly tied robe, Dante Vettori was a danger not just to her heart, her head, but to just about every other part of her anatomy that was clamouring for attention... ‘You had a late night,’ she reminded him.

‘So did you but it doesn’t appear to have slowed you down.’ He reached out and she twitched nervously as he picked a cobweb from her hair. ‘What on earth have you been doing?’

‘Giving the storeroom a good clear-out.’ Forcing herself to break eye contact, she brushed a smear of dust from her shoulder. ‘I wanted to set up my stuff so that I can start work.’ She should move but the message didn’t seem to be getting past the putty in her knees. ‘Give me ten minutes to clean up and I’ll make breakfast.’

‘Ten minutes.’ He retreated, closing the door, and she slumped against the wall. A woman should have some kind of warning before being confronted with so much unfettered male gorgeousness.

Really.

She had just about got some stiffeners in her knees when he opened the door again. ‘I took your advice and made a list,’ he said.

He had?
‘Good for you. Clearly, it helped.’

‘That’s to be seen. One item concerns you.’

‘Oh?’

‘You won’t be moving.’

‘I won’t?’ Her heart racketed around her chest. He wanted her to stay... And then reality kicked in. ‘Did Lisa change her mind about taking Giovanni to the wedding?’ she asked, concerned.

‘No. They should be safely on their way by now.’

‘Well, that’s good. For them,’ she added in case he thought her only worry was about having somewhere to live.

‘Let’s hope so but, in the meantime, you’re going to be here all day, working a shift or on your designs and you can’t keep rushing across town to look after an injured cat and a bunch of kittens.’

‘It’s a kindle,’ she said. ‘The collective noun. It’s a kindle of kittens, a clowder of cats. Would it be necessary to move them? As you said, I’ll be around in the day and you’ll be here in the evening, at night.’

‘Not all the time. I’ve had my head stuck in this damned report when I need to be out there, drumming up support. Making a noise. I’ll be going to Rome some time this week. And I’ve decided to supplement the report with a DVD.’

‘A picture says a thousand words?’

‘That’s the idea. I thought I’d put together a short film. There’ll be library footage of people at last summer’s jazz festival, the collective lunches at the
giardino condiviso
, the “green” construction projects and the creation of the street art.’

‘That’s a start but you’ll need people. Interesting faces, characters.’

‘Two minds with but a single thought... I’ll intersperse the clips with people talking about why they love this place. Not just the old guys who’ve been here for ever, but the young people who are drawn here. You, for instance.’

‘Me?’

‘You’re so excited about it. And, as Lisa said, you’re good for business.’

‘Oh, I see. I’m going to be the hot totty that keeps the old guys watching.’

‘Not just the old guys.’ He straightened. ‘Anyway, that’s for next week. I was talking about the cats and it’s going to be easier if you stay here and I move into Lisa’s flat.’

‘You...?’ According to Lisa, the heating was on a thermostat, a cheap timer switch would turn the lights on and off and, in any case, she was going to have to go and feed the goldfish and check that everything was okay while he was away. ‘Is that really necessary?’

‘Cara...’
He lifted a hand and, although his fingertips barely brushed her cheek, her body’s leaping response was all the answer she needed. Of course it was necessary. She would be here, in his space, all day, all evening, either in the café or working on her designs.

He’d made no attempt to deny the frisson of heat, the desire that simmered whenever they were in the same room, but he’d made it clear in every way that, despite the attraction between them, he was still mourning the woman who’d abandoned him.

He might be mourning for Valentina, but right now he was there, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded and very much awake beneath those slumberous lids as he called her
‘cara’
in that sexy, chocolate-smooth accent.

She’d probably be doing him a favour if she reached out, tugged on the tie that was struggling to hold his robe together, pushing him over the edge so that he could blame her for his ‘fall’.

She wouldn’t have to push very hard. He wanted it as much as she did and she had him at a disadvantage. Once her hands were on his warm satiny skin, his resistance would hit the floor faster than his robe and neither of them would be thinking about anything except getting naked. But afterwards he’d feel guilty, there would be awkwardness and she didn’t just want his body, luscious as it was. She was greedy. She wanted all of Dante Vettori.

‘Are you sure you’ll be able to handle the goldfish?’ she asked, stepping back from the danger zone.

‘Are you mocking me, Signora Amery?’

‘Heaven forbid, Signor Vettori.’

She was mocking herself. She’d come to Isola looking for artistic and emotional freedom. Marco, gorgeously flirtatious, would have been perfect for the kind of sex without strings relationship she had envisaged. Or even the elegant Gennaro. Throwing Dante Vettori in her path on day one was Fate’s cruel little joke.

‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a litter tray to clean.’

* * *

Dante shut the door and leaned back against it. He’d made his list then soaked in a tub, filled with water that was not too hot, in a bathroom still steamy and scented with something herby that Angelica had used. Sprinkled a few drops of lavender oil on his pillow before lying back and recalling all the good things that had happened that day. He’d implied it would be hard but a dozen moments had crowded in...

The moment he’d walked into the café that morning, seen Angelica and experienced the same heart-stopping response as the night before. Watching her laugh. Avoiding her eyes as every male in the
commissariato
had paid court to her, knowing that they would be laughing just for him. The weight of her body against his as she’d slept while the vet operated on their stray...

And then he’d thought about all the good things he’d do today so that he’d wake up happy.

He’d have breakfast with Angelica. Bounce ideas off her, about his film. He’d call the vet for an update on the cat because she’d be anxious. Afterwards, they could go into the city for lunch and he’d show her the Duomo, wander through the Quadrilatero so that she could window-shop at the great fashion houses. Finally, supper in front of the fire. And bed. With her? Without her?

He’d have woken very happy if, when he’d opened his eyes, she had been lying beside him, her silky black hair spread across the pillow, her vivid mouth an invitation to kiss her awake...