The Italian's Blushing Gardener

Kira glanced up sharply at his unexpected compliment. He laughed as their gazes connected. She couldn’t stop staring at him, and when he caught her eye it sent a confusion of signals through her body.

‘You’re right. I’m only looking around a house, that’s all. It’s nothing more than that,’ Kira murmured, trying to stake her claim to innocence. This Stefano Albani was strangely magnetic. Leaving him to investigate on his own might mean she never saw him again. If she followed him, she would delay the moment of parting and get to view the property of her dreams, too.

‘So if you are ready, signore, shall we make a start?’ she added with a bit more confidence.

He laughed again. ‘Suddenly so businesslike! I’m making the effort to leave the world behind for a while. Why don’t you do the same? I suspect it would do us both good to live a little, for once.’ His gaze was uncomfortably direct and Kira shifted under it. ‘In fact, it occurs to me that I don’t even know your name. So, as we begin, why don’t we start with some simple introductions? You know who I am, but who are you?’

Kira had often wondered that herself. ‘That isn’t important, Signor Albani.’ She shook her shoulders irritably.

‘Of course it is!’

‘No, really. I’m nobody.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ His smile showed signs of fading. ‘Everybody is somebody. Your name is your own. You can give it to me.’

Kira stopped. Ignoring this danger sign, Stefano didn’t.

‘Go on. You know you want to, and it won’t hurt!’ he teased her gently.

His question revived all Kira’s pain. The isolation of Bella Terra meant she didn’t have to introduce herself more than once or twice a year. That suited her. Every time she spoke her name, it reminded her of the shame she had left behind in England.

‘It’s Kira Banks,’ she muttered. Head down, she tried to cross the threshold but Stefano blocked her retreat.

‘You don’t sound very happy about it.’ His air was light, but she saw interrogation in his relentless blue gaze.

Blast him, what was wrong with the man? Kira was used to people backing off, becoming bored when met with her reluctance to talk about herself. In her experience most people preferred to be talking about themselves in any case. It appeared Signor Albani was used to having his questions answered.

‘Why is that?’ Stefano persisted quietly in the face of her continued silence.

Kira wanted to stare him out but her features lost the struggle. They were moving of their own accord. Her lids would not obey. She lowered her lashes, unable to struggle against the depth of his gaze. Making up some excuse for any other person would have been easy enough, but Stefano Albani was looking down at her with a fiction-piercing stare that demanded nothing less than the truth.

She gritted her teeth and muttered, ‘I came here to escape. I wanted to live in a place where no one knows my name.’

He drew back from her a little.

‘Okay, I’ll let it go at that…’ he relented, although his face told a different story. ‘For now…’ he added with a smile.

Kira mastered her features and managed a bland smile.

‘Don’t say I have stumbled on a master criminal, living in her bolthole in Italy?’

He was teasing her again. She managed to lift her eyes to challenge him, but knew she couldn’t afford to rise to his bait. Her pain hovered too close to the surface. She didn’t need him to aggravate her injuries. There were other people only too willing to do that.

‘Why I’m here is nobody’s business but my own.’ She tried not to snap, but it was difficult. Only his steady gaze softened her reaction. ‘In any case, the reasons would take far too long to explain, Signor Albani. Some things are best kept private. Why don’t we stop wasting time, and start looking around this lovely house?’

Purposely keeping her voice casual, she jerked herself out of his grasp. She could not escape his expression so easily. It was like a caress. It took all her determination to break eye contact with him. She managed it by concentrating on the breathtaking photograph on the cover of the property brochure in his hand. It was the only sure way she could distract herself from the delicious dangers of this man. Stefano gestured for her to walk across the entrance hall first. It was large, cool, and it echoed with his slow footsteps as he followed her across the cracked marble tiles.

Kira took a good look around. She had only ever entered the villa by one of the back doors. This was her first time in the grand public areas, and she didn’t want to miss a thing. While she was daydreaming, Stefano strolled past her. Pulling a pearl-handled penknife from his pocket, he pushed the blade against the woodwork of the nearest door. Kira gazed in wonder at the ornate plasterwork, and the beautifully worked banisters on the great double staircase, but he was busy with more practical things. He worked his way methodically around the entrance hall, testing, checking and inspecting.

‘This is the most beautiful house I have ever seen,’ she said wistfully. Stefano was not so easily impressed.

‘My town house in Florence is more practical, and in better condition,’ he observed, before flashing another brilliant smile at her. ‘But you’re right. The setting and space here can’t be beaten.’

Kira nodded. ‘It’s a lovely house. Oh, yes, there are bound to be things about it that must be altered, updated or replaced. It’s old. But I’d like nothing better than the chance to give it some homely touches. Couldn’t you just imagine the scene in December, with a fifteen-foot Christmas tree standing in that bay between the staircases?’

Stefano looked over to where she pointed. He studied the space, tipping his head first one way, and then the other.

‘Yes, the proportions would be exactly right. That’s important with these old houses. Everything must be in scale,’ he said firmly.

Kira’s heart gave a strange flutter. She had been half joking, hardly expecting the big-shot billionaire to consider Christmas trees with such seriousness. That might be a glimmer of hope. Even if he might fill the place with rowdy celebrity friends, he clearly had an eye for the important things in life.

‘A tree like that in a place like this will need to hit exactly the right note. When I host my first Christmas party I want everyone to be speechless with delight—because I’m all for a quiet life.’ He smiled, and gave her a look of undisguised interest. ‘So that’s the festive season sorted out. What do you suggest for my housewarming extravaganza?’

It was a totally unexpected question. Kira looked to see if he was trying to wind her up. He gazed back innocently. Smiling in spite of herself, she decided to answer in the same spirit.

‘Actually, I’m the last person you should ask about entertaining. I’m a garden designer. I prefer to work with plants rather than people.’

‘What is a Christmas tree, if it isn’t a plant?’ He shrugged. ‘And I shall need all sorts of those. When we become neighbours I shall want your advice, sooner or later.’

Kira shot him a look of pure disbelief. ‘You can have exactly what you like, signore. You don’t need anyone to advise you, let alone me!’

‘There are times when everyone can do with a little help,’ he slung straight back at her. ‘By employing skilled people, I can spend my time and effort on all the things I really want to do. In this instance, it gives me plenty of time to plan for Christmas.’ He stopped inspecting the paintwork and turned an acute gaze on her. ‘I know—you must have a good eye for colour. How would you like the task of co-ordinating all the decorations?’

Kira nearly laughed out loud. It felt truly bizarre to be standing in a vast Tuscan villa in the heat of summer, talking about something that was months away.

‘Why on earth would you want someone else to decorate your Christmas tree? It’s something I’ve looked forward to every year for as long as I can remember! It’s the chance to be a child again, I suppose, without all the pressure.’

It was Stefano’s turn to look askance. ‘I know all about pressure.’ His voice darkened with meaning.

Kira groaned under the weight of memory. ‘That’s why it’s so good to get away from it all, to a place like this. I can enjoy Christmas my way. No rehearsing recitals in Gloucester cathedral, dashing between carol services and amateur dramatics, torturing tons of holly, ivy and mistletoe into wreaths and swags. When I was a child, it was never ending.’

He pursed his lips, and then said drily, ‘It’s a wonder you had any time to yourself.’

‘I didn’t. That’s the penalty you pay for being a trophy child, isn’t it?’

‘I wouldn’t know. I missed out on all that. I skipped it, and went straight from sleeping in a box under the table, to earning a living.’

‘Gosh, you must have had a deprived childhood!’ she joked.

He stared at her, unimpressed. His eyes were suddenly chill with all the hidden feelings she recognised from her own reflection. She stopped laughing.

‘Yes. Yes, I did.’ He grazed his lower lip with his teeth for a moment, and then added, ‘But that’s behind me now. The future is all that matters.’

There was iron-hard determination in his voice. His eyes were everywhere. She wondered what havoc he would wreak on this beautiful old house when he took possession of it. The thought worried her. A few moments ago, she had been annoyed by the way he talked as though the villa was already his. Now she was thinking about it in the same way. He was checking every inch of the building like the rightful owner. If ever a man was made to lord it over the Bella Terra valley, it’s Stefano Albani, she thought, with a shiver of apprehension.

‘You’re cold. Why don’t you step outside into the evening sun and warm up?’ he murmured.

His words surprised her. She thought all his attention was riveted on the villa’s sales brochure, and hadn’t expected him to notice.