Innocent In The Billionaire's Bed

Matilda suspected that Art and Gloria would indeed have disapproved, but that wouldn’t have stopped Cressida from going. It just would have led to yet another loud shouting match, resulting in Cressida storming out and Art fretting for days over how he could handle his wayward daughter more effectively.

Having worked for Art for four years, Tilly had seen enough of those confrontations to know they were best avoided. Art wasn’t in great health, and every time he lost his temper with Cressida, Tilly worried.

No, she’d saved everyone a whole heap of trouble by coming to Prim’amore in Cressida’s place. After all, it was only a week. Cressida would attend the wedding, Tilly would stay on the island, and then they’d get back to their normal lives with no one ever knowing they’d performed a switcheroo.

She ignored the niggle of disquiet over that—and the inevitable conclusion that after this week she would never see Rio Mastrangelo again.

He turned the bike around a corner, leaning into it, and she leaned with him, holding on tight as the bike seemed to dip close to the grass on one side. He straightened, but she kept on holding him tight. Finally he brought the bike to a stop, pressing one powerful leg down to kick the stand.

‘This is where the path stops.’ His words were accented.

Belatedly, Tilly realised she was still gripping his waist and that there was no reason to do so. She jerked her arms away and fumbled her way off the back of the bike, scratching her calf in the process.

He had no such difficulty. He lifted himself off as though he’d been riding bikes all his life.

‘You’re a natural at that,’ she said, the words thick.

He lifted his helmet off and placed it on the seat, the turned to unclip hers. ‘It’s not rocket science.’

‘Still...’ She held her breath as his fingers brushed against the soft flesh under her chin.

He reached for the clasp and pressed it; the helmet loosened and she reached up to dislodge it at the same time he did. Their fingers tangled but he didn’t pull away, and nor did she. His eyes held hers for a beat longer than normal, and her stomach swooped up and then down.

She cleared her throat, pulling her hands away and smiling awkwardly. Yeah, great. Just what Cressida would have done, she thought with an inward groan of mortification.

He didn’t seem to realise. He pressed the helmet onto the seat and then reached back towards her.

His hand in her hair was like the start of her dream coming true. She watched, mesmerised, as he studied the red lengths, pulling his fingers through it, a slight frown on his face. Her breath hitched in her throat and anxiety began to perforate that strange mood.

Had he recognised who she was? Or rather who she wasn’t?

‘Do you dye this?’

She pulled a face, not comprehending why he’d ask such a question. ‘No!’

‘I didn’t think so.’ His frown deepened. ‘It’s like copper and gold.’

‘Yes.’ She nodded, stepping backwards and almost tripping on a rock that jutted out of the ground. His hand on her elbow steadied her, then dropped away again. ‘I hated it, growing up. I used to get teased mercilessly.’

‘I find that hard to believe.’

Strangely, it was something that Cressida and Tilly had in common. They’d discussed the dislike they’d felt as children, for having such unique colouring.

‘Yes, well—says you, who’s probably always looked like a mini-Greek god.’

The words were out before she could stop them.

‘I’m Italian,’ he pointed out, his grin doing strange things to her blood pressure. ‘And there is nothing miniature about me.’

‘You know what I mean.’ Her cheeks flushed bright red. She might as well have blurted out that she couldn’t stop thinking about how gorgeous he was.

He nodded, apparently taking pity on her because he didn’t pursue it. ‘I wouldn’t have teased you for your hair. Or anything.’

Her heart thumped. ‘Is this the volcano?’ She nodded at the jagged mountaintop that was still a little way above them.

He grinned, his eyes lifting to the peak. ‘Yeah. The track stops here.’

‘So we’ll walk?’

‘Sure.’ He lifted the seat of the bike and pulled out a black rucksack, hooking it over his shoulder. ‘Let’s go.’

She’d packed flip-flops and dresses, neither of which were especially suited to scaling a Mediterranean volcano. But she wasn’t going to complain.

‘The volcano would make an excellent tourist attraction. I know the previous owner of the island had plans drawn up to run a cable car across the top.’

‘That’s a great idea,’ she murmured.

The climb was steep and her breath was burning, despite the fact she was generally in good shape.

‘Just say if you require a break,’ he murmured.

Not bloody likely, she thought to herself, sending him a sidelong glance. ‘I’ll be—’

‘Fine,’ he responded. ‘The thing is, you usually say that before you fall over, so perhaps we should pause.’

‘That happened once,’ she said with a laugh, reaching across and pushing at his arm playfully.

He grinned back, but it was no longer playful. The atmosphere was electric.

She swallowed, forcing the conversation to something less incendiary. Something safe. ‘Was the previous owner looking at developing the island for tourists?’

Rio’s step slowed. ‘Si.’

‘I wonder why he didn’t,’ she murmured.

‘He died. Unexpectedly.’

‘Oh! What a shame. That’s awful.’

He stopped walking and turned to face her. ‘Look, Cressida.’

He nodded behind her and she spun.

An enormous smile broke across her face. ‘I’m on top of the world!’ she said, shaking her head.

The ocean spread like a big blue picnic blanket in every direction, but from this height she could make out ships in the distance, and another island dotted with bright homes.

‘Capri,’ he explained. ‘It is only twenty minutes away by boat.’