Italian Bachelors: Irresistible Sicilians

His voice was hard. ‘People who steal and cheat from me. People who would harm my family. People who would try to take my businesses from me.’

‘Have you ever killed someone?’ The question was out before her brain had even conjured it.

For the briefest of moments, his jaw slackened, before all his muscles bunched. ‘How can you ask me such a question?’

‘Because I don’t know you.’ She hugged Lily closer to her. Never had she wished so hard that she’d moved on from Cornwall when she’d had the chance. If that ridiculous apathy hadn’t overcome her she’d likely be living on a remote Greek island away from this madness. ‘You changed, Luca. Once you went into business with that Francesco Calvetti, you changed. The darkness seemed to take you over. I was walking on eggshells all the time, always wondering and worrying over what kind of a mood you were in. I would spend nights in my studio painting and trying to ignore how terrified I was that you wouldn’t come home...’

‘Why would you have thought that?’

‘Because people in your line of work have a habit of not making it home. Except for in a coffin.’

‘My line of work?’ Anger rose in his voice. ‘I am a legitimate businessman.’

‘You’re nothing but a thug,’ she countered flatly. ‘Only I was too blind with love or lust to see it properly.’

A snarl flittered across his face, the pulse in his temple pounding. Pulling his wallet out of his back pocket, Luca rose and threw some euros onto the table. ‘Put Lily in her pram. We’re leaving.’

* * *

Luca had been in bed for the best part of two hours. For two nights, sleep had been a joke. It was worse than when he had first brought Grace home. Try as he might, he could not get her out of his head. Or excise the poison that had spilled from her tongue.

In sheer frustration he threw the sheets off and climbed out of bed. Drawing back the curtain, he stared out of the window at the moonlit view of his estate.

At that moment all was peaceful, the dark rolling hills giving the illusion the vines and olive groves were in deep sleep. He could almost believe he was the only person awake in the whole of Sicily.

Except Grace could be awake too. He’d heard her a while ago, tending to their daughter. She might very well be staring out of her own window, sharing the same view.

His chest tightened and he swallowed away the acid burn in the back of his throat.

She was probably plotting her next attempt to escape with Lily.

She would never succeed. But still she would try.

Her bravery had stood out the first moment he met her. She had trespassed on his land with her best friend. As soon as they had crossed the boundary, an alert had gone out. A camera had zoomed in on the area and they had been spotted. It had been sheer fortune—or misfortune, depending on your take—that Luca had been driving through the estate with his head of security, Paolo, and had been first on the scene. The intruders had been sitting on a picnic blanket, looking as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

‘Che ci fate qui?’ he had said, asking what they were doing while removing his gun from its holster. He had not sensed any danger from these young women but he would not take chances. While Salvatore Calvetti lived and breathed, the Mastrangelos would never be safe.

One of them, a curvy redhead, had jumped up in terror at the sight of the gun but the other, a slender blonde, had stayed on her bottom and gazed up at him. After a moment’s study, she had raised one hand in the sign of peace and then dived into her rucksack from which she had retrieved a battered notebook.

‘Uno minuti per favore,’ she had muttered as she got to her feet, flicking through her book. ‘Er...mi dispiace, ma il mio italiano non è molto buono.’ When she’d finished her garbled apology for not speaking Italian she’d beamed at him.

He’d taken in her tall, lithe frame, her long honey-blonde hair, the bare, dirty feet and the garish multicoloured top over the pair of frayed denim shorts. For all her grubbiness she’d shone brighter than the blazing midday sun.

‘Are you English?’ he’d asked, putting the gun back in its holster.

She had nodded.

‘This is private land. You must leave.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she had said. ‘We didn’t realise we were trespassing. There’s a gap in your fence we thought was a footpath.’

He had followed the direction she’d pointed at, and had seen a couple of panels had come off.

‘Get that fixed,’ he’d said to Paolo, who was hovering in the background, before turning his attention back to the striking woman before him. ‘You must leave now.’

‘Give us a minute to pack our materials away.’ She had turned to her cowering friend who was hiding behind her. ‘Are you going to stand there like a stuck lemon or are you going to pull your finger out?’

‘He’s got a gun!’ the friend had yelped, pointing a finger at Luca.

‘He’s also put it away,’ she had replied patiently, throwing Luca a discreet wink. That wink had jolted him to his core. ‘We are trespassing in Sicily, Cara, not Surrey.’

It was only when they had started packing their stuff away that he’d realised what they had been doing. ‘You are artists?’

‘I suppose we are,’ had said the brave woman, who had not so much as flinched at the sight of his gun. ‘We graduated last summer and have been travelling Europe ever since. We’re trying to get in as much art appreciation as we can before the real world drags us into its tentacles. That’s why we were pitched up here—Cara dabbles in landscapes and the view was spectacular. Honestly, your estate is beautiful.’

But Luca had had no interest in Cara. ‘Do you paint too?’

‘I do. Portraits. I normally work with oil but as we’re outdoors I’ve brought my sketchbook with me.’

‘May I see it?’

‘Sure.’ She had knelt down for another rummage in her rucksack, giving him a perfect view of her pert bottom.

He had blinked in shock as a stab of lust had run through him.

Grubby urchins were usually well off his radar.

This woman though...

She had brought a large sketchbook over to him.

Taking his time, he had flipped through it. Most of the drawings had been of her companion. They had been, without exception, exquisite.

He had looked back up and met her eyes properly for the first time.

The most enormous feeling of warmth had spread through his bones, a thickening in his chest that had made it hard to catch a breath.

‘Do you take commissions?’ he had asked after too long a pause during which they had simply stared at each other.

Her wide hazel eyes had crinkled at the sides. ‘Not from people whose names I don’t know.’

He had extended a hand. ‘I’m Luca Mastrangelo.’

‘Grace Holden.’ She had wiped her hand down the side of her shorts before reaching out to accept his.

A shock of heat had zipped through his hand, permeating through him. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Grace Holden.’

Her answering smile had stolen his remaining breath.