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The Count of Castelfino
Christina Hollis


An inexperienced English rose – at the Italian Count’s mercy! With some trepidation Meg Imsey is travelling to Tuscany. Hired by an aged aristocrat for her horticultural skills, shy Meg intends to hide away in the greenhouses. But that’s before she meets her new boss… Since his father’s death, Gianni has worn his new title warily.Much is expected of the Conte di Castelfino – not least the need to marry and produce an heir. So it could almost be seen as fate that this English rose has arrived – naïve, nervous, and at his command!







‘I want you, Megan,’ he whispered.

His honeyed words trickled through her body like warm water. Her hands gripped his arms. In that instant his mouth clamped over hers. It was firm and possessive, a reassurance that took away all her fears and common sense at the same time. Meg knew this was mad, dangerous and totally wrong, but for once in her life she didn’t care. She simply relaxed into his embrace and let his passion engulf her. It was far too wonderful to resist, but she knew she had to make a token effort.

‘We can’t, Gianni. I can’t.’

Sliding one hand beneath her chin, he lifted her face. First he placed a kiss on the tip of her nose. Then the need to kiss her properly again over-whelmed him.

Meg was powerless to stop him, and when he lifted his lips gently from hers a second time he murmured, ‘Of course we can. When I show you how good it can be you’ll never want another man.’


Christina Hollis was born in Somerset, and now lives in the idyllic Wye valley. She was born reading, and her childhood dream was to become a writer. This was realised when she became a successful journalist and lecturer in organic horticulture. Then she gave it all up to become a full-time mother of two and run half an acre of productive country garden.

Writing Mills & Boon


romances is another ambition realised. It fills most of her time, between complicated rural school runs. The rest of her life is divided between garden and kitchen, either growing fruit and vegetables or cooking with them. Her daughter’s cat always closely supervises everything she does around the home, from typing to picking strawberries!

You can learn more about Christina and her writing at www.christinahollis.com




Recent titles by the same author:


THE TUSCAN TYCOON’S PREGNANT HOUSEKEEPER

THE RUTHLESS ITALIAN’S INEXPERIENCED WIFE

HER RUTHLESS ITALIAN BOSS

ONE NIGHT IN HIS BED





The Count of

Castelfino


by




Chirstina Hollis











www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/)


To Martyn, for all his help and support.




Prologue


MEG could hardly believe her luck. Charity Gala Night at the world-famous Chelsea Flower Show, and she was part of it! The rich and famous jetted in from all over the world for this exclusive preview. Her display of tropical flowers attracted them all, so she was getting a grandstand view of their wealth and beauty. When she heaved a sigh now, it was only to experience the fragrance of a million flowers and acres of crushed grass. Her career might be on hold, but this experience was taking her mind off her pain.

Suddenly, a strangely determined movement caught her eye. A gorgeous man was threading his way between the tycoons and movie stars. Patting a shoulder here, kissing a woman there, he looked as though he owned the place. Tall, athletic and moving with natural grace, he was born to wear a tuxedo. Meg couldn’t help following him with her eyes. His dark good looks were illuminated every few seconds by a flashing smile as yet another person tried to catch his eye. Meg wondered what it would be like to be part of his charmed circle. Watching him was her window into another world. When the crowd closed around him, hiding him from view, a light definitely went out of her evening. She dropped her gaze to the reality of her job on the Imsey Plant Centre stand again, wondering what it would have been like to sample some of his charm for herself.

The expression froze on her face as she realised her day-dream was about to come true. Her ideal man was walking straight towards her display stand, and smiling. He obviously wanted to attract her attention. He got it—instantly.

‘Buona sera, signorina!’ He twinkled, his voice rippling with Italian delight. ‘I need beautiful presents for some…special people. I’ve been told this sort of plant is foolproof…’ he continued, looking down at an open note-book in his hands. Frowning briefly, he raised his eyes to hers again with a particularly devastating smile. ‘Mmm…I wonder—can you read this handwriting?’

He made no move to hold the little book out to her. Meg couldn’t reach it from where she stood. She might never get a better chance to approach a man like this. Glancing apprehensively all around, she nipped around the end of the Imsey stand and went to his side. She felt unbelievably shy, but it was worth it. The closer she got, the more darkly handsome he became. He wasn’t just lovely, he had everything. His designer suit was so crisp and new, a gold Rolex shone against his flawless tan, and when he moved she was engulfed in a waft of expensively discreet aftershave.

‘This is the first chance I’ve had to get out from behind this display all day, sir!’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll make sure it’s worth your while.’

With a flutter of pleasure, Meg heard all sorts of unspoken promises in his voice. It didn’t take a mind reader to know that was exactly what he intended. Smiling down at her indulgently, he showed her his notebook. The first thing she noticed was the way his fingers curled around its leather-bound cover. They were long, strong and a shade of brown more usually seen on the men who worked beside her in the greenhouses at home. There was only one difference. Unlike them, this man had fingernails that were neat and clean. Meg found herself wondering if the rest of him was equally smooth and perfect…

Her handsome customer cleared his throat. It was a soft, polite sound but Meg’s guilt made her jump. She looked back at his notebook. Most of the page was covered in staccato Italian written in a strong, clear hand. Then an expansive, old-fashioned script had added something. Meg leaned close to her visitor, trying to make out what it said. The warm night released another tantalising hint of his expensive cologne into the air. She inhaled, trying to make it sound as though she were concentrating. This was a once-in-a-lifetime moment for her. When she had served him, this stunning man would be gone from her life for ever. Meg made sure she stretched out the moment for as long as she could.

‘It’s an Imseyii hybrid, sir. They’re exclusive to my family’s nursery,’ she announced, leaning back from him with regret. She was rewarded with a look that made everything worthwhile. His dark brown eyes glittered with pleasure. Meg gazed into them, and was lost. His teasing smile was as irresistible as the rest of him and she felt herself getting warmer by the minute.

He leaned toward her with a wicked grin. ‘What I want to know is: do women like them?’

‘They can’t resist them, sir!’ Meg giggled, surprising herself. She had never found anything remotely funny about her work before. ‘Our orchids are the perfect impulse gift to give a lady.’

‘Or perhaps several ladies?’

Meg let his remark pass. There were too many people relying on her, back at home, for a flirtation to lead her astray. Turning away from the influence of his beautiful eyes, she spread her hand towards her display, inviting him to admire the carefully crafted arrangement she had made of the nursery’s best plants. Dozens of them nestled in a bed of soft green moss. Hundreds of arching stems as fine as florist’s wire trembled in the slightest movement of air. Each was set with dozens of perfect little flowers, some plain, some patterned, and in almost every colour of the rainbow. Meg was so proud of them she allowed herself another smile.

‘They’re often called “dancing delights”. Are you tempted, sir?’

Her handsome customer put his head on one side and looked at her mischievously. ‘That depends. Do you dance?’

Meg giggled again. At any other time, in any other circumstances she would have cursed herself for being so unprofessional. Tonight, it felt right. Simply looking at this man lightened her heart. There was something about the glitter in his sloe-dark eyes, and the life burning in his expression.

‘I don’t suppose you need to dance, with a smile like that.’

Magically, the gap between them closed. Meg couldn’t see him moving, but it was definitely happening. Confused, she looked at her plants. ‘I don’t have time for dancing, sir—or anything other than nursery work, really. Looking after all these is more than a full-time job…’

‘Then you must do it very well. Everything is looking lovely.’ He tilted his head again, and there was no mistaking his expression.

‘Thank you!’ Meg responded with a delight that overcame her shyness. And then she realised he wasn’t concentrating on the plants, but on her. Immediately a molten core of heat threatened to melt every square inch of her skin. It erupted in a blush as he trained a knowing look straight at her.

‘I’ll take a dozen. Send them around to my Mayfair apartment. That should keep my current string of beauties quiet for a day or two. My name is Gianni Bellini. Here’s my card, and thank you—these last few minutes have been a real pleasure.’ His smile was roguish, and told Meg that plants definitely took second place with him. ‘Now, I must pay.’ He pulled out a sleek leather wallet and extracted a sheaf of banknotes along with his business card. As he passed them over to her a smile animated his beautiful lips and suggestive eyes. Her blushes flared again as he took her hand in his warm, sure grip. Raising it to his lips for the soft sensuality of a kiss, he reduced her legs to jelly.

‘And so, until the next time we meet, mio dolce…’

Dark eyes flashing, he nodded a discreet farewell. Then before Meg could gasp or laugh or speak, he withdrew his touch, turned and vanished into the crowds…




Chapter One


MEG woke with a jolt and realised she was back in her aircraft seat. Her heart tumbled thirty thousand feet. A lot had happened since the Chelsea Flower Show, but the image of Gianni Bellini still haunted her. Only the thrill of starting work full-time at the Villa Castelfino could take her mind off him. She had been commuting to Tuscany regularly over the past few weeks, but from today she could properly call herself the Count di Castelfino’s Curator of Exotic plants. It was the official start of her new job with her grand Italian employer. Although she was looking forward to it, Meg was very nervous. It was the first time she had lived so far away from her parents, and she didn’t like leaving them to cope with their business alone. It didn’t help that after sleeping on the plane she had a head full of cotton wool, and all the most uncomfortable bits of her aircraft seat imprinted on her body.

Shuffling off the plane along with everyone else, she comforted herself with the thought someone would be waiting for her in Arrivals. Once she left airside, Franco the chauffeur would be there to help with her luggage, as usual.

Meg’s budding self-assurance lasted for as long as it took her to glance around the waiting area. Franco was nowhere to be seen. With a flicker of fear she wondered if this meant there was trouble at the Villa Castelfino. She had picked up enough from working alongside the Count di Castelfino to know that the old man did not get on with his son. Meg had never seen il ragazzo, as her aristocratic employer scornfully called his heir, but she had learned enough to dislike him. The Count di Castelfino loved the varied landscape of his estate with its olive groves, gnarled oaks and wildflower meadows. His son wanted to transform it into a monoculture—nothing but ordered rows of vines as far as the eye could see. As for the count’s beloved plant collection—Meg smiled ruefully to herself. Life at the Villa Castelfino sounded like a continuous struggle between beauty and business. The old man’s hobby was always in danger of losing out to his son’s ambition.

She waited and waited, but no one arrived to collect her. It was a bad start for someone with half a ton of luggage. Time crawled past. Looking up and down the concourse, she spotted an arrow pointing towards a taxi rank. Rather than wait and worry, Meg swung into action. Pushing her trolley towards it, she waited nervously for a vacant cab, glancing in every direction. Neither help nor trouble arrived, but by the time she could scramble into the safety of a taxi she was in a state of nervous collapse.

The driver recognised the address she gave him, and let fly a delighted stream of Italian. Meg went weak with relief. At last something was going right. She tried to explain her situation, but soon used up her tiny vocabulary of halting holiday phrases. Her driver found the whole thing hilarious. Unable to understand and feeling totally isolated, Meg sank back in her seat.

I wonder what gorgeous Gianni is doing right now. Not being stood up at an airport terminal, that’s for sure! she thought, imagining him shouldering aside his flock of girlfriends to rescue her. She sighed, wondering if she would ever see him again. It didn’t seem very likely. Her only hope would be to persuade the Count di Castelfino to stage an exhibit of his plants at one of the big London flower shows. In her dreams, the gorgeous Gianni Bellini haunted them in search of more treats for his harem.

She spent the taxi ride imagining what it must be like to be seduced by such a charmer. It’s no wonder he’s got so many girls in tow, she thought. His smile had warmed her in a way she hadn’t experienced for a long time. She was strictly a one-man girl, so common sense always told her to put a lot of distance between herself and men like Signor Bellini. But a wisp of wicked excitement curled through her daydreams like smoke. In her fantasies, she could do what she liked.

And so could Gianni…

While Meg simmered, the man of her dreams stared down the barrel of a gun. It might look like the neck of a crystal decanter, but it was equally deadly. Gianni Bellini knew full well that alcohol solved nothing. It would only slow him down. Going for so long without sleep was bad enough, and drinking would only make it worse. It would have a knock-on effect on him, and all his newly inherited staff, for the rest of the day. He decided against it.

‘Shall I fetch you some champagne instead, Count?’ A uniformed waiter bowed obsequiously. All he got in reply was a grunt and a dismissive wave of his new master’s hand.

Barely twenty-four hours into his life sentence, Gianni was still coming to terms with what had happened. He had known this would be his destiny for as long as he could remember. Reacting by developing a strong streak of independence, he had made sure he didn’t have to rely on his inherited wealth. Instead he had forged a brilliant career for himself. While his father was alive, Gianni’s Castelfino vineyard had been relegated to a distant corner of the estate. That was about to change. Now Gianni was in total control, his business would take centre stage. Despite his exhaustion, he smiled. That would stop the questions, for a while at least. People knew he was obsessed with the idea of making Castelfino wines a luxury with an international reputation. They would think he was simply shelving any quest for an heir while he expanded his empire.

Now he had inherited all his father’s land and property, there would be no stopping him. Every suitable inch of the Castelfino estate would be turned over to growing grapes. Production would rocket, and so would Gianni’s sense of satisfaction. He enjoyed playing the part of self-made millionaire, although his playboy image was a pretty intangible asset. It was good to have a new girl every night, but they were nothing more than a perk of the job. While celebrity spotters tried to guess which one of his beautiful companions would be chosen to produce the Bellini heir, Gianni kept his real love a secret. The Castelfino vineyard was his baby. When it came to children…Gianni didn’t want anything to do with them. His own childhood had been made an absolute hell by his warring parents. He couldn’t stomach the idea of inflicting that on an innocent infant.

A movement outside the summer dining room caught his eye. In the far distance a dust devil spiralled along the line of the drive. It was heading for the villa. Gianni’s eyes narrowed with annoyance. He really didn’t need visitors right now. With an exclamation, he slid his palms back across the white linen of the tablecloth and cranked himself to his feet. His sleep-deprived brain was still functioning, but his limbs were set in concrete. Crossing the room, he went out through the open French doors and onto the terrace. However he felt, he had a duty to those arriving to pay their respects to his late father. He shut his eyes, concentrating on what he would say.

The Tuscan countryside sounded as only an afternoon in high summer could. In the still, hot air not a leaf moved. A single bird called, with the monotonous chip-chip of two parched stones tapping together. The only other sound was that single car engine, making a tunnel through the dense air as it tore towards him. Everything else held its breath.

Gianni heard the car swing around in an extravagant semicircle to stop in front of the villa’s main door. Puzzled, he opened his eyes and saw—not some grand limousine, but a simple radio cab. There wasn’t time to be shocked before its driver bellowed a hearty greeting and leapt out to open the car’s boot.

The cabbie began hauling out suitcases and piling them on the dusty ground, while keeping up a cheerful conversation with his still invisible passenger. Gianni stared at the scene with disbelief. All the time the car radio chattered away. No one at the Villa Castelfino had raised their voice above a whisper for days. Until that moment, the vast face of the house had been blank with shutters closed against the sunshine. Now flickers of movement ran along behind many of them. This unexpected racket was mobilising Gianni’s staff. Sure enough, one of the kitchen lads raced out from a side door to tackle the new arrivals. While he was busy silencing the cab driver, the brand new count got another shock.

The rear door of the taxi opened and the most beautiful woman in the world struggled out. Her skirt, already short, had ridden up during her journey exposing long, beautifully shaped legs. Her dark blonde hair moved loosely around her shoulders, shining in the sunlight. She looked dazed. As she straightened up she staggered slightly, as though pushed back against the security of the car. Gianni realised she had been caught off guard by the sudden contrast between the air-conditioned taxi and the sun-baked amphitheatre in front of the Villa Castelfino. Is it any wonder, he observed, when she’s wearing tights?

With a curse, he turned away. His body had sprung to life as it always did at the sight of a pretty girl. How could it possibly play a tasteless trick on him like that, today of all days? A keen interest in all things feminine was only natural, but noticing such fine detail at a time like this was grotesque. Gianni dropped his gaze to his feet. And then he heard her laugh. It was as captivating as a charm of goldfinches.

‘Signor Bellini! What a surprise! I never expected to see you again, let alone here! What a lovely surprise!’

He heard her take long, confident strides toward him across the gritty forecourt. From his vantage point on the terrace he could look down on her with the mere flick of a glance. As she noticed his bitter, twisted expression she stopped smiling. In half a dozen steps she went from delight, through puzzlement, to concern. Her steps became hesitant, and when she spoke again her voice was halting and uncertain.

‘You are the man I met at the Chelsea Flower Show, aren’t you?’

‘Sì. I am Gianni Bellini.’

He dropped the words like icicles, but then recognition swept over him. This was the flower girl. Gianni never forgot a pretty face—or a curvaceous body like hers. Manufacturing a smile, he nodded a brief welcome. Details slowly came back to him. This one was not only beautiful, she was clever, too. That was enough of a novelty for her to have made a special impact on Gianni at the time, but he had never dreamed of seeing her a second time.

The force of his reply didn’t stop her. She advanced with another laugh and stuck out her hand in greeting.

‘Good grief, I never would have believed it. You’ve changed—all those girlfriends must be running you ragged, signor!’

‘What are you doing here?’ he enquired in a voice like cut glass. As he spoke he looked down at her outstretched hand as though he would rather shake a viper by the tail.

She frowned, looking into his face as though searching for recognition.

‘I work for the Count di Castelfino. I’m moving into the Garden Cottage today. Someone usually meets me at the airport, but for some reason the chauffeur didn’t turn up today.’

‘That is because my father is dead. I’m the Count di Castelfino now,’ he announced with crisp formality.

Her smile vanished, and she stared at him in growing horror.

‘Oh…I’m so sorry.’ Helplessly she looked from the taxi, to her heap of suitcases and then back to him. ‘How crass of me to arrive in such a flurry like this…C-can I ask what happened?’

‘He suffered a stroke some days ago, in Paris. He died yesterday—no, the day before—’

Shaking his head, Gianni raised one hand and dragged it wearily down over his face. The rasp of stubble under his palm was loud and intrusive in the horrible, thick silence.

‘I—I’m so sorry…’ she repeated, her voice soft and insubstantial.

Exactly like her, Gianni thought instinctively, before silently cursing his reactions again.

‘You weren’t to know. I didn’t know you were expected. That’s why no one was sent to meet you. I was only driven back here an hour ago.’ Distracted, he looked across at the taxi and pulled out his wallet. ‘I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey. You’ll have to go back to wherever you came from. How did you get past my security guards at the gate, in any case?’

Her eyes opened wider and wider as he spoke until they looked like two clear reflections of the cobalt sky.

‘They were expecting me…my name is on today’s visitor list…so they just waved my taxi straight through…’ Her voice was faint. As it faltered still further he had to lean closer to hear what she was saying. ‘But I can’t go back…all the plants here will need someone to look after them. The count—the old count—would have wanted them cared for properly…’

Gianni shook his head. ‘I’m the Count di Castelfino now, and I have my own plans. It’s the start of a new regime. There’s no room here for anything that doesn’t pay its way. Whatever projects my father may have had in mind won’t be going ahead. I’m in charge now, and my interests are much more practical.’

As he spoke he saw the heaven of her eyes become cloudy and misted with tears. She shrank visibly, and when she spoke her voice was barely more than a whisper.

‘You can’t mean that, signor?’

‘I’m afraid so. The Castelfino vineyard is my only concern. I’m interested in practical projects, not hobbies.’

Springing lightly down from the terrace, he started to walk towards the taxi. Because old habits couldn’t be shaken off, he put a comforting arm around her shoulder to lead her in the same direction. ‘Don’t worry, signorina. I’ll pay your taxi fare back to the airport. By the time you get there, my staff will have phoned through and arranged a return ticket for you. Where did you fly from, by the way?’

‘Heathrow—but—’

As they reached the open passenger door of the taxi Gianni took his arm away from her. After pressing far too much money into the taxi driver’s hand, he swivelled on his heel and walked off. As he headed back to the villa he threw a few disjointed words over his shoulder at her.

‘I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey, signorina. Goodbye.’

Closing a mental door firmly in her face, he forced himself to push thoughts of her inviting full lips and big blue eyes right to the back of his mind. He ought to be concentrating on his plans for Castelfino Wines, not distractions like her.

And then a voice interrupted his thoughts, ringing out through the hot, still air.

‘No, thank you, Signor Bellini.’

He stopped and frowned. That wasn’t supposed to happen. If the girl was going to say anything at all, it should have been a diffident ‘yes'. That was the way things worked in Gianni’s universe. People did what he told them to do. While he stood wondering how she could possibly have misunderstood his instructions, he heard a muffled bang. It was followed by the sound of light footsteps in the dust. That made him look back, over his shoulder. What he saw puzzled him still more. The girl had dropped her hand luggage and was running to catch him up.

Gianni Bellini, Conte di Castelfino, thought of all the staff members who would be watching this fiasco from behind the Villa Castelfino’s shutters. They all knew his reputation. The old place must be alive with gossip already. Playboy he might be, but Gianni knew what to do. It wouldn’t hurt to reinforce his authority. When this girl launched her screaming, hysterical scene, he would silence it with a single roar of his own.

He snatched a deep breath, but never got to use it.

‘With all due respect, signor, I think I ought to stay.’

She skidded to a halt, almost within his reach. Her voice had been little more than a whisper. He hadn’t expected that. When she glanced nervously at the front of the house before speaking again she surprised him a second time.

‘For a little while, at least. Please?’

Totally wrong-footed, Gianni was stunned into silence. Not by what she said, but by the way she said it. An arrow of thought shot through his brain. It’s almost as though she’s as concerned for the staff as I am…but, no, she couldn’t be…

Words hissed through his clenched teeth like a November blast.

‘You have the nerve to speak to me of respect? A woman who bursts in on a house in crisis with laughter?’

Meg was so close she could hear the breath labouring in and out through his parted lips. She was petrified, but desperation kept her standing firm. She had to hope that she could make her new boss see reason and keep her on. It was vital.

‘I meant no harm, signor. I would never have made such a fuss if I’d known the circumstances. Can’t we draw a line under all this and start again?’

Within seconds she realised her mistake. Gianni Bellini had no reverse gear.

From the moment she’d arrived, she had realised this was going to be difficult. Now it looked close to impossible. She felt weak with terror, but couldn’t let him see that. She needed this job. Too many people were relying on her to simply roll over and accept what this strangely changed Gianni said.

With nothing to lose but her dignity, Meg pressed on. She lowered her lids. It was a slow, methodical gesture like that of a diver standing on the topmost board. To her surprise, he reacted by giving her time to speak.

‘When your father was alive, he specifically wanted me to come and work here,’ she said with measured calm. ‘I was the most highly qualified applicant for the post, and without my skill his plants will soon suffer. He had all sorts of plans in mind for the Castelfino Estate. Now he’s…well, let’s just say he’ll need a fitting memorial. He was always worrying about the future, and a lot of his ideas were practical. He spoke about throwing open his plant collection to the public one day, as a way of encouraging tourism in the area. I’m sure you’ll be carrying on all his other good works, signor,’ she added, and was relieved to see her innocent remark seemed to impress him. ‘Any man would be proud to leave such a legacy. Believe me, I know.’

His attitude hardened. ‘How do you know? Because you have a fistful of paper qualifications?’ he scoffed, clearly unimpressed.

‘No, I can say it because my father was exactly the same,’ she said evenly. ‘When he was taken seriously ill, he spent so much time worrying about what he would leave behind, he couldn’t rest. He was his own worst enemy. Your father was a good, kind man, signor. He deserves a living tribute. I worked with him closely on his new project here. He was so keen for it to go ahead, I really think it would be a mistake for you to cancel it just yet.’

Gianni stared at her for a long time. Then the corners of his mouth lifted in the slow, devastating smile that had been haunting all her dreams since their first meeting. He took a step forward, and held out his hand. ‘Allow me to congratulate you, Miss—?’

‘Imsey. Megan Imsey.’

His fingers felt deliciously warm as he enfolded her hand. It was a heat reflected in the colour of her cheeks.

‘Well done, Miss Imsey. I’m lost for words—something that has never happened to me before!’

Meg smiled back. She was a fast learner. In the last few minutes Gianni Bellini had morphed from her dream man into a living, breathing human being. Someone she could reach out and touch. To her surprise she realised they had at least two things in common. Work was everything to him—and he was as good at hiding his real feelings as she was. He might have started off as her fantasy lover, but Meg recognised a realist when she met one. Brought up on the breadline by devoted parents, she had become ultra ambitious to try to cushion them from poverty. She needed this job, for their sake. If that wasn’t reason enough to make a stand, Gianni Bellini was so magnetic. His playboy side had entranced her at Chelsea. He was so much more glamorous than anyone she had met before. Now he had been catapulted into a position of power, she wanted to see what his ambitions would make of her careful plans.

‘Surely you don’t need to make a snap decision about something as insignificant to you as my job, signor? Right now, you must have a thousand and one other things to think about.’

That at least was uncontroversial. He might be practised in the art of blocking his emotions, but for a split second Meg saw pain in his eyes. Anyone else would have missed it, but she’d been in some cold, dark places herself. She remembered how it had felt when her own father was hovering between life and death. With a pang she put her hand out to her new employer, but couldn’t quite manage the intimacy of a touch. Instead she withdrew, and let her words convey her sympathy. ‘And top of that list should be you.’

Her feelings were totally genuine, but they weren’t welcome. Gianni frowned.

‘No…I’m all right.’

‘You look as though you’ve been out all night,’ Meg said, torn between sympathy and adding the judgemental word again. It was hard not to remember all those plants she had gift-wrapped for his string of girlfriends.

‘I wasn’t there when it happened,’ he muttered, almost to himself. ‘I was in a nightclub with a thousand other people, none of whom would have cared if I dropped dead in front of them. I went straight to the hospital and sat beside him, trying as hard as I could to feel something. There was nothing…but then—’

He stopped.

‘It’s OK,’ Meg said softly, reaching out again. This time her dreams didn’t come into it. She laid her hand lightly on his sleeve, but taking a step backward he quickly put himself out of her reach again.

‘Then I came straight back here because this place won’t run itself…’ Gianni’s words began briskly enough but the lids of his olive-dark eyes were growing heavier all the time. He checked his watch. ‘Dio! I haven’t been to bed for days…’ he finished with weary disbelief.

‘I can see that,’ Meg said softly. He looked as though he had been sleeping in his beautiful designer clothes. As she watched he put a clenched fist up to his brow and scrubbed at it roughly. Meg knew how he felt. She had fretted for days and nights about her own father, when he was lying in Intensive Care.

Her memories were still too raw, and suddenly they overwhelmed her. Rushing forward, she put her arms out to him. She couldn’t help herself. His reaction was equally instinctive as he threw up his hands to stop her.

‘No! It’s fine. Please—don’t.’

Meg stopped. Forced to resist the urge to comfort him, she mirrored his gesture with one of peace.

‘All right—all right—you’re concerned that we’re being watched by your staff. I know. But you aren’t doing yourself or anybody else any favours by going beyond the point of exhaustion, signor. You need rest, and unless you get some you’ll be in hospital, too! Who will take care of the Villa Castelfino and all your staff then?’

He looked at her steadily for a long time. As he did so his dark, enigmatic expression began to stir a transformation deep within her body. Meg reacted to his scrutiny like a bud growing beneath snow. Gianni Bellini was unshaven and exhausted, yet he still looked totally irresistible. All the wicked fantasies she had dared to dream about him filtered back into her mind. She had spent so many long, lonely nights remembering his face, his smile, all his easy charm. Now here he was, right here in front of her. She began to blush. Something that began as heat rising from her breasts to her cheeks blossomed into the colour of a guinée rose, and silenced her.

‘Why are you doing this, Megan Imsey? You’ve only just got here. Why should you care about me? I’m a cold, unfeeling taskmaster. You’ll hear that from anyone outside the clubs and beaches. When I shelve all my father’s wild ideas, there’ll be no job here for you.’

Meg raised her eyebrows. The old count’s plans had all seemed perfectly sensible to her. This was her dream job, but there was definitely no place for daydreams in Gianni’s new regime. It was time to tell him some of her hard home truths.

‘I can’t afford not to care,’ she said in a careful, matter-of-fact voice. If he wouldn’t recognise simple compassion, that must mean he didn’t want any. ‘I’m on the Villa Castelfino payroll, but so far you’re the only person here who knows I’ve turned up for duty. To put it bluntly, it’s in my interests to take great care of you if I ever want to be reimbursed for this pointless jaunt, Signor Bellini. And there’s always an outside chance you might see reason, and stick with the old count’s plans as I suggest,’ she finished boldly.

It took some time, but Gianni’s expression gradually moved from resignation to distaste. ‘I might have guessed. With women, it all comes down to money in the end. And people wonder why I keep them all at arm’s length!’ He grimaced at last.

His reply was a final wake-up call for Meg. In real life, he was turning out to be quite a different prospect from the ideal man she wanted. With regret, she recognised he was as practical and down-to-earth as she was. It was beginning to feel as though work was the only certainty in her life. With no illusions left about Gianni, all she could hope to do was to secure her future. Apart from all the pressing practical reasons, her parents had waved her off at the airport with such high hopes for her. She couldn’t bear to disappoint them by returning home without achieving anything.

‘It isn’t simply money, signor. Common sense and practicality come into it, too. My family back home are relying on me as a backstop. I’ve put their business back on an even keel. They’re doing really well at the moment but we all know from bitter experience how circumstances can change overnight.’

When she said that, Gianni briefly made eye contact with her. He nodded, but didn’t speak.

‘That’s why I need this job, signor. Your father arranged for me to live in the Garden Cottage here on the Villa Castelfino estate. I’ve visited before, so I know where it is. There’s no need to worry about me,’ she said, in the unlikely event Gianni Bellini ever worried about anyone but himself. ‘I can sort myself out. I’ll be absolutely no trouble. We can talk about all this later. You just see about getting yourself some rest.’

‘No. I need to be alert.’

He looked as belligerent as only a sleep-deprived man could look.

‘Of course you do, signor.’ Meg smiled as he played straight into her hands. ‘That’s why you must get some sleep. Don’t worry; I’ve already had some experience of how this house works. They’ll keep you informed. You won’t miss a thing,’ she said soothingly. ‘The previous count was always telling me he was careful to employ only the very best staff.’

Gianni locked eyes with her for a long time. Then unexpectedly he took her hand again and raised it to his lips for another heart-stopping kiss. It brought back every spine-tingling sensation he had ever evoked in her, and left her gasping. When he looked at her now his expression overflowed with all the dark promise she remembered from their first meeting.

Then he said slowly, ‘Yes. He was. I can see that now.’




Chapter Two


GIANNI followed Meg’s instructions only by default. He was so tired his body took complete control of his mind. Leaving the new arrival to fend for herself, he trudged up to his suite. Working entirely on autopilot, he kicked off his shoes and fell into bed.

The next thing he knew, he was waking up with the sun in his eyes and hunger gnawing a hole in his stomach. Grabbing his bedside phone, he rang Housekeeping to order some food. Megan was right, he told himself. He had needed sleep. He must have been out of action for hours.

Twenty minutes later, shaved, showered and feeling slightly more human, he walked into the dining room of his suite. A meal was being laid out on its central table. His body clock told him it should be dinner. It didn’t look like it. In fact, it didn’t look like anything that had appeared on the Villa Castelfino’s menu in all his thirty-two years.

‘That food looks delicious,’ he said suspiciously, picking up the neatly folded copy of La Repubblica lying on his tray.

‘It is, signor. Some of us were invited to lunch over at the Garden Cottage today, and the head gardener gave us this to eat, too.’

Before Gianni could question the man further, he noticed something.

‘This is Monday’s newspaper. What happened to Sunday, Rodolfo?’

‘The indoor staff had strict instructions not to disturb you, signor.’

The man put such an odd emphasis on the word ‘indoor’ that Gianni’s mind filled instantly with suspicion. He walked around the table, surveying his unlikely meal from every angle. There were cheese palmiers with half a dozen different sorts of salads and a cut glass dish of something brightly coloured.

‘This looks like English trifle. I haven’t seen that since I was at school. Where did it come from?’

‘The head gardener suggested some amendments to your menu, signor.’

Gianni stopped pacing. Frowning, he shook a finger in the air. ‘That was what I was going to ask you a moment ago. I didn’t know we had a head gardener,’ he said slowly, suspecting he already knew what had happened. The girl who had invited herself into his estate had become a cuckoo in the nest the moment he turned his back.

‘Miss Imsey has only recently arrived, signor.’

‘Oh…her,’ Gianni said with the airy exhaustion of a man who had a million employees, all of them more trouble than they were worth. ‘Well, don’t worry. She won’t be here for long. I’m more interested in practical skills than paper qualifications. People who hide from life by studying are always afraid of hard work.’ He was quite confident in his views, but the look on Rodolfo’s face instantly made him suspicious again. ‘Oh, now don’t say you’ve been taken in by that face, or those legs…her smile, that rivulet of hair or those baby blue eyes…’

Gianni’s tone began to waver along with his conviction. Straightening his jacket like a prosecuting counsel, he brought himself briskly back to the ancestral line. No member of staff could be allowed to run riot around the place. It didn’t matter how pretty and distracting she was.

‘Or anything else, for that matter!’ He added sharply. ‘That girl is only interested in one thing—collecting her wages. She told me so herself, the moment she arrived.’

Gianni’s waiter was in no hurry to leave. It was obvious he had something more to say. Reaching for a second cheese palmier, Gianni gave him a stare calculated to squeeze tears from a commando.

‘You look like you’ve got something else to tell me, Rodolfo.’

The man coughed politely. ‘You may like to know that Cook is currently wearing a face like an old lemon, signor.’

Gianni was bringing the serving tongs from the silver salver to his plate. When he heard those words, he stopped. The thought that Meg had been nice to him only so she could get paid was irritating. News that she could manage to annoy his staid old cook brought a grudging smile back to his face.

‘This wouldn’t have anything to do with the new head gardener, would it?’ he asked innocently.

‘Sì, Count.’

‘And…morale in the kitchens is…?’ Gianni probed, brushing pastry crumbs from his fingertips.

‘On the way up.’

‘I always said the Bellini family lets good staff have its head,’ Gianni said in a warm glow of self-satisfaction.

Dismissing the waiter, he settled down to enjoy his meal. He was ravenous, and ate himself to a standstill. It was the first time he could ever remember sitting in the Villa Castelfino and pushing away a plate because he was full, rather than nauseous. It was then he realised he was beginning to feel better than he had done in years. As well as the improved diet, in one day he had managed to get more sleep than he normally did in a week. Then reality kicked in again. His father was dead. The future of hundreds of hectares of real estate and thousands of staff across the globe relied on him, in his capacity as the new Count di Castelfino. His business could expand now, exactly as planned.

Walking over to his sound system, he put on some music. Then he went out onto the balcony leading from his private dining room. From there he could survey the scene at his leisure. All the land below him, right out as far as the sheltering hills, was now his responsibility. Until a few days ago, his vineyard had occupied fewer than a hundred hectares of the vast estate. That was set to change. Gianni had his gaze fixed firmly on the future. His nights of excess were behind him. From now on, improving his wine business would absorb all his waking moments. It saved him having to think about the one aspect of aristocratic life that loomed over him like a cloud of volcanic ash. He didn’t want to be the last man to bear his name and title—but neither did he want to see a child suffer by being born into the Bellini family. The taste of that was still bitter in his own mouth.

He sat down to reflect on the view, trying to avoid thinking about the inevitable. It was quite a distraction. He had never really looked at the landscape outside his suite before. It had simply always been there. Now every vine, olive tree and cypress belonged to him. He relaxed in his seat contentedly.

And then Megan Imsey walked into view, pushing a wheelbarrow loaded with tools. A broad brimmed straw hat shaded her expression, but Gianni could see she was enjoying herself in the sunshine. As he watched she turned her head this way and that, looking at the desiccated grasses sprawling over the weedy path. She must be heading for the walled garden, he realised. Work was already well under way there, on his father’s last project. It was an extravagance of greenhouses, wild enough to bankrupt the Bellini coffers. His study of her became critical. Why was she going there when he had already told her what he thought of his father’s plans? And what sort of person worked when they didn’t have to, in any case?

With that, Gianni’s scorn slipped into a smile. He only had to think of the times he’d rolled home at first light, still on a champagne-fuelled high. He’d stopped off at his vineyard many times, to work off his excess energy. An attitude like that had carved him a spectacular career as a wine producer in only a few years. He had done it by applying the same guidelines he used in his private life—if you want something done properly, do it yourself.

He wondered if Miss Megan Imsey had a similar interest in quality control. This might be the perfect moment to find out. It was a beautiful day, and he was feeling lucky…

The Tuscan sun clung to Meg like a second skin. To call it hot was an understatement. Beneath her long sleeved white shirt, baggy overalls, shady straw hat and sunglasses she was coated in sunscreen. It might be safe, but it felt totally suffocating. Despite the heat she bowled along through the gardens at a good pace. She was always eager to get to work, but the Villa Castelfino had one big novelty that made it really special. A hundred years ago, an earlier count had built his aristocratic young English wife a walled kitchen garden to stop her feeling homesick. Nothing had been done with it for years, until Gianni’s father had hatched this scheme for a grand range of state-of-the-art greenhouses. The new complex was almost finished, but on this sunny morning Meg was more interested in the undeveloped parts of the garden. Its faded melancholy really appealed to her. Smiling, she unlocked the garden door and let herself into one whole hectare of heaven.

She stood for a moment and relished her achievement. This was what she had spent the last few months planning and supervising on her trips to Italy. A glass palace took centre stage in the secret garden. There were still a few cosmetic touches to add, but the main building was pretty much complete. This morning the entire roof was open to catch every available breeze. It looked like a stately galleon in full sail. Flushed with success, Meg wondered how Gianni could possibly dislike such a lovely thing. With a pang of fear, she wondered how she could persuade him to keep her on. She couldn’t bear to think of anyone tampering with her beautiful greenhouses. This success had given her a welcome boost, on top of saving her parents’ business from bankruptcy. The possibility they might slip back while she was away was enough to worry about. Her fragile self-confidence didn’t need this project to founder as well.

To cheer herself up, Meg turned her attention to the rest of the garden. Once upon a time it had produced all the food for the villa. Decades of neglect meant it was now nothing more than an area of infrequently mown grass and overgrown fruit trees. Without regular care their long, lissom branches grew in all directions, throwing welcome pools of shade throughout the day. She parked her barrow in one of these slightly cooler spots, beside an ancient dipping pool. Then she went back and locked the garden door. That would ensure she wasn’t disturbed. Returning to her barrow full of tools and provisions, she tied one end of a length of twine around the neck of her water bottle. Lowering it into the dipping pool would keep the contents chilled. Then she started work.

The structural work of repairing the hard landscaping was complete, so it was left to Meg to begin the best job of all. She was about to mark out new flowerbeds, and couldn’t wait to get started. There would be borders at the foot of the encircling wall, designed to complement the new garden buildings. Meg’s mind had been turning over ideas for a long time. Now she needed to see them marked out on the ground, to get a feel for how they might work in reality. Once she had the details right, work could start. That meant there would be something worth seeing by the end of the week. The bigger the impact she could make on Gianni Bellini, the more likely he was to let her stay. Or so she hoped.

She began measuring up and marking out, but soon felt overdressed. The first things to go were her sandals. The short, prickly grass beneath her bare feet made her laugh with the excitement of it all. She was making the closest possible contact with this grand estate, and it was fun! Curling her toes into the hot turf she carried on, hammering in pegs and laying out string to plan the new flower-beds. There was so little air movement that soon her hat and shirt began to cling uncomfortably in the heat. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she was brave enough to strip off completely. Glancing around, she came to a decision. The garden wasn’t overlooked. Working in her underwear was no worse than wearing a bikini, and she had worked in one of those often enough at home. The door into her sanctuary was locked. No one would see. If she was careful to avoid getting sunburned, no one would ever know.

Impulsively, she tore off her outer clothes and went back to work. When the sun parched her skin too fiercely, she dodged back into the shade and enjoyed a drink of pool-cooled water from her bottle. She was straightening up to assess how the outline was developing when a frighteningly familiar voice almost sent her into orbit.

‘Is this how all English gardeners dress, Megan?’

Meg whirled around and her heart stood still. It was Gianni: the real one, not the exhausted version who had tried to send her away the day before. Today he looked every inch as seductive as he had done at the Chelsea Flower Show. That alarmed her as much as his anger had done.

‘What are you doing here?’ she burst out, her hands trying ineffectually to cover all the bits her scanty underwear was failing to hide.

He nodded towards the villa. ‘I live here, remember?’

Meg was caught completely off guard. ‘I’m sorry—how could I possibly forget?’ She gasped. A blush was no defence against him. He continued looking at her with undisguised interest.

‘You certainly seemed to have done.’

‘I never dreamed anyone would disturb me in here. The door was locked. I have the only key. How did you get in?’ she blustered, embarrassment mixed up with growing anger.

One hand in his pocket, Gianni strolled over to the old medlar tree where Meg had hung her hat and shirt. Plucking them from the branches like particularly desirable fruit, he made his way over to her. He took his time. It was painfully obvious to Meg that he was making her wait for her clothes. She wasn’t in the mood to be toyed with. As soon as he got close enough she snatched her things from his hands and pulled them on. He watched with something close to amusement. Then he drew a second key from his pocket with a flourish.

‘As I said—I live here. I have a copy of every key in the place.’

Barefoot but otherwise decent, Meg rallied.

‘That doesn’t explain why you felt the need to come in here.’

‘It wasn’t a need. It was a want. I wanted to see you, Megan.’

There was a haunting look in his dark eyes. It was so delicious she could hardly meet his gaze. Nervous that he might be able to read all sorts of things from her own expression, she looked down at the coarse wiry grass at her feet. All sorts of hope were beginning to stir deep within her, but there was only one she could put into words.

‘I hope you’re feeling better, Count.’

His smile widened, bright as pearl against the golden warmth of his skin. ‘Yes, I am—but call me Gianni, please.’

Meg’s heart did a little skip—until she realised he probably gave that bonus to all his staff.

‘Part of the reason I came out here was to thank you,’ he went on. ‘You were right. I was overtired when you arrived. All I’ve done since then is sleep—and enjoy an excellent late lunch.’

‘That’s good,’ Meg said with genuine relief.

‘Afterwards I went down to the kitchens, where they told me that the meal I so enjoyed was your idea. What made you challenge Cook?’

She looked up quickly to find out exactly how much trouble she was in. In response Gianni smiled, raising his eyebrows in silent approval. It was an expression that made her shiver, despite the heat.

‘You looked so distracted. I knew eating would be way down on your list of priorities. When I saw steak on today’s menu I thought it sounded far too heavy for this weather. I decided to cater for myself, and guessed you might like something light and familiar too. I’d already discovered from chatting with the other staff that you attended boarding school in England. It just so happens my aunt is now Head Chef at the same place. I rang and asked her what dishes would be most popular at your old school on a day like today.’

Meg didn’t add that everyone loved comfort food in times of trouble, but could see he knew that already. The softening around his eyes proved it to her.

‘That shows real initiative, Megan,’ he said with conviction. ‘Especially in view of what happened when you suggested it to my cook. I’ve come straight from the kitchens. As soon as she has finished the larder inventory, she’ll be coming out to apologise to you for the things she said.’

Meg blinked at him. An apology was the very last thing she expected, in the circumstances.

‘Pardon?’

‘The staff said she tried to pull rank, but you stood your ground. Well done. You’re the first member of staff who’s done that to her.’

‘Are you saying you don’t mind?’ Meg said warily. People grand enough to employ gardeners never usually bothered to praise their staff.

‘I’m delighted, Megan.’ His voice lilted slowly over her name, trying it out for size.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ She asked uncertainly. ‘I mean, I hadn’t been here for more than two minutes before picking a blazing row with your cook. She’s an old family faithful; I’m the new arrival—and you’re taking my side?’

Gianni searched her face, mystified that she seemed incapable of taking in what he had said. ‘But of course. It’s the only stance to take. She was wrong, you were right. One of my first duties as the new count was going to be to go through all the menus. You got there before me, that’s all.’ He saw her face flush deeply. Instantly concerned, he reached out to her. His strong brown hands grasped her elbows to give support. ‘Megan? What’s the matter? It must be the sun. Here—I’ll help you to a seat.’

She looked down at his fingers. They slid over her skin and closed around her with exactly the same relish she had conjured up in all her fantasies. It was wonderful.

‘There’s no need…I’m fine.’ She gasped, barely able to raise her voice above a whisper. The sheer delight of feeling his touch was breathtaking. ‘I’ve just had a bit of a surprise, that’s all. I—I thought the only men who weren’t afraid of cooks were head gardeners,’ she improvised quickly.

Gianni let go of her, offended. ‘I make the rules here. All of them. And that includes whether or not we employ a female head gardener,’ he finished with slow, devastating meaning.

Meg was alert immediately. ‘What do you mean?’

She bounced the question straight at him, but could see he wasn’t fooled for a minute. Gianni wouldn’t be taking any chances with her. Anyone who could put a cook on the back foot as she had done would need to be watched carefully.

He looked down at her for a few seconds longer than was strictly necessary before giving her a meaningful shrug.

‘That rather depends.’

‘Thank goodness for that, as my original title was Curator of Exotic Plants. I’m no Head Gardener—though I’m more than qualified to do it,’ she added quickly, ‘But when I saw how things were here, I knew the staff wouldn’t take kindly to a newcomer’s suggestions so I took a chance and borrowed the title for a minute. The whole kitchen staff fell for it.’ She finished with a nervous little laugh.

To her amazement Gianni’s devastating smile burst into life, but he was careful to quash it almost straight away.

‘That’s what I call insight. A girl who shows insight and initiative? You’ll go far, ragazza insolente!’

Tiny muscles quivered all around his lips. Meg could see he was trying not to laugh. What made it worse was that he knew she knew. It wasn’t the sort of position she wanted to put her new boss in. Especially when that boss was Gianni Bellini, a man guaranteed to have any girl he wanted.

Dutifully, she looked down at the grass again to hide her own smile, but wasn’t about to stifle her ambition.

‘I already have, signor,’ she said, careful to hide any hint of humour. ‘I graduated top of my intake, I saved my parents’ business from ruin, then I landed the top job here. And I haven’t finished yet.’

‘I’m beginning to realise that,’ he said quietly. ‘So, Miss Curator of Exotic Plants—what are your plans for my new garden?’

Meg sensed he was trying to lighten the tone. Despite the twinkle in his eyes, she decided to tread carefully until she was certain where she stood with him.

‘I’m here to implement the old count’s plans, not my own,’ she said carefully. ‘At the moment, his collection of tropical plants is restricted to that old lemon house at the far end of the kitchen garden. They were all going to be moved and the collection expanded into this new glasshouse range as soon as it was finished.’

She began walking off toward a long, low building set against a distant wall. Gianni did not follow her immediately. When he did, he lingered a few steps behind.

‘Am I walking too fast for you, Gianni?’

‘Not at all,’ he said airily. ‘It’s a beautiful day, and I have a beautiful view. Why hurry?’

She looked back over her shoulder and realised what he was watching.

‘Signor!’

‘I’ve told you before—my name is Gianni.’

‘Not when you’re looking at my bottom like that, it isn’t,’ Meg said, desperately reminding herself how many plants he had bought from her stand at the Chelsea Flower Show. He had done it to keep all the women in his life happy. She had no intention of becoming one among many. Even though her limbs turned to water whenever he looked at her in that deep, meaningful way…

The original lemon house had been built with an open front. Later on, its graceful stone arches had been glazed to create a greenhouse. Meg opened the door on its riot of damp, lush leaves and exotic flowers.

‘Isn’t this wonderful?’ She took in a leisurely lungful of the warm, moist air. It was rich with the fragrance of bark and tropical flowers.

‘As a twenty-first century woman, I hope you’re being ironic,’ Gianni observed drily, following her into the building. ‘Keeping these plants in luxury must cost the earth, both in money and resources. Air conditioning isn’t in vogue, Megan—especially for flowers,’ he finished severely.

‘Oh, I know it’s extravagant and old fashioned.’ Meg ran her hand lovingly over one of the crumbling stone pillars. ‘That’s why the count wanted me to build him a dedicated range of greenhouses, to give his plants ideal growing conditions. That means computer-controlled atmospheres. He wanted to include the latest equipment and ideas, so that everything will be perfect. He intended his estate to be a showcase. His idea was that this part of the Val di Castelfino should become an extra special tourist attraction, and an example of best practice.’

‘How does this steam-filled white elephant qualify?’ Gianni was haughty. ‘Had my father never heard of climate change? I’m surprised someone as well qualified as you didn’t put him right, Megan. My father always lived in the past. An educated woman like you must be well briefed in all the drawbacks.’

Meg knew it wasn’t her place to comment, but a point of honour was at stake. She tried to pin a bold stare on him, but it was difficult when he could out-stare her so easily. ‘You don’t seem impressed by my qualifications, signor.’

Though outwardly calm, she was trembling too much to say any more. His penetrating gaze made her too light headed for words. Instead she raised her eyebrows, simply inviting more comment.

‘In my experience, the more exam success someone has, the less likely they are to get their hands dirty. I’d rather someone had worked their way to the top of the tree, in the same way I’ve done.’

‘With no help from your family name, your position in life or your father?’

There was an ironic lilt in Meg’s voice. She regretted it instantly, but Gianni hardly seemed to notice.

‘Exactly!’ He dropped one hand onto the greenhouse staging with a resounding thump. ‘The Castelfino vineyard is my baby, from conception right through to international prize-winning status. I’ve earned every penny—there’s no job on the land I’m not happy to do myself, and I’ve never had a cent from my father. As you must know,’ he finished gruffly.

‘I never discussed you with the late count, Gianni. I had no idea you were related to him until a few hours ago, remember.’

His eyes narrowed into channels of suspicion. ‘You mean to say he never complained to you about the way I only wanted money spent on cost-effective projects, not his hobbies? I’ve been studying the work you did for him. All of it—and that includes the dummy sets of figures forwarded to my accountants. Do you deny that they were prepared to stop me discovering exactly how much money my father was frittering away on this…this…?’ Exasperated, he waved his hand towards the exotic display of orchids and coloured foliage.

‘It was all perfectly legal. The late count’s own financial advisors always submitted the correct figures for audit. It was thought you would object to his budget, so he had a separate set made up in case you wanted to inspect them. We didn’t want to worry you, that’s all.’ Meg threw up her head to challenge him with a glare, but something happened. Their eyes met, and for Meg it was the point of no return. She had always thought Gianni was stunning. Now, with the sun lighting a bronze shimmer in his devastating eyes, words didn’t do him justice. The breath caught in her throat, stifling all sound. He knew only too well what power lay behind his eyes. As she watched he lowered his lids a fraction, tempting an unconscious sound to escape from her all too self-conscious lips.

‘I hope my father didn’t lead you to believe that I’m mean.’ Gianni’s voice was a drawl, as lazy as the air moving through the lemon house. ‘On the contrary: I can be the most generous of men if the circumstances—and the woman—are right,’ he said, leaving the suggestion in his final words hanging in the air.

‘I know. When you were in London I supplied you with all those flowers for your girlfriends, remember?’ Meg breathed, trying to keep her voice steady. She was getting dizzy, but it wasn’t only the lack of oxygen. The nearness of Gianni in this small, sun-soaked space sent her senses reeling. The light citrus fragrance of his aftershave was so clean and fresh in an atmosphere charged with the heavy hints of bark and mosses. It sent a charge of electricity fizzing down her spine. Without realising it she moved slightly towards him, hungry for contact.

‘Then you’ll know what I’m going to say next?’

Meg’s lips moved, but no sound came out. She knew what she wanted to hear, but moved her head slowly from side to side.

‘I’ve decided this new range of greenhouses would be a great memorial to my father, after all. You were right to suggest it—very clever, and very provocative. There aren’t many women who would think of pampering mere greenery like this.’ His voice was as low and inviting as a cool river in the enveloping heat of the tropical house. Meg sighed as his expression softened. The greenhouse she already thought of as hers was working its magic. It was beautiful, and she could make it even better. He could sense that, and she was spellbound.

He was gazing at the wonderful display of brightly coloured flowers and trailing foliage around them, but at any second he might turn that wonderful look on her…at least, that was her dream.

‘You’re going to cost me a fortune,’ he murmured, when she could hardly breathe for suspense.

‘That depends on what you want. This is Tuscany. Everything’s ripe for enchantment.’ Her voice was husky.

‘And it all has its price.’ He watched her carefully, gauging the effect of his words.

Meg suppressed another sigh. ‘Do you agonise like this over your women?’ she asked, giving him a knowing look.

‘I’m not agonising. It’s merely an observation. The price of this new construction is a minor consideration to me. Women are a far more serious matter. There’s a lot more than mere money at stake when it comes to the future of my family. The Bellinis haven’t lasted this long without being able to pick winners. That’s why my father never remarried after my mother died, thank goodness.’

Meg said nothing. The way she fidgeted uncomfortably within her clothes said it all. She was becoming unbearably hot, but her rising temperature had nothing to do with the tropical house.

‘It may sound a harsh judgement to you, Megan, but I know what I’m talking about. When it came to matters of the heart, my father knew his judgement couldn’t be trusted.’ Gianni continued to gaze at the soft sea of butterfly-bright foliage surrounding them. A playful breeze blew in through the open greenhouse door. It ruffled his dark curls over his brow, giving him a dangerously piratical look. Meg laughed, a little nervously.

‘Your father certainly got one thing right,’ she said quietly. ‘He would be proud of you, Gianni.’

He turned to face her slowly. When Meg got the full benefit of his dark, restless eyes she felt her heart respond. From that moment on she knew that if he ever made a move on her she would be powerless to resist. It was a perfect dream, but something she couldn’t dare risk in reality. This job meant a lot to her, and her family. She wasn’t about to throw it away for a boss’s whim. Even if that boss was gorgeous Gianni…

‘I hope he would be proud of me. That’s exactly what I intend. I gave him a lot of grief when he was alive, Megan. The least I can do is respect his wishes now. Let’s hope I never have to make a choice between my heart and my heritage.’ His brow creased as though with the effort of fighting some inner demon.

‘Why should you?’ Meg asked innocently, not knowing what she was letting herself in for.

‘Any number of local “princesses” are desperate to become my wife,’ he sighed. ‘The Bellini family blueprint says I should choose one of them. She should be installed in one of my town houses as my official partner and mother of my heir. There she’ll enjoy a life of pleasure. But that way of life went out with the Middle Ages! Life has moved on. It’s all so different now. Marriage isn’t simply a matter of duty and honour. It’s all pre-nups and making watertight arrangements to secure every stick and stone of my assets for the inevitable divorce.’

To hear him talk about marriage as nothing more than another agreement to be crossed off his list of ‘things to do’ disappointed Meg.

‘There shouldn’t be anything inevitable about divorce! No one should marry for anything less than love,’ she said firmly, stroking her fingers down the long, leathery leaf of a miltonia. Meg was the last person to contradict an employer, but some things ought to be set in stone. ‘Women usually have their own careers nowadays. Marriage isn’t seen as the only life for them. And they aren’t all grasping parasites.’

‘I love women. Don’t get me wrong,’ Gianni said quickly. ‘It’s just that the Italian thoroughbred model holds no interest for me.’

‘Then you’ll have to find someone else.’

‘There is no one else. All the women I meet are out for everything they can get—believe me.’

Meg was busy adjusting the ties securing a budding flower stem and replied without thinking. ‘I’m not.’

Gianni sighed. ‘That’s what you say now. But I wonder…’

His voice was heavy with regret. It was such a heartfelt comment that she looked up sharply. In that instant all trace of a smile vanished from his face. He was deadly serious—and all Meg’s wildest, most wanton fantasies were reflected in his eyes.




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