Sicilian Nights Omnibus (14 page)

Had he deliberately chosen the word ‘tried’ to annoy her? Leonora wondered. If so, he had succeeded.

Defensive colour flushed her face as she told him fiercely, ‘I had planned to, but tuition is expensive. I don’t have the luxury of your kind of wealth. I have to work to support myself—plus, as I don’t have a job as a pilot, I have to find the money to keep my licence up to date. Not a lot left over to indulge myself with helicopter piloting tuition.’

‘And that’s my fault, is it? Because I wouldn’t give you a job?’ Alessandro mocked her, quickly picking up on what she hadn’t said. ‘There are other airlines,’ he pointed out.

‘Not for me. For me there is only you—I mean only Avanti.’

Now Leonora’s face was scarlet. What on earth had prompted her to make such a
faux pas
and substitute that far too personal and intimate ‘you’ for the name of his airline? Her face burning, she looked at Alessandro, but he was looking away from her, casually picking up his coffee as though he hadn’t registered what she had said.

Oh, very clever, Alessandro thought cynically, as he pretended not to have registered Leonora’s deliberately accidental ‘you’. He might not have allowed her to see that he had registered it, but he certainly wasn’t fooled by it. She was obviously a member of the ‘the best way to a man’s heart is via his ego’ club, but Alessandro had learned not to trust his own ego a long time ago—and the hard way.

‘Mandarin lessons don’t come cheap,’ he retaliated smoothly. ‘And you are, I presume, self-employed?’

Leonora could feel her face burning again, but this time the heat was caused by anger. The parents who paid her to teach their children and the businessmen and -women eager to add Mandarin to their CVs
did
pay well, but she worked hard to fit in as many pupils as she could without prejudicing her own ability to teach them well.

Something her father had taught them all was the need to ‘pay back’ to society—from being young they had all run errands for elderly neighbours, as well as worked at home for pocket money—and now she took that early lesson a step further and gave as many free lessons as she could fit in to her timetable, travelling to various schools to teach groups of financially disadvantaged children several nights a week. Not that she would dream of defending herself from Alessandro’s cutting jibe by telling him that. It wasn’t something she had felt any need to put on her CV, so why should she feel the need to seek his good opinion by telling him now?

Unless, of course, there was another reason she wanted him to approve of her, and like her? Such as what? She had dreamed about him, hadn’t she? Imagining him as her soul mate. But that had simply been because of last night, and didn’t mean anything. Heavens, she’d be trying to tell herself she was in danger of falling in love with him if she carried on like this.

Her heart did a cartwheel reminiscent of the first slow spin of a washing machine. Falling in love with Alessandro? Oh, that would be something, wouldn’t it? The joke of the year. And she’d be the fool—the one everyone was laughing at. But what if it wasn’t a joke? What if she was actually falling in love with him? What if she had already fallen in love with him?

Panic gripped her. Her heart went into full washing machine spin cycle. She put down the bread and honey she had been enjoying only a minute ago, unable to finish eating it. Of
course
she hadn’t fallen in love with Alessandro. She was panicking over nothing. Just because she had wanted to go to bed with him it didn’t mean she loved him. But she had wanted him to hold her. She had wanted—

‘We’d better make a move if you’re going to see anything much of the island before we have to get back for tonight’s ball.’

It was a relief to have Alessandro’s voice cutting through the painful confusion of her thoughts.

‘Look, I’ve been thinking.’ Leonora gave him her brightest smile. ‘If you’ve got things to do, and I’m going to hold you up, I’m perfectly happy to stay here.’

She wasn’t in love with him, but it might be wiser and safer not to spend the day on her own with him.

She wanted to stay here—without him? Alessandro’s mouth hardened. Did she really think he was so easily taken in that he didn’t know what she was up to? Did she really believe she had a chance with Falcon, or was she simply trying to make him jealous?

‘In the hope that Falcon will make good his offer to show you the
castello
?’ he asked cynically.

‘No,’ Leonora denied truthfully.

‘Like I said, it’s time we made a move,’ Alessandro told her, ignoring her denial. Did she really think that he was going to leave her here alone?

* * *

They were in the car—a dark green Maserati, all discreet paintwork outside and expensive-smelling leather inside—with Alessandro at the wheel, heading back to the private airstrip along a road Alessandro had told her was a shortcut.

Changing gear to take a series of stomach-churning hairpin bends, his focus was on the road ahead of him as he warned her, ‘You are here for one reason and one reason only, and that reason is
not
so that you can flirt with my brother. Remember what I told you about your brother’s future if you disobeyed my orders? That still holds good.’

Leonora refused to say anything, looking out of the window and gulping when she saw how steeply the narrow single-track road was dropping as they left the
castello
behind them.

Alessandro held all the power. For Leo’s sake she could not defy him. What would she do if he should demand that she give herself to him? He was perfectly capable of making such a demand, she was sure, and of justifying why he had done so. But if he did... The swiftness of her intense physical reaction shocked her. She couldn’t possibly
want
him to make such a demand. It would be archaic, appalling, feudal and beyond unthinkable. But if he did, and if she had no option but to let him lead her to his bed and once there command that she give herself over to his will, his touch, his full possession, then what would she do?

What was she thinking about? Or rather
who
was she thinking about? Alessandro wondered grimly as he caught Leonora’s small gasp—surely one of anticipation and pleasure, caused by the privacy of her own thoughts, if the look softening her face was anything to go by. Such a look could not be faked. She probably thought that he was concentrating on his driving too much to be aware of it, but there was nothing about her of which he was not aware—not a look, not a sound, not a scent or a breath, not anything. Everything about her was imprinted into his own senses to irritate and torment him.

Torment? Because she annoyed him so much. Nothing more. His torment was
not
the torment of a man so hungry for a woman that she invaded not just his every thought and feeling but the primary code of his entire being. If he felt anything it was anger—because he knew instinctively that she was thinking about a man she wanted, a man who had already given her sexual pleasure and with whom she was aching to re-experience that pleasure. He was angry that she should think him stupid enough to be taken in by her, and he felt contempt for her as a woman because she clearly could not remain faithful to a man with whom she obviously already had a relationship.

Who was he?
What
was he? The aviation equivalent of a surf bum? One of life’s players rather than one of its workers?

Alessandro cut back the speed of the powerful car. He liked well-made pieces of machinery, but he never took risks with them. In his book only a fool did that. The Maserati was one of a kind, adapted from its specifications specifically for him, with a top speed worthy of a race track, but unlike his now-dead half-brother Alessandro had no love of speed for the sake of showing off. And right now the emotions he refused to let himself admit, never mind express, might be urging him to give the car its head and those emotions an outlet, but even with a couple of miles of straight road ahead of him he refused to give in. Alessandro measured himself by a hard code, and he wasn’t going to allow any woman to get under his skin enough for him to break it.

* * *

They’d reached the airfield, driving past an open hangar in which Leonora could see Alessandro’s private jet. The helicopter was standing out on the tarmac, its Avanti Airlines paintwork of silver on white gleaming in the brilliance of the morning sunshine.

Alessandro brought the car to a halt outside the impressive architecture of a modern and chrome building that somehow, despite its stylish and almost urban modern look, seemed to fit perfectly into the landscape.

Alessandro noticed Leonora studying the building. Falcon, who had trained as an architect, and who shared his own love of structure and design, had incorporated many of Alessandro’s own ideas into his design for the small terminal and office building, which also had its own air traffic control unit. Alessandro did a substantial amount of business with various concerns on the island, and for a variety of reasons had decided to construct his own private airfield rather than be dependent on the island’s public airport facilities.

In addition to keeping the helicopter permanently based on the island, Alessandro also funded an air ambulance service, and provided the air ambulance itself. He and his brothers were united in their determination to do what they could to offset the effect of their father’s feudal grip on his land and on the people who depended on it and him for their livelihood.

Falcon worked tirelessly behind the scenes to try and improve the lot of young people who otherwise would have no future ahead of them other than that endured by their parents and their grandparents. And in addition to the building work he was already doing on the island Rocco—helped by funds from Falcon and Alessandro—was building what would eventually be a college that they all hoped would be a gateway for at least some of the island’s young people to a different way of life. Alessandro already had on his payroll several young men from his father’s villages, whom he had trained at his own expense as aircraft technicians. All the staff working at the airfield came from local families and were paid well.

‘I just want to check over everything with the ops crew,’ he informed Leonora, before he opened the door of the car.

A smiling member of the ground staff opened Leonora’s door for her. Not sure whether she was supposed to stand around and wait or follow him, Leonora opted for the latter course, hurrying to catch up with Alessandro as he strode across the concrete apron.

Inside the building air-conditioning cooled the air to exactly the right temperature and a smartly dressed and very pretty receptionist welcomed Alessandro. Leonora’s attention was focused on the Leonardo da Vinci prints decorating the off-white walls opposite the tinted glass frontage of the building.

Seeing her looking at the prints, Alessandro told her, ‘They are copies of Leonardo’s sketches for various forms of flight.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Leonora responded, nodding in the direction of the prints as she told him, ‘Whilst other girls were putting pin-ups of pop stars on their bedroom walls, mine were decorated with those. I found a set in a second-hand shop and badgered the poor shop owner until he eventually agreed to let me have them in exchange for working there on Saturdays.’

Alessandro looked away from her.

‘I bought my first set during a visit to Florence to see my mother’s relatives. My stepmother ripped them down from my bedroom wall and burned them as punishment for my not bringing back a gift for Antonio.’

‘Oh, how cruel.’ Her indignation made Leonora’s voice shake, and instinctively she reached out and put her hand on Alessandro’s arm—only to remove it as quickly as though she had been burned.

Stiffening, he drew back from her, and walked towards the pretty receptionist without a backwards look. Did she really think that he was taken in by her false sympathy?

Alessandro shrugged aside the warning slamming his heartbeat into his chest and telling him that his reactions to Leonora were both illogical and dangerous.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T
HEY
’
D
BEEN
IN
the air for nearly two hours. She’d seen Mount Etna from above, holding her breath as Alessandro took them in close to the volcano, and the remains of architectural wonders built by the many civilisations that had come to this island and left their stamp on it. Alessandro had given her a potted history of the island’s differing cultures, and she’d heard the cynicism in his voice when he’d touched briefly on the feudal aspects of his own family’s role in Sicily’s history.

They’d flown over Palermo, spread beneath them in all its faded glory, with its groves of citrus fruit and olives, and now they were heading for the coast and the hotel where they were going to have what would now be lunch rather than brunch.

‘Falcon was chief architect for the hotel to which we are heading, and Rocco, my younger brother, was the builder. It is part of a new fraternal venture—of sorts—a luxury resort on Capo d’Orlando, close to the town of Cefalù and overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea. My contribution was the helipad and direct helicopter access from the island’s airport to the resort. We are also looking into providing helicopter access to the Aeolian Islands offshore. If you look to your right now you should see the headland.’

Obediently Leonora did as Alessandro suggested, exclaiming, ‘Oh, how beautiful!’ when she saw the small cape, its sandy beaches lapped by turquoise waves. Cefalù resort itself was a picturesque tumble of clusters of Mediterranean colour-washed buildings, basking in the sunshine.

‘This part of the island has known many civilisations, but for this development it was decided that we would follow a Moorish style of architecture. Here is the helipad, coming up now,’ Alessandro added, in between speaking to the control unit, giving his position and getting clearance for landing.

He circled a tall tower that rose high above the rest of the sand-coloured complex below them, skilfully hovering over the landing pad before dropping the helicopter perfectly onto it. The tower and its landing pad combined both the beauty of ancient architecture and the near miracle of modern aero science, Leonora recognised, as she listened to Alessandro finishing his touchdown procedures with the control unit.

Outside, the ground staff were waiting to go through their checks, and as soon as Alessandro had stopped speaking he opened his door and got out of the helicopter. Leonora went to open her own door, but before she could get out Alessandro was there, offering her a helping hand. Initially tempted to refuse it, she reminded herself instead of the role she was supposed to be playing. And of course that was the
only
reason why she was allowing Alessandro to hold her. Her decision certainly had nothing whatsoever to do with that cartwheel of her heart, followed by the dizzy burst of pleasure engendered by his touch. Not at all.

So why was she almost leaning into him, and so delaying the moment when he could release her?

She wanted so badly to stay where she was, leaning into him, free to breathe in the scent of him, free to place her hand just above his heart and feel its strong, fierce beat. When a woman truly loved a man this was all she wanted: his closeness, their oneness, the knowledge that no other man could take his place. But she did not
love
Alessandro—truly or otherwise.

How could this woman get beneath his guard so easily and so disruptively? Alessandro wondered grimly. How could he possibly be thinking that he was sorry their flight was over because he had enjoyed the intimacy and the conversation they had shared so very much?

‘This way.’

Alessandro might not be holding her close any more, but he was still holding her hand.

‘There’s a lift down to the hotel foyer over here,’ Alessandro informed Leonora, guiding her towards an elegant limestone staircase that descended from the floor of the helipad into a smart forecourt.

Within seconds of stepping into the lift they were stepping out of it again, into the hotel foyer, beyond which Leonora could see a very smart restaurant and cocktail bar, and beyond that a wide terrace overlooking the sea.

Several tables were already occupied, but the one to which they were shown had by far the best position, Leonora noted. A tall, impeccably groomed woman, whose appearance—in Leonora’s opinion, at least—was slightly marred by the amount of clanking gold jewellery she was wearing, turned her head to look at them.

‘Alessandro!’ she exclaimed. ‘But how wonderful. I was only just talking about you to Luca, saying how much I was looking forward to seeing you again.’

Ignoring Leonora, the woman embraced Alessandro, lingering over the exchange of supposedly merely polite friendly kisses, and then retaining her hold of Alessandro’s arm.

‘It was such a wonderful surprise when your father invited me to attend the ball. I am looking forward to it so much. You will remember Luca, my cousin, of course?’

Alessandro inclined his head politely but distantly. Sofia was the last person he had been expecting to see when he had walked into the restaurant. How typical of his father that he should have invited
her
to attend tonight’s celebratory ball. No doubt he had hoped to add a fresh sting of pain to old wounds, but he was wasting his time. How typical of him to do such a thing—and how pointless. Looking at her, and listening to her now, Alessandro could only marvel that he had ever found her in any way attractive. He could see the avarice in her gaze, could feel it in the possessive clutch of her hand on his arm.

Her cousin, he seemed to remember, had a long history of being her escort when she had no husband in tow, and the gossip was that they slept together as well, when neither had anyone else to share a bed with. Luca, a decade older than Sofia, which took him close to fifty, with a perma-tan and flesh like a snake’s, was focusing his attention on Leonora. Instantly Alessandro stepped towards her, ignoring his ex-lover’s possessive drag on his arm to say curtly, ‘Please excuse us, Sofia, but we have had a busy morning, and I know that Leonora is ready for her lunch.’

‘Leonora?’ Sofia questioned—for all the world as though she hadn’t even noticed that she was there, Leonora thought grimly, as the other woman smiled up at Alessandro.

‘My...partner,’ Alessandro informed Sofia firmly.

His
partner
?
In what? In lies and deceit, yes. But in the real sense of the word, as Alessandro was quite obviously implying, then she was no such thing.

But Leonora was speedily adding two and two together, from the broad hints Sofia had given as to the nature of her old relationship with Alessandro and the comment Alessandro himself had made to her about a past love who had let him down. And she was coming to the natural conclusion that at one time Alessandro and Sofia had been lovers. Alessandro now—no doubt out of male pride—wanted Sofia to think that Leonora was enjoying her old position in his life—and in his bed. Had Alessandro known that Sofia was likely to be attending the ball? Was that the main reason he had blackmailed Leonora into partnering him?

What if it was? What did it matter to her what his reason was? But it
did
matter, Leonora admitted miserably, unable to stop comparing herself to the elegant and self-confident Sofia, who was now holding on to Alessandro’s arm for all the world as though they were still a couple, forcing Leonora to one side. Leonora found herself wanting. Sofia had an air about her that said quite plainly that she was a very sexually experienced and knowing woman. The kind of woman Alessandro would much rather have in his bed than an inexperienced woman like her.

‘I’m sure Leonora won’t mind if we join you for lunch. This is a wonderful hotel. Your father was kind enough to recommend it. He told me that you and your brothers own it, Alessandro.’

Alessandro part owned the hotel too? Well, that was more than he had told her, Leonora reflected. But perhaps she should have worked that out for herself, after what he had told her about their fraternal input into it. Just as she should also have worked out that there was more to his insistence that she partner him to the weekend’s events than he had told her.

How his father would have loved seeing the result of his meddling, Alessandro thought grimly as he was forced to allow Sofia to thrust her unwanted company on them. He knew that he had been emotionally and physically naive when he had first met her, but now meeting her again after so many years, he acknowledged wryly that he must have been even more naive than he had thought for ever having found her remotely attractive. Seen side by side with Leonora she looked tawdry and cheap, as fake as the ‘designer label’ handbags sold in the street markets of Florence to gullible tourists. Her gossip as they waited for the table to be enlarged was littered with references to people and places favoured by the celebrity culture he so despised and loathed, and by the time they were finally seated Alessandro was longing for the pure, clear bite of Leonora’s far more varied and interesting conversation.

‘So, Leonora, how long have you known Sandro? He and I were close for a long time, and I don’t think it’s any secret that he would have asked me to marry him if I’d let him. We were so young then, though—too young to know how lucky we were to have met one another. And of course as I was still modelling then I travelled a great deal, and poor Alessandro became very jealous of all the handsome rich men who wanted to take me out—didn’t you, darling?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t remember,’ Alessandro told her. ‘After all, as you said yourself, it was a long time ago.’

‘Oh, come on, Sandro,’ Luca put in. ‘You were mad for Sofia and we all knew it. I remember that diamond bracelet you bought her from Cartier. You desperately wanted to buy her a ring as well, but I told you you should talk to her first.’

Leonora, who
had
been feeling hungry, discovered that she had lost her appetite. It was ridiculous to feel so painfully jealous of a relationship that was in the past and a man she could never have, and yet she did. And it hurt—dreadfully.

‘They serve locally caught fish here. I can recommend it,’ Alessandro advised Leonora, ignoring Luca’s comment. He had forgotten all about the Cartier bangle—bought not on a whim, he remembered now, but because Sofia had hinted so very broadly that she wanted it. There had certainly never been any discussion about a ring. Not that he could claim that he would
not
have bought her one during those early months of their relationship, before he had realised the truth about her.

‘What is your costume for tonight, Sandro? I’m so excited about the ball. It’s such a hugely prestigious event, and so exclusive.’

‘Hardly, Sofia. It is a private celebration of a historical family event, that’s all. Not one of your celebrity affairs.’

Sofia pouted.

‘
Caro
, you are being far too modest. I understood from your father that at least two top-magazine society-page editors had been invited.’

That was news to Alessandro—unwelcome news. He suspected that it would be equally unwelcome to Falcon. Yet another example of their father’s love of meddling. He’d have to warn Falcon to check the guest list.

‘Who are you impersonating?’ Alessandro asked Sofia, adding, ‘No—let me guess—Lucretia Borgia?’

She gave a sharp trill of laughter.

‘That is so naughty of you, Sandro—you always did have a wicked sense of humour. No, actually, I shall be Napoleon’s sister Pauline—the bride your ancestor wanted for his son. Has Alessandro told you anything of the history of his family yet, Leonora?’

‘A little—’ Leonora began.

But Alessandro spoke over her answer, saying coolly, ‘We’ve been far too busy talking about our own future to delve into the ancient past.’

‘Ah,
caro
,
do you remember the plans we had for our future?’ Sofia asked Alessandro softly, placing her hand on his arm.

They deserved one another, Leonora decided crossly an hour later, as she sat pushing her lunch round her plate and trying not to feel sorry for herself. She listened to Alessandro and Sofia. For all that Alessandro’s responses to her were blunt and dismissive, plainly Sofia believed that he still cared about her—otherwise surely she would not be so persistent. Leonora certainly believed that he did—even if for his pride’s sake he was trying to pretend that he did not.

They were the last to leave the restaurant, Sofia having insisted on extending their lunch well into the afternoon, although having failed to persuade Alessandro into agreeing that she could move from the hotel to the
castello
.
She had also failed to persuade him to go up to her suite with her so that she could show him how much she still treasured the Cartier bangle, which she apparently had with her.

Alessandro and Leonora flew back to the
castello
almost in silence, and when Alessandro told her that he had something he needed to discuss with his brother Leonora was glad of the opportunity to escape to their suite on her own, so that she could deal in private with the discovery she had made before they had left the hotel.

They had been in the foyer, saying their goodbyes after lunch. Sofia naturally had been all over Alessandro, but it had been when Leonora had seen the other woman kissing Alessandro on the mouth with a deliberate sensuality that had had his hands lifting to grip her arms that the hideous truth had torn through her. She loved him. How, when and why were all questions she could not answer. But they didn’t affect the reality and its unbearable truth. Somehow, without her wanting it to happen and without her knowing how it had happened, he had taken her heart as effortlessly as his ancestors had taken their people’s lands.

Leonora had always believed that she possessed both common sense and determination, but neither of them were strong enough to prevent the flow of some very painful tears in the privacy of the suite, as she lay curled up on the bed she had shared with Alessandro as his blackmailed pretend mistress. She would never share it with him as a woman who loved him, and who was loved by him in return.