‘Keep me entertained,’ he said in a disappointingly disinterested tone. ‘That’s your only job today.’
‘Court jester?’ she suggested.
To her relief, Luca’s dark gaze flared briefly with something that might have been humour. ‘If the cap fits.’
‘I’ll only wear it if it’s got bells on it.’
‘That can be arranged.’ His lips twitched. He almost cracked a smile.
By the time they disembarked in Portofino, he’d decided to stay an extra day. He’d been on the move long enough, and so had Samia. The small town had lost none of its picturesque charm in all the years he’d been coming here, and he wanted to show her around. For someone who’d been trapped in London in a loveless marriage, the starburst of exuberance that unfolded in front of them could only be the best possible tonic. If he wanted a bride and he wanted that bride to be Samia, uninterested as he had always been in prolonging any relationship, or even working on it, this was worth it... She was worth it. Better used toarrangementsswiftly made between him and an experienced woman—with no need for preliminaries, because they both chose to cut straight to the chase—he knew that would never be enough to convince Samia to marry him. In fact, it would probably have the opposite effect. She’d need more than a nice meal and sex. A lot more, he reflected, taking in her shining eyes as she viewed the scene.
The tiny harbour town of Portofino was bathed in sunshine when they arrived. The sky was unrelieved blue, while the fresh sea air was filled with the scent of blossoms cascading exuberantly over wrought-iron balconies. As they approached the main area lined with cafés, she was greeted by the signature scent of the region, which was lemon in all its various guises. Every table they passed seemed to be decorated with lemons and lemon leaves, both as a symbol of the region and to entice the customer to sit down and linger a while.
‘Drink?’ Luca invited.
‘Yes, please.’
He ordered the ingredients for a local speciality, which was lemon juice, sugar, or sweetener, and fresh spring water, which the customers were left to mix themselves to taste. A jug of ice was delivered to the table, and half the fun was agreeing how much of each ingredient they should add. It was hard to be tense while she and Luca were arguing over the best recipe.
‘Taste,’ he instructed, holding the glass to her lips.
‘Delicious!’ He was definitely more pirate than prince today—and the drink was tasty too. ‘But mine is better,’ she insisted.
Leaning over, Luca took a sip. ‘Not bad,’ he conceded.
‘Mine’s better,’ she threw back with a smile.
He leaned forward, his dark eyes smouldering into hers, and for the briefest moment she wondered if he was going to kiss her, but then he stood and went to pay the bill. Luca was playing her as a virtuoso might play a violin, she thought as she admired his back view. The Pirate Prince was impossibly attractive. As well as tricky to deal with, she concluded as she stood up, and he politely moved her chair away so they could continue their tour of Portofino.
She decided within the first hour that the fiesta was a full-on ravishment of the senses. The town was very pretty with its big wide square, cobbled streets leading off, and a walkway around the bay, lined with tiny boutiques, bars and restaurants. Festooned with bunting and banners, and with several bands competing for an audience, it was the noisiest and most wonderful celebration. Crowded with people of all ages, dressed in their best beneath mellow sunshine, and with stallholders calling out their wares, everyone was smiling. The scent of fresh bread, still warm from the oven, made her mouth water as they passed a stall, while other stalls boasted cheeses and cakes, as well as ice cream that made her sigh with anticipation. Having Luca at her side was like the icing on the thick slice of panettone, the sweet buttery fruit-filled bread he insisted she must try.
The crowds thickened as they walked on, and then he stopped outside a lawyers’ office. ‘These people act for me,’ he explained.
‘Would you like me to wait outside?’
‘No. You come in,’ he said.
Nice of him not to keep her waiting on the street, she thought as he opened the door of a very traditional-looking office, full of mahogany panelling, tiled floors, and the evocative scent of beeswax. ‘Do you have an appointment?’
‘They’re expecting me. And you as well.’
‘Me?’she exclaimed with surprise.
‘I’d like you to sign something.’
Of course.
She met his gaze and held it levelly. ‘A non-disclosure agreement?’ she guessed.
‘Do you have any objections?’
‘None.’ But she wished he’d trusted her enough to discuss it with her first. But then again, why should he? She’d kept the truth about being an investigative journalist from Luca, until he’d uncovered the information for himself, so she could hardly refuse his request now.
The wood-panelled room they were shown into boasted no distracting views of the sea. Instead, it was a small space for a keen mind to work in. The lawyer explained exactly what she was about to sign, and insisted on taking her through the agreement line by line.
She was actually very happy to sign it, thinking it might release a lot of tension that had built up between her and Luca.
‘I’m sorry I had to ask you to do that,’ he said stiffly as they stepped back into the lemon-scented air.
