In the Italian's Sights by Helen Brooks Page A

that he had wanted her, right then and there. His face had shown it too, sexual knowledge turning the grey eyes hungry with anticipation. He’d clearly thought from her response to him that he was on to a good thing. She groaned again, burning with shame. And then she had pushed him away like a frightened schoolgirl and further compounded her stupidity by sprinting for the house as though the devil was after her. What on earth had she looked like?
    He’d think she was a tease—one of those women who indicated she was available and ready for the taking and then backed off at the last moment. She pressed a fist to her mouth to stop herself groaning for a third time.
    And how could she explain otherwise? How could she say his kiss had been the most mind-blowing experience of her life? He’d either think she was playing sexual games or, worse, that she fancied him and was trying to reel him in. Give a wolf a taste and keep him hungry. Either way it was back to the tease thing again. And she had never behaved like that in her life. She’d heard other girls—at university and later in the workplace—discuss strategies to keep a man dangling, and such manipulation disgusted her. But Vittorio wasn’t to know that.
    Cherry sat for another few minutes, heaping self-denigration on herself, before walking into the bathroom. A bath. A long soak in bubbles. This was one occasion when a shower wouldn’t do. She would wash her hair and cream and pamper herself, perhaps even paint her nails with one of the bottles of varnish she’d seen earlier, and when she went downstairs for dinner she would be in full command of herself.
    Her stomach cringed at the thought of facing Vittorio,but she stared at her tragic face in the mirror and almost smiled. Why he’d wanted to kiss her in the first place she’d never know. She looked like a little waif and stray the wind had blown in. All eyes and trembling lips. But no more. She hadn’t brought much with her in the way of evening clothes—it wasn’t that sort of holiday—but she did have a couple of dresses that had cost an arm and a leg. She had bought them in the aftermath of the split with Liam, when she’d been feeling ugly and worthless, and they’d been worth every penny for the confidence they’d given her. One of those would do just fine. The deep blue viscose-crêpe one with the asymmetric lace border, perhaps. She had a pair of leather strappy sandals which would set off the cut of the dress. And she’d put her hair up. It made her look older.
    An hour later she was just teasing a few silky strands from the large clip shed used to put her hair up when there was a knock at the bedroom door. Her heart somersaulted and then beat so hard she couldn’t breathe. Somehow she managed to say, ‘Yes? Who is it?’ and the relief when Sophia’s voice came a moment later was immense. She’d thought… And then she shook her head at her own fancifulness. Why would a man like Vittorio bother with her anyway? He had plenty more fish in the sea, no doubt.
    When she opened the door, Sophia smiled at her. Vittorio’s sister looked even older in the green strapless dress she was wearing, her voluptuous hour-glass figure perfectly suited to the deceptively simple A-line evening frock. ‘I thought we could go down together, Cherry.’
    ‘Yes, of course. I just need to find my sandals.’ Cherry opened the door wider and Sophia came in, shutting it behind her. Cherry knelt down by her open case on the floor, digging inside for the sandals—the only dressyshoes she’d brought with her. Once she had fished them out she sat back on her heels with them in her hands. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ she began, turning her head, and then, her voice changing as she saw tears running down Sophia’s face, she said, ‘Oh, what is it? What’s the matter?’
    She jumped up, pulling Sophia over to the bed and sitting down with her as she took the younger girl’s hands in hers. ‘Is it Santo?’