Christina Hollis - The Count's Prize

His voice was a warm caress of desire.

Work later, play now …

The gentle sounds of nature receded as her head filled with clouds of cotton wool. She seemed to be looking at herself from outside. Instead of taking the piece of fruit from Dario’s fingers with her own, she watched herself lean forward to take it directly into her mouth. Through a warm mist of arousal she heard herself gasp as the peach’s unctuous nectar ran down her chin.

Dario had never expected her to do something so spontaneous. His shock and surprise seamlessly turned to raw lust, ready to overwhelm him. No one could expect a man like the Count di Sirena to refuse such an invitation. Swiftly and silently, he took Josie’s hands and moved in to taste her …

CHRISTINA HOLLISwas 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, in between complicated rural school runs. The rest of her life is divided among 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:

WEIGHT OF THE CROWN

THE ITALIAN’S BLUSHING BRIDE

THE FRENCH ARISTOCRAT’S BABY

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Count’s

Prize

Christina Hollis

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Martyn, for all your invaluable help and understanding .

JOSIE couldn’t help herself. Trying to pretend that this was going to be just another job was impossible. Bouncing forward in her seat, she rapped on the glass partition separating her from the di Sirena family’s impeccably dressed chauffeur.

‘Stop! Please stop!’

The man immediately stamped on the brakes and whipped around to look at her, his face full of concern. ‘Is there something wrong, Dr Street?’

‘No, no, sorry, nothing’s wrong. I didn’t mean to alarm you. It’s just that I was told the Castello Sirena is very beautiful, so I want to be sure of getting a good look at it,’ Josie confided, sinking back into the sumptuous leather upholstery.

Her chauffeur nodded in agreement. ‘That’s quite understandable, signorina . This castle has been called the most beautiful Italian property still in private hands. But, as you will be staying for a month, surely you will have plenty of opportunities for sightseeing?’

‘I don’t know—I’ve got so much to do while I’m here. I might not have that much spare time to just … admire it,’ she said, smiling. Her excitement at the prospect of new archaeological discoveries was shadowed slightly by the thought of talking about her work in front of students next term, but that worry could wait. She had lots of lovely research to do before then. ‘I’m preparing my first course, and I want to bring some of my undergraduate study trips to this part of Italy.’

One look at the surrounding countryside, glowing gold in the sunshine, and Josie knew that seeing the Castello Sirena just as part of a research project was going to be difficult. The place oozed distraction. However, the ink was barely dry on her PhD and contract of employment at the university, so she didn’t want to smudge either by not making the absolute most of this opportunity. It had taken endless persuading and presentations to get any funding at all for this trip and she’d been so lucky that her best friend, Antonia, had invited her to investigate their family estate in such a way—the Castello Sirena was usually closed to researchers. Without that cherry, she didn’t think her office would have given her the money to travel, and as it was they’d only funded her for a couple of weeks at most.

As a child, she had driven her mother mad by filling their tiny house with muddy bits of ‘buried treasure’ found in the garden. Mrs Street had sacrificed a lot over the years to see her daughter through university, so Josie was determined to build herself a professional reputation for always putting her job first—at least, that was what she kept telling herself.

She whipped her camera out of her bag.

‘Can you spare a minute while I take some photos?’ she asked the driver. ‘My mum back home in England is never likely to see a place like this for herself. I want to give her some proof I’m actually going to be staying in a castle!’

She had hardly finished speaking before the driver got out and opened the car door for her.

‘Oh, that’s so kind of you! I didn’t mean to put you to any trouble …’

‘It’s no trouble, signorina , as I told you when I took charge of your bags.’

His words made Josie go hot with horror all over again. The summer day was warm enough already, without an embarrassing reminder of that scene at the airport. She was so used to fending for herself, being greeted there by a stranger in a sharp suit and totally black sunglasses had made her instantly suspicious. She had refused to hand over her things until she’d checked his ID.

‘Then thank you.’

Josie stepped out of the car and into the furnace that was Tuscany in July. She took a few quick snaps along the tree-lined drive towards the great castle on the hill, then dived back into the luxury of the di Sirena limousine as soon as she could. Its air-conditioning was a wonderful treat on a day like today.

‘What was that lovely smell?’ she asked as they set off down a cool green corridor formed by trees planted on either side of the mile-long drive.

‘This lime avenue is in flower.’ Her driver waved his hand towards the leafy green canopy overhead as they cruised along. ‘Insects love them. You can hear them buzzing from a long way away. Count Dario once told me there could easily be several million bees working away on the flowers at any one time.’

Josie thought that was a very fitting image. Count Dario was the brother of her friend Antonia. Josie had never met him but, from the tales Antonia told about him, the man sounded a real drone. He partied every night and loafed around his estates during the day while everyone else did the actual work. It was no wonder he knew all about bees.