Sharon Kendrick - Cinderella In The Sicilian's World

But the thought of spending a couple of uncomplicated hours in her company and letting her naïve chatter wash over him was suddenly appealing. Besides, wasn’t there something a little careworn about her features? As if she had been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. A moment of unfamiliar compassion spiralled up inside him as he came to a rapid conclusion.

‘Do you have to rush away?’

Lina narrowed her eyes, wondering if she’d heard him correctly but also wondering what had caused that intense look of pain to have crossed his face. Was he thinking about his godfather, or had it been something else? She reflected how strange life could be sometimes. When here was a man who appeared to have everything, yet for a moment back then his expression had seemed almost... haunted .

He was waiting for an answer to his question and she knew exactly what she should say. Thank him politely but decline. Walk away from the bar and the faint sense of edginess he exuded, while reminding herself that she and this man had nothing in common. Some bone-deep instinct warned her he could be dangerous—and who in their right mind would willingly embrace danger? But vying with that certainty was something stronger. Something which was telling her to do the very opposite. Hadn’t she driven away from the village today precisely because she wanted to experience something different—and wasn’t this her opportunity to do just that?

Up this close, his proximity was making her body react in a way which was shocking yet delicious. Her nipples had begun to tighten beneath her handmade blouse—and now a low curl of heat was pulsing somewhere deep inside her and setting her blood on fire. Was this what it was all about? she wondered as she felt her lips grow dry. Was this what all her friends chattered about—a desire which had always eluded her up until now?

‘No, I don’t have to rush away.’

‘Then will you have a glass of wine with me?’ A flicker of humour danced in the azure depths of his eyes. ‘Are you old enough to drink?’

He was flattering her, she knew that. But Lina shook her head. She didn’t want wine. She wanted as clear a head as possible. ‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s much too hot. I’d like a granita , please.’

‘A granita ,’ he repeated thoughtfully. ‘I haven’t had one of those in years.’

He ordered two and the granitas were delivered in chunky little glasses clouded with condensation and it wasn’t until after they had drunk for a moment, in silence, that the Sicilian tycoon turned to her again.

‘Do you realise you have me at a complete disadvantage?’ he observed slowly. ‘You seem to know exactly who I am, while I have no idea what your name is.’

She took another sip before replying and the sweet-sharp taste of the lemons was icy against her lips. And wasn’t it bizarre that her senses suddenly seemed raw , so that the granita tasted better than any granita she’d ever had, and the glittering sea had never appeared bluer than it did right now?

‘It’s Nicolina Vitale,’ she said. ‘But my friends call me Lina.’

There was a heartbeat of a pause. ‘And what would you like me to call you?’

His question hung on the air—as fragile as a bubble. An innocent question which suddenly didn’t feel innocent at all because the smokiness in his eyes was making her want to tremble, despite the heat of the day. Lina was a stranger to flirting, mainly because she’d never met anyone she’d wanted to flirt with, but suddenly she was finding it easy. As easy as the smile she slanted him, as if she mixed with handsome billionaires every day of the week.

‘You can call me Lina,’ she said huskily.

His blue eyes hardened with something she didn’t recognise, but it was gone so quickly that she didn’t have time to analyse it.

‘So are you going to stay here for a while, Lina Vitale?’ he was enquiring softly. ‘Are you going to throw caution to the wind and have lunch with me?’

Lina was aware of a sudden rush of colour to her cheeks as briefly she wondered what her friend Rosa would say if she could see her now. She wouldn’t be teasing her about being a cold fish, would she? And those two spurned suitors would have been forced to retract their cruel comments about her being uptight and frigid.

‘Why not?’ she said shyly, and gave him a breathless smile.

THE AFTERNOON SUN was low in the sky and people were beginning to make their way back to the sunbeds now that the fierce heat of midday had subsided. Against the ocean’s glitter, Lina could see women on loungers reapplying suncream and thought how cool and composed they all looked.

Unlike her. It was hot down here on the sand and her body was reacting to it in a way which wasn’t particularly attractive. Sweat was beading her forehead beneath her thick curls and her clothes were sticking to her skin. She shifted a little in her seat, still unable to believe she was having lunch with a world-famous tycoon.

She wondered if she’d outstayed her welcome. Probably. Though since she had no experience of this kind of affair, it was impossible to know. But surely someone like Salvatore di Luca must have grown bored with the conversational limitations of a village girl by now. Maybe it was time she gave him an exit route.

Pushing her plate away, she glanced up into his arresting face and, once again, her heart gave a powerful punch of pleasure. ‘I guess it’s time I was going.’

‘You don’t say that with any degree of conviction,’ he observed, an unfathomable expression darkening his ruggedly handsome face. ‘And you’ve barely touched your lunch.’

This much was true. Lina felt a rush of guilt as she stared at her plate. She was fond of her food and had been brought up never to waste anything and certainly not a meal as expensive as this. But she’d barely been able to swallow a morsel. The food had tasted like sawdust and her throat had felt tight with a tension she couldn’t seem to shift. Because beneath the fierce light of Salvatore’s potent charisma, she could feel her senses unfurling. As if the cautious and inexperienced Lina Vitale was blossoming into someone she didn’t recognise, dazzled by the attentions of a man who was little more than a handsome stranger.

He had commandeered a shaded table which sat on the edge of the sea, where, after a little persuasion, she had removed her socks and trainers so that her bare toes could wriggle luxuriously in the sand. Then she’d sat back in her chair watching the crystal blue waters lapping against the crushed silver shore, as armies of waiters rushed over to serve them. It was the most luxurious thing which had happened in her twenty-eight years and Lina found herself savouring every moment. Terrified of doing the wrong thing, she’d watched Salvatore closely throughout the meal to make sure she didn’t let herself down. But he had surprised her. He hadn’t behaved remotely how she thought a billionaire would behave. He hadn’t ordered lobster or scallops or any of the fancier items which adorned the menu. Instead, he had rolled up the sleeves of his white silk shirt and devoured his meal as hungrily as any labourer and Lina had been surprised at his very traditional choice of tomato sauce, fried aubergine and ricotta cheese.

‘I didn’t notice it on the menu,’ she said.

‘That’s because it isn’t. But they always make it for me when I come here.’

‘Was it something your mother used to cook?’ she guessed.

As far as she was aware, it was the only awkward part of the meal for his face suddenly grew cold. Cold as the ice bobbing around in her glass of sparkling water. Suddenly his voice sounded like stone. ‘No,’ he clipped out. ‘My mother wasn’t into cooking .’