The Tuscan Tycoon's Wife. Lucy GordonЧитать онлайн книгу.
Selena asked, joining him. ‘I could tell.’
‘I breed a few, back home.’
‘Where’s home?’
‘Italy.’
‘Then you really are a foreigner.’
He grinned. ‘Couldn’t you tell by my “funny accent”?’
She gave a sudden blazing grin. ‘It’s not as funny as some I’ve heard.’
It was as though the sun had come up with her smile. Wanting to make her laugh, Leo went into a clowning version of Italian. Seizing her hand he kissed the back and crooned theatrically,
‘Bella signorina, letta me tell you abouta my country. In Eeetaly we know ’ow to appreciate a beautiful lai-ee-dy.’
She stared, more flabbergasted than impressed.
‘You talk like that in Italy?’
‘No, of course not,’ he said, reverting to his normal voice. ‘But when we’re abroad it’s how we’re expected to talk.’
‘Only by folk who need their heads examined.’
‘Well, I meet a lot of them. Most people’s ideas about Italians come straight out of cliché. We’re not all bottom pinchers.’
‘No, you just wink at women on the highway.’
‘Who does?’
‘You do. Did. When Mr Hanworth’s car passed me, I saw you looking at me, and you winked.’
‘Only because you winked first.’
‘I did not,’ she said, up in arms.
‘You did.’
‘I did not.’
‘I saw you.’
‘It was a trick of the light. I do not wink at strange men.’
‘And I don’t wink at strange women—unless they wink at me first.’
Suddenly she began to laugh, just as he’d wanted her to, and the sun came out again. He took her hand and led her back to the bale where they’d been sitting, and they clinked beer cans.
‘Tell me about your home,’ she said. ‘Where in Italy?’
‘Tuscany, the northern part, near the coast. I have a farm, breed some horses, grow some grapes. Ride in the rodeo.’
‘Rodeo? In Italy? You’re kidding me.’
‘No way! We have a little town called Grosseto, which has a rodeo every year, complete with a parade through the town. There’s a building there with walls covered with photos of the local “cowboys”. Until I was six I thought all cowboys were Italian. When my cousin Marco told me they came from the States I called him a liar. We had to be separated by our parents.’
He paused, for she was choking with laughter.
‘In the end,’ he said, ‘I had to come and see the real thing.’
‘Got any family, apart from your cousin?’
‘Some. Not a wife. I live alone except for Gina.’
‘She’s a live-in girlfriend?’
‘No, she’s over fifty. She cooks and cleans and makes dire predictions about how I’ll never find a wife because no younger woman will put up with that draughty building.’
‘Are the draughts really bad?’
‘They are in winter. Thick stone walls and flagstones to walk on.’
‘Sounds really primitive.’
‘I guess it is. It was built eight hundred years ago and as soon as I finish one repair it seems I have to start another. But in summer it’s beautiful. That’s when you appreciate the stone keeping you cool. And when you go out in the early morning and look down the valley, there’s a soft light that you see at no other time. But you have to be there at exactly the right moment, because it only lasts a few minutes. Then the light changes, becomes harsher, and if you want to see the magic again you have to go back next morning.’
He stopped, slightly surprised at himself for using so many words, and for the almost poetic strain of feeling that had come through them. He realised that she was looking at him with gentle interest.
‘Tell me more,’ she said. ‘I like listening to people talk about what they love.’
‘Yes, I suppose I do love it,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I love the whole life, even though it’s demanding, and sometimes rough and uncomfortable. At harvest you get up at dawn and go to bed when you’re in a state of collapse, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.’
‘You got brothers, sisters?’
‘I’ve got a younger brother—’ Leo grinned ‘—although technically Guido is the elder. In fact, legally I barely exist because it turned out my parents weren’t married, only nobody knew at the time.’
She made a quick, alert movement. ‘You mean you’re a bastard too?’
‘Yes, I guess I am.’
‘Do you care?’
‘Not in the slightest.’
‘Me neither,’ she said contentedly. ‘It sort of leaves you free. You can go where you want and do what you want, be who you want. Do you find it’s like that?’
Receiving no answer she turned to look at Leo and found him leaned right back, his eyes closed, his body stretched out in an attitude of abandon. Jet lag wouldn’t be fought off any longer.
Selena reached out to nudge him awake, but stopped with her hand an inch away, and watched him. The day’s turbulent events had left her no chance to consider him at leisure. He’d been the rescuer who’d caught up with Elliot, when she herself might not have done so in time, and whose gentle hands and voice had calmed the animal. If her beloved Elliot accepted him then she must too.
In the bathroom he’d saved her from nasty injury. Beyond that she hadn’t allowed herself to think. But she could think about it now, how it had felt to be held tightly against him, the soft scratching of the hairs on his chest against her bare breasts. She could remember, too, the bold way he’d grasped her behind with his big hand, hauling her to safety and removing his hand at once.
A gentleman, she thought. Even at that moment.
Everything about him pleased her, starting with the broad sweep of his forehead, half hidden now by a lock of hair that had fallen over it, and the heavy brows, and the dark-brown eyes beneath them. She liked the straight nose and the slightly heavy curved mouth that could smile in a way that hinted at delight to come for a woman with a brave spirit.
She wondered just how brave her own spirit was. In the ring she would take any risk, dare any fall, chance any unfamiliar horse, and laugh. But folk were different, harder to understand than horses. They were awkward and they could hurt you more than any tumble.
And yet she wanted to see Leo’s smile again, and follow the tempting hints to their conclusion.
She liked his foreignness, his faint Italian accent, his way of pronouncing certain words in a way that was strange to her, but delightful. She wanted to know him better, to discover more about the big, generously proportioned body, and to realise the promise implicit in those broad shoulders and lean, hard torso. As if drawn by a magnet her eyes fell on his hands, and memories sprang alive in her flesh. Those long fingers, touching her nakedness as he lifted her out of the bath. They seemed to be touching her now, this minute. She could feel them….
Hell, who did she think she was kidding? Everyone knew that Italians liked curvy females, with hour-glass figures.
And I don’t have any in-and-out, she reminded herself sorrowfully. Just ‘in.’ And he’s