At the Billionaire's BiddingBride, Bought and Paid ForThe Italian's Ruthless Marriage CommandPublic Marriage, Private Secrets by Helen Bianchin

Author:Helen Bianchin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fiction
Publisher: Mills & Boon By Request
Published: 2015-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE following evening Dante eased the luxury four-wheel-drive towards the end of the lane linking it to the arterial road which led into the town.

‘Graziella is capable of settling Ben to bed.’

Taylor glanced away from the passing scenery, the patchwork of the various fields with their rows of vineyards and the cypress bordering the road. The sky was opalescent with changing colour as the sun sank low towards the horizon. Evenings remained light much longer here during summer than they did in the southern hemisphere, and she enjoyed the slow fading of the night sky.

‘I don’t doubt it.’

‘Yet you’re unable to relax.’

Because you disturb me. Aloud, she admitted, ‘You’re not an easy person to be around.’

‘And that bothers you?’

It bothered her like hell. ‘I have no intention of stroking your ego.’

‘Your honesty is admirable.’

He was teasing her, and if she felt more at ease with him she’d have offered a laughing response. Instead, she offered wryly, ‘Count on it.’

He spared her a musing glance. ‘The trattoria is owned by friends of mine, and situated in a small village not far from here.’

Dante parked on the village outskirts, locked the vehicle, then he caught hold of her hand and loosely threaded his fingers through her own.

She was tempted to pull free, and his clasp tightened fractionally, almost as if he guessed her intention.

It was like going back in time, Taylor mused as they trod the uneven paving, the buildings old and mellowed gold in the evening light.

There were a few people gathered at outdoor tables, talking in voluble Italian. Men, young and old, drinking espresso coffee, dark red wine, some smoking. Not many women, and those few present looked like tourists or visitors absorbing the ambience.

The air was redolent with spices, food and a hint of garlic in the cooking.

As they walked, a male voice called out a greeting, and Dante answered in his own language, pausing to exchange a few words and effect an introduction.

Taylor was aware of the thinly disguised speculation apparent, the momentary gleam of appreciation in the man’s eyes…and wondered at the sophistication beneath the urbane veneer.

‘A business associate?’ she enquired as they continued walking, and received Dante’s acknowledgment in response.

‘And childhood friend. Carlo owns a vineyard a few kilometres from mine.’

Dante led her towards a charming restaurant and bar, with outdoor tables for those who preferred to eat and drink in the open.

‘The food is exquisite,’ he informed as they moved inside. ‘Mariangela is noted for her gnocchi. You must try a sample.’

‘Dio madonna,’ a male voice boomed. ‘Mariangela, come quickly.’ What followed was lost in the flood of voluble Italian as a barrel of a man rushed forward to clasp Dante in a bear-like hug. Then a woman appeared from the kitchen, took one look at Dante, cried out and all but ran to greet him.

Dante laughed, lifted her high and swung her full circle before setting her down and effecting an introduction.

‘So, you bring your woman to see us, eh?’ Mariangela teased. ‘What

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