SARA jerked to a stop as a long arm circled her waist once more, and she threw back her head, ready to do battle.
‘Oh, it’s you …’ She was relieved to see Peter, and grabbed his other arm to help steady her trembling legs as the aftershock of what had occurred struck her.
‘I was looking for you …’
‘Get me that drink you promised,’ she demanded breathlessly. ‘I certainly need it.’
He glanced over her head, and back at her. ‘I can see why. Your old friend does not look too pleased.’ His concerned eyes smiled down into hers as he urged her towards the bar. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked, after picking up two glasses of champagne and handing one to her.
‘Yes—yes, fine now.’ And after taking a long swallow she added, ‘Thank you.’
‘No need for thanks. I’m your knight errant, don’t you know? But I have a nasty suspicion that is all I will ever be. Without wishing to be insulting, you have the look of a woman who has been thoroughly kissed—unfortunately not by me,’ he said wryly. ‘But to heal my bruised heart you have to come clean and tell me how you know Barberi—and why the man has just given me a guns-drawn, shoot-at-ten-paces look.’
Sara knew she owed Peter some kind of explanation. ‘I met him years ago, when I was a teenager at university. I knew him for a few months, and then we went our separate ways.’ She had no intention of going into detail.
‘Let me guess … You left him? I am right, aren’t I?’ Sara nodded her head in agreement. ‘That would account for the filthy look.’ He chuckled. ‘Guido Barberi is a man no woman turns down. They always chase him, and he has dated some very lovely ladies.’
‘I can imagine.’ Sara snorted disgustedly.
‘Not the half, I bet. The man is a legend in financial circles. His base is in Italy, where it’s rumoured a model amuses him. He recently opened an office in London, but he also has one in New York, to oversee his North American interests, where his lawyer there, Margot James, is his lover. I don’t know about his South American and African offices but I know for a fact a few weeks ago he was at his Hong Kong office, where a cute Chinese girl called Mai Kim is his mistress. I was there on business myself, and saw them together. So hats off to you, Sara. I think you had a very lucky escape. You are far too exquisitely unique to be one of a harem.’
Her blue eyes misted with tears. There were some decent men in the world after all, Sara thought, and lifted her hand to stroke his cheek in a friendly gesture. ‘Peter, I think that is the nicest thing any man has ever said to me.’
‘Hey, don’t go all soppy on me, pal. Let’s go and eat some of your fabulous food,’ he suggested, and, taking her glass, he closed his arm comfortably around her and led her into the main salon, where Sara had laid out the buffet earlier.
Guido had instinctively stepped forward to follow her, but stopped. Damn it to hell! What was he doing, chasing after his ex-wife? She had quite openly admitted she had enjoyed spending his money, she’d had absolutely no shame, and the last thing he needed was to get involved with her again. Then he saw Wells appear and slide an arm around her. The other man’s eyes flicked to his, and quickly away.
He didn’t blame the boy for taking his chance with Sara—though the way he felt at the moment he wanted to strangle someone. The depths of his passion surprised even himself, and his hands clenched around the guardrail, his knuckles white with the effort to control the anger consuming him.
His big body still throbbed with frustration, and it took all the considerable will-power he possessed to regain his usual cool control and think clearly.
Sara had not changed; she was still after money, out for the main chance. She had led him on with her sexy body, her throaty moans, and then thought better of it, he reasoned cynically, when she had re-evaluated. Having conned him once, her chance of doing so again was nil … obviously the young Wells was a much easier mark.
Good luck to him. He didn’t care, he told himself. Let the young idiot find out for himself what a scheming little gold-digger she was. Guido straightened and with a shrug of his broad shoulders walked back into the crowd. In minutes he was surrounded by three very willing females. He was spoilt for choice …
Sara was in the past, and that was where she would stay, and for the next half-hour he concentrated his attention on his very charming companions. Then he allowed his hostess to guide him to the buffet, where he was surprised to see Sara replenishing the dishes. He shrugged his shoulders. Why was he surprised? She was a cook, and what better way to hook a rich man than to work on a yacht? he thought contemptuously.
Later, back on deck, if his gaze strayed once or twice to Sara in the arms of Wells it was totally unintentional, and with his superior wisdom he told himself he almost felt sorry for the guy. By all accounts the young man was on the way to making a fortune and a brilliant career beckoned. It seemed a shame to let a woman like Sara get her claws into him, Guido mused.
By the time he left the party his mind was made up. In the interest of male solidarity it was his duty to save young Wells from Sara Beecham’s clutches.
How, he had yet to decide. Though the rather interesting conversation he had shared with Pat and Dave, after he had made a point of seeking the couple out and thanking them for a pleasant evening before leaving, had given him an idea. An idea that was a win-win situation for him …
He would save a clever young man from making a bad mistake, promote his career and get him out of the way at the same time. With a bit of luck he would get the sexy Sara back in his bed until he had finally sated himself in her luscious body, and then he would walk away from her without a second thought.
Sara cast one last glance around the galley. The debris of the buffet had been disposed of and the place was spotless.
‘There you are.’ Pat entered as she was about to leave.
‘If you have come to help—too late. I’m finished,’ Sara said dryly.
‘You bet you are,’ Pat declared, grinning all over her face. ‘You will never guess what … When I told Guido Barberi we were leaving tomorrow, about noon, he insisted on returning my hospitality of this evening by inviting everyone to breakfast on his yacht in the morning. Isn’t that great?’
‘If it means I don’t have to cook and don’t have to go … yes.’
Except when Pat finally left Sara felt anything but great. Gutted would be a more accurate description. Closing the galley door behind her, she made her way to her cabin, one of three in the lower deck of the yacht, designated for the crew. A quick shower, and she climbed naked into the bottom bunk. What a hellish night! She groaned and closed her eyes, hoping to blot out every minute of the horrendous party, but to no avail … Meeting Guido again had awakened a host of memories she had struggled for years to forget.
Who had once said be careful what you wish for in case you get it? Sara wondered, lying wide awake in her bunk. Whoever it was, they were right.
Born and brought up in London by a mother who’d loved her and a grandfather who’d adored her, she had had a happy childhood. She had never missed having a father. Her mother Anne—a researcher for the BBC—had explained that the only man she had ever loved had died in a motorcycle accident a month before they were due to marry. But as the years went by she had longed for a child. So at the age of thirty-five, and with the encouragement of her best friends Lisa and Tom, who had been married for years but childless, all three had decided on treatment. They went to America on an extended vacation and whilst Lisa and Tom underwent IVF treatment, her mother tried artificial insemination. As she had explained to Sara, in her case it had been successful, and Sara had been the result. But unfortunately Lisa had not been so lucky and never had got pregnant.
With the innocence of a child, Sara had never thought anything about her birth. For the first few years of her life every weekend and holiday had been spent at her grandfather’s retirement bungalow by the sea in Southampton. With her mother and grandfather for support, plus her honorary Aunt Lisa and Uncle Tom, she had grown up to be a bright, trusting child. Her grandfather had died when she was eight, and it had been a big loss to both her and her mother, but an even bigger loss had been losing her mother at the age of eleven.
Then the full import of her unusual birth had been brought home to her in a devastating fashion. The couple her mother had named in her will as Sara’s guardians, if anything happened to her—Aunt Lisa and Uncle Tom—had been killed in the same car crash as her mother. The three of them had been to the theatre and on the journey home had been hit by a drunken driver. Distraught at the death of her mother, Lisa and Tom, Sara had found herself without a friend or a relative in the world. The flat she had shared with her mother had been sold by the lawyers, and after all the expenses had been paid a modest amount of money had been put in a trust for Sara until she was twenty-one. And Sara had been put in the care of Social Services.
Just thinking about the children’s home they’d placed her in even now made her shudder. Nowadays children were housed in small groups of six or so, in modern buildings, but at that time, and because of her age, she had ended up with thirty other children in a grim old Victorian building with iron bars on the windows to prevent the more unruly occupants from escaping. Naively, when asked by an older girl about her parents, she had told the truth and revealed she was a donor child. Immediately she had been taunted by the other children. Jibes like, ‘Your father could be a serial killer,’ had been commonplace, or speculation that she might end up marrying her brother had been another favourite.
For months she had lived in grief and fear, hardly daring to sleep at night, and not surprisingly all her confidence drained from her. It had only been when she was introduced to Lillian Brown that she had slowly begun to recover. For the next few years she had lived in various foster homes until she went to university, and Lillian Brown had been the only constant in her life.
A remarkable woman, at twenty-nine she had been single and an international lawyer, hoping to make partner in her firm. She’d hoped one day to have a husband and family of her own, but in the meantime had joined a “Big Sister” scheme run by the authorities to take out a child who was in a care home or fostered for a weekend once every two to four weeks, sometimes longer. Lillian had been Sara’s salvation. A bright, articulate woman, she’d restored Sara’s confidence and self-esteem, and encouraged her to do well at school. She’d been a comfort, a mentor and a friend. It was thanks to Lillian that by the time Sara went to university she was a bright confident young woman.
She had loved university life, and when Sara had met Guido Barberi, near the end of her first year, she had thought life could not be more perfect. It had been sheer bad luck that Lillian had been handling a long drawn-out corporate case in Australia at the time. If Lillian had been around maybe she would not have been such a fool …
Sara stirred restlessly on the bunk. She could remember the moment she met Guido to this day …
A strange prickling on her neck had made her turn around, and she had looked up into a pair of dark smiling eyes and blushed scarlet. He’d been older than the male students she’d usually mixed with, and the most incredibly handsome man she had ever seen. When he’d spoken to her and asked her to dance in a deep, slightly accented voice she had been lost.
He’d taken her into his arms, his luminous black eyes had smiled down into hers, and she had fallen madly and deeply in love with him on the spot. When he’d moved her to the music she had willingly followed his lead. She would have followed him to the ends of the earth if he had asked. When he’d taken her home and kissed her goodnight she’d felt as if every atom in her body was about to explode, and for the first time in her life she had felt the overwhelming power of passion. He had asked if he could take her out to dinner the next night, and of course she had said yes. Seven days later she had walked into his apartment and into his bed. It had never crossed her mind to refuse him. Guido had been the love of her life.
More fool her! Sara thought, twisting restlessly in the narrow bunk. She didn’t want to think about the tender, gentle passion with which he had initiated her into sex. Or the wild, passionate creature she had very quickly become in his arms as he had skilfully taught her how varied making love could be.
No … She buried her head in the pillow, her body burning with long-denied sensations. The best sex in the world could not make up for losing one’s identity, and that was what had very nearly happened to her.
At first when she’d discovered she was pregnant she had been afraid, but Guido had calmed her fears and insisted on marrying her—which she had taken as proof of his love, though he had never actually said the words. She had existed in an ecstatic bubble of love. His response to the unconventional method of her birth had been to say, ‘Your mother must have been a very brave woman with a great capacity for love, just like you,’ and kissed her. She was convinced he was her soul mate. She had told him almost everything about herself, and she’d thought he had done the same. She’d known his parents lived in Naples, with his younger brother Aldo, and she had known his dad ran the family freight business—which she had imagined was a few trucks.
She had also known that Guido had worked for his father for a couple of years between university and coming to London, and that he wasn’t mad keen on rejoining his dad full-time in the family firm—he’d wanted to make his own mark on the world. But she had gathered they were a close-knit family, and he loved them. Just the kind of family Sara had dreamt of during the years she was in care—and the kind of family she wanted to have with Guido and their child.
When Guido had been called back to Naples she had thought nothing of it, quite happy to go wherever he led. His father had been ill; it was natural he would want his eldest son at home to help run the business. But when they’d gone to live with his family her bubble had very quickly deflated and finally burst.
His mother was an attractive woman, but as she did not speak English and Sara did not speak much Italian conversation between them had been limited. Still, Sara had thought she was rather nice. But his father had been nowhere near as nice. A tall, broad bull of a man, he was obviously the boss of the house, and had made it very plain to Sara that he was not pleased that his eldest son had married without his knowledge. He’d claimed that this was the origin of his illness—a mild heart attack—had only tolerated her because she was pregnant and useful to bear the next generation of Barberis. When Guido had explained about her lack of family, his casual revelation that she was a donor child and his father’s barbed comments, had touched on scars still sensitive enough to hear an echo from the children’s home that had judged her birth as less than natural.
But it had been the presence in the house of Guido’s Aunt Anna—his father’s half-sister, who had been widowed years ago—and her daughter Caterina, both of whom Guido had failed to mention, that had finally destroyed Sara’s blind belief in her husband. Eventually destroyed her belief in love altogether. The deliriously happy pregnant young girl who had arrived in Naples as a newly-wed had returned to England ten weeks later a broken-hearted, frightened and bitterly disillusioned woman.
Again, Lillian Brown had been her salvation. When Sara had returned to London, homeless, it was Lillian who had taken her in—Lillian who had taken control and dealt with the quickie divorce. She had tried to convince Sara to demand a settlement, but Sara had flatly refused. She’d simply wanted the whole sorry mess over with.
A sad, wry smile twisted Sara’s lips. Her brief sojourn in Naples as Guido’s wife had been hell, but she had learnt one lesson: never again to be embarrassed by the circumstances of her birth. If the Barberi family were a classic example of a so-called normal family, then she was damn glad her mother had opted for a donor.
For deviousness, deceit and outright lying, not to forget threats and intimidation, the Barberi family would have given the notorious Borgias of Italian history a run for their money …
Thank God she would never have to see Guido Barberi again. By this time tomorrow night she would be home. And on that reassuring thought she closed her eyes and sought the oblivion of sleep.
Sara slowly opened her eyes, yawned, and stretched as the first rays of the morning sun gleamed through the small porthole. She had not slept well. Her dreams—or to be more accurate her nightmares—had been haunted by a tall dark man imprisoning her in his arms, possessing her with a passion she could not escape however hard she tried.
Sighing, she rolled off the bunk. The heat was already stifling in the tiny cabin—and, worse, the heat of her nightmares still lingered in her wilful body.
She staggered to the tiny shower and, turning on the water, let it rush over her naked flesh, relishing the cool spray. As the cold water refreshed her she mulled over meeting Guido again, and by the time she had shampooed her hair and stepped out of the shower she was her normal practical self again.
So it had been an appalling coincidence—but not a disaster. Though what had possessed her to let Guido kiss her and touch her last night she had no idea. She must have been mad—a temporary brainstorm, perhaps. She certainly did not love him any more—hadn’t for years … In fact she felt nothing but contempt for the arrogant, womanising swine who thought he was God’s gift to women.
She ignored the irrepressible voice in her head that said in the sexual stakes he surely was, and five minutes later, dressed in white shorts and a blue tee shirt, made her way to the galley.
With the water on to make coffee, she strolled out on to the deck. This was her favourite time of day, before anyone else was up, and she glanced around the seashore. The town without the tourists was quite picturesque, and it crossed her mind to take a stroll ashore. But, catching a movement on the yacht alongside, she quickly changed her mind.
Heading back to the galley, she thanked God she was going home tonight. Thirty minutes and two cups of coffee later she was joined by the cabin boy and three crewmen. With a few words in her schoolgirl French she quickly established that like her, they had no intention of going to Guido’s yacht—they didn’t imagine for a moment they were invited—and set about making their breakfast.
Sara served coffee to a lot of bleary-eyed people in the next half-hour, and despite Pat and Dave’s entreaties flatly refused to accompany them when they finally left with the guests to breakfast on Il Leonessa.
Glad they had gone, Sara heaved a sigh of relief, and in moments had the galley shipshape again. Then, returning to her cabin, she packed up all her belongings—with the exception of a linen trouser suit and top to wear for her flight home. She swept her almost dry hair back in a ponytail and picked up her purse. An hour in town was what she needed—and a bit of retail therapy.
She bought a rather nice pair of shoes in one shop, and a postcard to send to no longer Lillian Brown, but Lillian McRae, and now living in Australia with her husband and two children. Seeing Guido again had reminded Sara of Lillian trying to advise her over countless long-distance telephone calls against rushing into marriage. If only she had listened. She stopped for a coffee and wrote the card, then posted it as she wandered back past the harbour to where a long sandy beach stretched around the huge bay.
Kicking off her shoes, she paddled along the waterline, feeling relaxed for the first time since she had set eyes on Guido again. She watched the hotels and cafés slowly come to life, and the tourists wandering out onto the beach with their children. One man trudged by weighed down with all the paraphernalia apparently necessary to keep his wife and three children happy, bringing a smile to her face. He was carrying a folding seat and a huge beach bag, but it was a big green inflatable crocodile which seemed to have a life of its own that was giving him the most trouble.
He saw her smile and simply laughed. She couldn’t help thinking wistfully that his wife was a lucky woman …
She glanced at her watch. Almost eleven—time she made her way back, as they were leaving at noon. She paused for a moment, her sandals in her hand, and looked out to sea. She let the gentle waves wash over her feet one last time and then, tightening her grip on the shopping bag in her other hand, she turned.
‘Good morning, Sara.’
Sara sucked in a shocked breath. Guido stood in front to her, tall, dark and stunningly handsome, with his firm lips parted in a brilliant smile.
‘Here—let me take that.’ And before she could recover from the shock of seeing him again a large hand reached out and took the shopping from her unresisting one.
‘No—it’s okay,’ she said, but too late.
‘Rubbish. It’s the least I can do for my ex-wife,’ he stated with a grin. His dark eyes swept down over her scantily clad figure in blatant masculine appreciation, pausing to linger on her braless breasts, clearly outlined beneath the soft cotton of her tee shirt, before returning to her face. ‘Though I would like to do a lot more. With your hair in a ponytail and wearing those shorts you look as young and beautiful as when we first met … if not more so.’
‘Save your compliments for someone who might appreciate them,’ Sara snapped, but she could do nothing about the curl of heat igniting in her stomach, or the telltale tide of red that washed over her cheeks.
‘Amazing … you can still blush.’
‘I am not blushing, I am angry,’ she half-lied. ‘After last night I hoped never to see you again. What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be entertaining your breakfast guests?’
Sara fought to remain calm, but with Guido towering over her, wearing only khaki shorts with a shirt hanging open off his broad shoulders, there was way too much of him on display for her peace of mind. She couldn’t help her eyes straying down over his chest, following the light dusting of curling black body hair that encircled small male nipples and arrowed down beneath the waistband of his shorts. And why didn’t he pull his damn shorts up? They were almost falling off his lean hips. She could see the hollows of his pelvic bones, for heaven’s sake.
‘So good of you to be concerned about my manners,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘But breakfast is over, and while my crew are giving the guests a tour of my yacht I—with the encouragement of your captain—have come looking for you. Dave is worried you might get lost and miss the boat.’ Flinging a casual arm across her shoulders, he added, ‘I assured him I would find you and escort you back to the harbour. Nice man Dave—very informative.’
She cast a sidelong glance up at Guido. What had Dave told him? she wondered as she tried to shrug off his arm without much luck. He simply tightened his grip on her shoulder and, unwilling to make a scene on the beach, she gritted her teeth and bore the embrace.
‘Don’t look so worried. Come on—we have time for coffee and a talk before you have to leave.’
The weight of his arm around her shoulders and the warmth of his big body pressed against her side set every nerve end in her body on edge.
‘Wait a minute.’ Sara dug her heels in the sand. ‘I don’t want a coffee, and I don’t need you to escort me anywhere.’ And she certainly did not want to talk to him, reopen old wounds.
‘You may not need me to escort you, but after last night you can’t pretend you don’t want me.’ And slipping his other hand around her waist, shopping bag and all, he hauled her against him and kissed her in broad daylight, on a public beach, in front of parents and children. So much for not making a scene. Guido was doing it for her, was her last sensible thought.
Surprised at his audacity, and with the sandals in her hand jammed against her thigh, it should have been embarrassing. But at the first touch of his lips against hers her pulse raced, her temperature soared, and she surrendered without a murmur. Not quite without a murmur. Shamefully she moaned her displeasure when he finally broke the kiss and lifted his dark head to stare down into her dazed blue eyes.
‘Shall we start again?’ For a second Sara thought he meant their relationship, and fear and fervour in equal parts battled for supremacy in her stunned mind—until he set her free and stepped back.
‘Good morning, Sara.’ He smiled and made a slight bow. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you again.’ The teasing smile curving his firm lips was reflected in his eyes, making him look for a moment like the happy-go-lucky sexy young man she had married. ‘Can I persuade you to share a cup of coffee with me for old times’ sake before you leave?’ His dark eyes gleaming, he added, ‘Please.’
It was the please that convinced her. ‘Put like that, how can I refuse?’ Sara capitulated. After all, she told herself, what harm could there be in having a farewell cup of coffee with the man? She was leaving in an hour and she would never see him again. It was an amazing coincidence that they had met this time after almost a decade, and the likelihood of their paths ever crossing again was virtually non-existent …