Cesare frowned as he moved into the garden, feeling the sun’s warmth. He tipped up his head. After the miserable cold in London this felt glorious.
Except for the churning in his belly. The knowledge he’d jumped to at least one mistaken conclusion about his soon-to-be ex-wife.
It shouldn’t matter that she’d only worked in that strip club to help a friend. It wasn’t his business how she earned a living. A woman could choose where she worked.
So why had he almost exploded with fury when he’d found her there, just as his investigators had said? Why had he been determined to drag her out? And why had he teetered on the brink of violence when he saw men eyeing her like a delicacy they wanted to devour?
Sex. That was why. He wanted her. Badly. The fact he’d lusted after her while she flaunted herself like that had infuriated him.
But why?
She was his wife on paper only. She had no place in his life.
For some reason seeing her in that place had taken him to the brink of civilised behaviour. Discovering she’d been there as a favour to a friend filled him with a relief he had no right to feel, as well as admiration for the way she helped her injured friend.
Now she seemed almost as concerned about returning those clothes as she was about her own predicament.
Ida Montrose—no, Ida Brunetti for the moment—was more complex than he’d imagined. She was doing his head in.
The fact she was a loyal friend and that she’d broken with Calogero didn’t negate the way she’d made him a laughing stock, first with the blackmail and then her disappearance.
The fact he wanted her body had nothing to do with any of that.
Yet he was mired in questions, not just about Ida but also about his responses to her. Surely lust and the prospect of a brief affair didn’t require so much soul-searching.
But if, in the course of their affair, he was to discover information that would help bring down Calogero faster, so much the better.
Ida might be wary. She might not like him. But, despite her words and frosty looks, she was rubbish at concealing that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
A warm glow settled in his belly.
Satisfaction. And anticipation.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IDASTOODONthe long balcony outside her bedroom. The sun had set but there was enough light to see the undulating countryside. Here and there were pinpricks of light from a far-off farmhouse or, on a distant hill, a town.
After London’s chill the air felt balmy. Floral scents perfumed the night.
What would it be like living in a place like this? A place both beautiful and abundant. She’d grown to appreciate the extremes of the tiny island where she’d been raised. The white beaches and aquamarine but icy water, the brisk wind that turned so easily into a lashing gale that made you glad to be snug indoors.
Through the recent years in London she’d longed for the countryside. A quiet village rather than the bustle of the city. A place that felt like home, not just a refuge from the dangerous city streets.
She needed to decide on a place to start again. Should she try Liverpool or Birmingham? Somewhere big so she could lose herself in the crowd?
But that hadn’t protected her from her grandfather or Cesare. They’d found her eventually.
Should she try for a smaller market town, even a village? But she had to work. Maybe a town.
She supposed it was possible she’d get some money on her divorce, but most likely her grandfather had manipulated the prenuptial contract so it would be channelled via him. Besides, she wasn’t sure she wanted Cesare’s money, not after what her family had done to him.
Frustrated, she leaned on the balustrade. It was tranquil and, despite its being Cesare’s house, she felt at peace. Maybe it was the quiet. Or the fact he’d left her alone to think. Knowing she was safe, even if her grandfather had guessed her location, made a huge difference.
Yet despite the serenity, Ida couldn’t relax.
Because of Cesare’s suggestion that they share the wedding night they’d never had.
He had a nerve!