Italian Tycoon, Secret Son

‘Yes, and after a while everything seems unreal-or maybe it’s real-but how can you know when your surroundings seem to come and go? Are they near or far? What will it be like finding out? Or will we ever be able to find out at all?’

‘Hey, you’re a poet,’ she said, grudgingly impressed.

‘Nonsense,’ he said hastily. ‘I’m a serious-minded man, who disapproves of levity. And stop looking at me like that, you little cat. Sometimes I have to be serious-’

‘Or pretend to be.’

‘Or pre-Will you shut up, please? Listen to what I say, and be careful about false impressions.’

‘But maybe not all the impressions are false.’

‘Most of them out here are. Don’t get sentimental, just concentrate.’

‘Yes, sir!’ Mandy gave an exaggerated salute.

‘Behave yourself!’

This time she didn’t answer in words, but her eyes said everything. He turned away quickly, yelling, ‘All right everyone, are we ready?’

Renzo went round the others, checking ropes, and Mandy gave a small, private smile. Without meaning to, she’d touched on a side of him that he preferred to keep private. Interesting. Very, very interesting.

They went further that day and finished up in a ‘hut’ that was an improvement on the last. Instead of dormitories with bunks, there were double rooms with comfortable beds. The food was excellent, and after a rewarding meal everyone gathered in the main room where a man was playing an accordion.

At first the dancing was boisterous, but after a while the tone softened and the crowd divided into couples. Joan, Mandy was amused to notice, had two suitors to chose from-three, if you included Henry, which nobody did.

Joan’s choice finally fell on a handsome young man called Peter. They circled the floor smoochily, then vanished together and weren’t seen again.

Renzo danced with every girl on his expedition, except Mandy, who was so occupied he couldn’t get near her.

What she hadn’t told Renzo the night before was that she’d once wanted to be a dancer and had taken lessons. She’d given it up when she’d realized she had only a modest talent, but she still loved to dance, and suddenly the legacy of her training had kicked in. She could manage the fastest speeds, the most intricate steps, and men were soon queuing up to partner her.

One, a Frenchman called Marcel, was her equal. Together they hurled themselves about the floor, twisting, writhing, together and apart, while the others stopped dancing to stand back and watch.

They were Spanish dancers, clicking imaginary castanets, gazing passionately into each other’s eyes. Then the rhythm changed, became rock ’n’ roll, and he began to fling her up and around his shoulders. When the music crashed to a finish, she was lying back in his arms in a theatrical simulation of abandon. The applause was loud.

Marcel gave her a neat bow and set about turning his advantage to gold with the ladies who were converging on him. Slightly breathless, she smiled at her next partner, approaching her with his hands outstretched. But he was eased determinedly out of the way by Renzo.

‘Boss’s privilege,’ he said. ‘Mandy, I can’t compete with your last partner, but I’ll do my best.’

‘Suppose I don’t want to dance with you?’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said with mock gravity. ‘I have to distribute my favours equally. You’re the only one left, and I can’t have you being a wallflower, can I?’

‘Wallflower? Me?’

But his eyes were gleaming with fun, and she thumped his shoulder lightly.

‘Cheeky so-and-so,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why anyone puts up with you.’

‘I’m irresistible, hadn’t you heard?’

‘No, and if I do hear, I’ll tell them different.’

‘That’s my girl.’

Renzo drew her close, sighing dramatically in a way that made her want to giggle. The music had become a waltz, and as he guided her smoochily around the floor she realized that she was being stared at again, this time with envy.

‘There’s no need to overdo it,’ she murmured.

‘You don’t understand. I’m expected to overdo it.’

‘Ah, yes, just doing your duty. Otherwise, of course, nothing would make you dance with me.’

‘I wouldn’t go quite that far. A very large sum of money might persuade me.’

‘I’ll kick your shins in a minute.’

He was an excellent dancer and she fell easily into step with him.

‘You’re not playing your part,’ he said after a while. ‘You should be gazing adoringly into my eyes.’

Glancing up, she found his face closer than she’d expected and drew a sudden sharp breath.

‘That’s better,’ he murmured.

‘Watch it,’ she murmured back. ‘I’m in a dangerous mood.’

‘Wonderful! A woman is never so interesting as when she’s dangerous.’

Mandy knew a brief flare of alarm. For a moment-just for the tiniest possible moment-she’d actually wanted him to find her interesting. Time to bring him down a peg.

‘That’s a very good line,’ she said admiringly. ‘You must be proud of it.’

‘One of my best,’ he assured her.

‘Of course you need to practise your delivery.’

‘I thought I delivered it just right,’ he said, hurt.

‘No, you should try it with a woman who isn’t standing back and judging the performance.’

‘You’re not standing back,’ he said, tightening his arm about her waist, so that she could feel his body more closely against hers.

‘Inside I’m standing back, having a good laugh at you, actually daring to think I’d give you an easy time.’

‘If there’s one thought that never crossed my mind it’s that you’d give me an easy time,’ he said fervently.

‘Well, you should be able to cope with that,’ she teased. ‘You’re Italian, after all. Think Casanova! Think Romeo!’

‘Think a sock on the jaw! Mio dio, where do you get these ideas from? If I labelled you cold and prissy because you’re English, you’d be annoyed.’

‘Not if it were true,’ she said. ‘Then I’d be flattered that you’d recognised my innate virtue.’

His alarmed expression was so comical that she burst out laughing.

‘I’d take a bet,’ Mandy said, ‘that every night at bedtime you say a prayer to be saved from women of virtue.’

Renzo gave her a considering look. ‘Well-maybe not all of them. How sad that the music is ending. We must continue this so interesting conversation another time.’

He gave her a little bow as they parted.

‘Thank you, kind lady,’ he said formally.

‘And you, sir. With your duty done, you can start enjoying yourself.’

His eyes flashed her a message, but so swiftly that she wasn’t sure she’d read it right. Perhaps it was safer that way.

Needing some fresh air, she fetched her jacket and slipped out into the snow. There was a full moon, bathing the mountains in dazzling silver light, and she walked down to the low wall that marked the boundary, where she could sit and ponder.

‘Ah, there you are,’ came a voice behind her.

She gave a silent groan. ‘Hello, Henry.’

‘I was watching you in there. You were fantastic.’

‘Thank you.’

Inwardly she was praying that he wouldn’t come and sit beside her. He did.

‘You’re such a super mover,’ he enthused, ‘slinky and sexy. It made me think all sorts of things about you and