The scent of expensive leather reminded her poignantly
of an afternoon she had spent with John,
when he had gone to buy a new car and taken her
with him. They had visited showroom after showroom
as he admiringly inspected their top-of-the-range vehicles.
But none of them, no matter how expensive,
had come anywhere near being as luxurious as this
car, she thought now, her senses suddenly picking up
on the cool, subtle woody scent of male cologne
mixed with the very sensual smell of living, breathing
male flesh.
By the time she had finished absorbing the messages
with which her senses were bombarding her,
Lorenzo had reversed the Ferrari and turned it round.
'Where are we going?' she demanded uncertainly.
'To the Castillo.'
The Castillo. It sounded impossibly grand. But five
minutes later, when she saw its steep escarpments rising
sharply up out of the rock face, she decided that
it was more barbaric than grand — like something left
over from another less civilised age. An age where
might was more valued than right; an age where a
man could take what he wanted simply because he
chose to do so. An age surely well suited to the man
seated next to her, she decided a little sourly.
They drove into the Castillo through a narrow
arched entrance, so evocative of the Middle Ages that
Jodie had to blink to dismiss her mental images of
chainmailed men at arms and heralds announcing
their arrival.
The empty courtyard was lit by the flames from
large metal sconces that threw moving shadows
against the imposing stone walls with their watching
narrow slit windows.
'What an extraordinary place,' Jodie heard herself
saying apprehensively.
'The Castillo is a relic left over from a time when
men built fortresses rather than homes. I warn you, it
is every bit as inhospitable inside as it is out.'
'You live here?' She couldn’t keep the dismay out
of her voice.
'I Don’t, but my grandmother did.'
'So where…?' Jodie began, and then stopped uncertainly
as she saw the way his mouth was compressing.
It was obvious that he did not like her asking
so many questions. He had opened the door of
the car and she wrinkled her nose as she caught the
pungent smell of something burning. 'Something’s on
fire,' she told him.
Lorenzo shook his head. 'It is merely the mixture
of wood and pitch that is used in the sconces. After
a while you will grow so accustomed to it that you
won’t even notice it,' he added in a matter-of-fact
voice.
After a while? Did that mean that she was to live
here? Without electricity?
As though he had read her mind, Lorenzo informed
her, 'My grandmother preferred the old-fashioned
way of life. Fortunately I was able to persuade her to
have a generator installed to provide electricity inside
the Castillo.'
When one thought of an Italian castle one thought
of something out of a fairy tale, but this place was
nothing like that. Bleak and brooding, it made her
shudder just to look up at the granite walls.
'Come…'
Sitting in the Ferrari had caused her weak leg to
stiffen and seize up. Jodie could feel her face burning
as Lorenzo waited impatiently for her to get out of
her seat whilst he held the door open for her. The
agonising pain that shot through her leg as she finally
managed to do so made her bite down hard on her
bottom lip to stop herself from betraying what she
was feeling. John had hated anything that drew attention
to her infirmity, insisting that she always wore
jeans or trousers to hide the thinness of her leg with
its tell-tale scars.
'If you wear trousers no one is going to know that
there’s anything wrong with you,' he had told her
more than once. Jodie could feel her throat closing
with painful tears. She had wanted so desperately to
hear him say to her that he didn’t care what she wore,
because he loved her so very much that every part of
her was equally precious to him. But, of course, men
were not like that. Louise had said as much when she
had explained to Jodie just why John preferred her.
'The trouble is, sweetie, that men Don’t like all that
disfigurement stuff. It makes them feel uncomfortable.
Plus, they want a woman they can show off—
not one they’ve got to apologise for.'
'You mean some men Don’t,' Jodie had corrected
her, with as much dignity as she could muster.
'Most men,' Louise had insisted, before adding
bluntly, 'After all, how many men besides John have
actually wanted so much as a date with you, Jodie?
Think about it. And let’s not forget,' she had added,
pressing home her advantage, 'any man is bound to
worry about what he’s going to have to face in the
future, with a wife who’s got health problems, from
