His expression showed this was not news to him, which perhaps explained his irritable mood. Maybe Maria had said something to him this morning before she’d come downstairs.
‘Maria is a romantic,’ he said with an exasperated shrug of his broad shoulders.
‘Most women are romantics at heart,’ Bella confessed. Herself included. Only a romantic would ever have imagined that one day she would find a man who would love her as deeply as she loved him; who would understand her and support her; who would be a great father as well as a fabulous husband. Such thinking was the stuff fantasies were made of. Fantasies and Hollywood movies.
Bella actually thought it sweet of Maria to imagine that she would make Sergio a good wife. Because of course she wouldn’t. Their sex life might be fine but that was about it.
Her sigh carried a degree of regret that life was infinitely more complicated for a woman once she had a successful career, especially one that was as essential to her as breathing. Bella might be suffering from burnout at the moment, but she could never give up performing. Singing for an audience made her soul soar in ways she could never describe. Without it, she would be a mere shadow of herself.
‘What did she say to you?’ Sergio asked as he began to row.
His impatient tone made Bella worry that she might have got Maria into trouble.
‘Oh, nothing much. Just that I would make you a good wife. Which was rather amusing. I can’t imagine a less suitable wife for you. Anyway, I told Maria neither of us wanted marriage at the moment. I hope you don’t mind my speaking for you.’
‘Not at all. I appreciate it.’
Just then a couple of jet skis zoomed past them, their wakes causing the rowing boat to rock back and forth, Bella sucking in sharply as she clung to the sides.
Sergio swore at them before apologising to Bella for his language. ‘Lake Como in the tourist season is not what it used to be,’ he told her.
‘Yes, I can see that,’ Bella said with regret in her voice. ‘But I suppose you can’t blame people for coming here. It’s such a beautiful place, especially in the summer.’
‘I blame the authorities for allowing cowboys like that to spoil other people’s pleasure. This is a place to relax. It is not a speedway.’
‘Yet you have a speedboat,’ she pointed out mischievously.
‘I do not drive it like a cowboy.’
She laughed. ‘I’ll believe that when I see it. Now where is this cove you’re taking me to?’
‘It’s a little way yet. If we stop talking I will row faster. Just admire the scenery and relax.’
Bella stopped talking but she didn’t relax. Perhaps because the scenery she started admiring had nothing to do with her beautiful surrounds but the man right in front of her eyes, his action of rowing focusing her attention on his magnificent physique and the way the biceps in his arms bulged with each stroke. It was to be thanked that she was wearing sunglasses because they let her ogle him shamelessly without being obvious. The instant and intense desire she’d felt for him yesterday by the pool returned with a rush, making her belly tighten and her nipples tingle. She could not wait to reach the privacy of this cove, the word secret suggesting that they would be unobserved there. They would be all alone...
* * *
Sergio could feel her eyes on him.
Yet he wasn’t even looking at her. He dared not. To look upon her exquisite beauty was sheer torture for him. The hat and the sunglasses didn’t help at all. He could still see her body, which was covered ineffectually by a semi-sheer white shirt and what looked like a very skimpy white bikini underneath. And then there were her legs...her very long, very bare legs. God, but her legs were something else. A dancer’s legs. Well toned yet graceful with slender ankles and shapely calves and lovely firm thighs, thighs that he started imagining wrapped around him whilst he...
Gritting his teeth, Sergio dragged his mind back from the brink of hell, kept his eyes down and concentrated on the rhythm of his rowing stroke. He was a good rower. He’d rowed at Oxford, his team of eight winning the regatta one year. Alex had been in the same team, but not Jeremy, who’d broken his leg skiing. He’d had to be content cheering from the banks of the river. Which he’d done very well in the company of his girlfriend at the time, as well as all the girlfriends of the rest of the team.
Sergio smiled at the memory. He was a devil with the ladies, was Jeremy.
‘What are you smiling at?’ Bella asked, forcing Sergio to glance up at her.
‘I was thinking of my rowing days at Oxford.’
‘It was a rather wicked smile,’ she pointed out with a knowing smile of her own.
‘I was also thinking of my friend, Jeremy.’
‘What about him?’
‘Jeremy was the resident Don Juan of the university.’
‘Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?’
Sergio laughed. ‘Hardly. No man alive could keep up with Jeremy when it comes to the game of musical beds. He’s now a grand master.’
‘Being a Don Juan is hardly an admirable trait.’
‘You don’t know Jeremy. There’s no malice in him. All his exes still hold him in high regard.’
‘So you don’t consider yourself a Don Juan?’
‘Not at all. I did sow some wild oats when I was at Oxford but since then my sex life has been on the conservative side. Just one girlfriend at a time.’
‘I see. And how long does a girlfriend usually last?’
‘A lot longer than Jeremy’s,’ he said drily. ‘Though I must confess I’ve had a few over the years.’
‘And you’ve never fallen in love?’
Sergio realised this conversation was getting too close to the bone. He’d also almost rowed right past the cove.
‘Not even close,’ he said abruptly. ‘Now, if you don’t mind stopping with the twenty questions, we’re here. And this next part is a little tricky to negotiate.’
* * *
Bella had been grateful for the distraction of talking. She’d also been genuinely interested in finding out more about Sergio, the man. But once silence fell between them, she was catapulted back to her earlier state where her longing to be with him again overwhelmed all other emotions. Suppressing a sigh, she glanced around her, frowning as she realised that her mental picture of Sergio’s secret cove bore little resemblance to reality. There was no cute little beach with soft sand. Just a U-shaped inlet, the shoreline bordered by an ancient stone wall as was common around the lake. The wall was quite high; Bella not seeing herself clambering up over it from a rocking boat. Neither could she see herself swimming in the water, which looked cold and deep, not at all warm. Where they would have a picnic she had no idea, unless it was in the boat.
‘The water line is higher than when I was last here,’ Sergio said as he angled the boat round a slight bend, Bella relieved to see a set of well-worn steps carved into the wall. There was also a large iron ring bolted into the wall to which Sergio secured the boat.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said when he saw her frowning. ‘There’s a lovely little secret garden on the other side of the wall. But I don’t think we’ll be going swimming. Best leave that till we get back to the villa.’
He hadn’t exaggerated. There was a truly delightful secret garden on the other side of the wall, with soft mossy grass underneath shady pine trees and an abundance of flowering shrubs exuding a variety of scents. It was obvious, however, that the garden hadn’t been tended