‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Count Dario di Sirena.’
The vision confirmed her suspicions with a voice like warm honey. In a grand gesture he reached for her hand and swept it up to his lips for a formal kiss.
Josie’s immediate reaction was shock. ‘Why aren’t you in bed?’ she blurted out.
Dario raised his eyebrows. ‘I assume that isn’t an invitation?’
Josie snatched back her hand and retreated, blushing furiously. She had got off on the wrong foot in spectacular style, even for her.
Dario smiled, ignoring her awkwardness. ‘You must be Josie.’
‘Dr Josephine Street, yes,’ she muttered, ignoring the little voice inside her telling her off for sounding so sullen. Meeting new people had never been easy for her, and it was ten times harder when they were this gorgeous.
‘That’s very formal, Dr Josephine Street!’ Dario teased, but Josie was too flustered to smile back at him and flirt like he was no doubt expecting.
‘I’m a very formal person.’
‘Then allow me to say that it gives me the greatest pleasure to welcome you into my humble home,’ he announced with mock gravity. As he spoke, he inclined in a semi-formal bow. When Josie pointedly refused his unspoken invitation to join in the joke he straightened up again, but he was still smiling.
Josie knew that hiding her shyness behind a brave face often worked, so she fell back on that. She lifted her chin and returned his gaze boldly. This was a man who was at ease in every situation—she had learned that much from Antonia’s stories. The same stories that had led her to surreptitiously search for him on Google the other night. Neither the gossip columns nor Antonia had exaggerated. His aristocratic bearing made those anecdotes all too believable, and one look at Count Dario di Sirena showed that his charm ran deep. He was as gorgeous as he was imposing, and radiated an inner assurance that all the wealth and power in the world couldn’t buy. Dario in the living, breathing flesh was a different prospect altogether from his sister—Josie’s cheerful, chubby friend. Without a doubt, he was the best-looking man she had ever seen. The way he looked at her was its own distraction: it set her firmly at the centre of his universe.
It took a supreme act of will on Josie’s part to remember that most men had the attention span of fruit flies. She took it for granted that when she failed to massage his ego Dario would soon lose interest and disappear. That tactic had worked only too well for her in the past, even though she hadn’t done it deliberately. Men seemed to vanish, whether she wanted them to or not. An experienced charmer like Dario wouldn’t waste his time in trying to pursue her.
‘I’m surprised you chose to come straight here instead of staying at Rimini with Antonia and little Fabio first, Dr Street,’ he said conversationally, trying to penetrate her awkward silence.
The spotlight of his attention paralysed Josie. Somehow he seemed to be blinding her, even though his face was in shadow. She moved uncomfortably, trying to persuade herself it was the sun that was sending her temperature off the scale.
‘You can call me Josie,’ she mumbled. ‘I’ve stayed at your villa there before, and felt that I rather cramped Antonia’s style. She always tried to include me in her entertaining, but all those posh neighbours with their stories about people and places I didn’t know were …’ She groped for a way to put it politely.
‘Not quite your cup of tea?’
Dario’s words were slow, but the merriment in his eyes was quicksilver. Hearing his beautiful Italian accent caress such a typically English phrase, Josie felt it melt the veneer of sophistication she had tried to put on. The fierce heat of embarrassment rushed up over her breasts and stained her face with a blush again.
‘The chauffeur took my luggage away with him and left me here on my own. I was trying to work out how to attract someone’s attention.’
‘You’ve got my attention now,’ Dario said with calm assurance, and something deep inside Josie flared to life, wishing that were true. Impervious to Josie’s internal turmoil, Dario reached out to the bell pull and flicked aside a small catch that Josie hadn’t noticed. It was keeping the iron rod clamped in place.
‘Ah—of course. Thank you.’
She put out her hand automatically, but he caught it before she could connect with the heavy iron ring. For a split second she experienced the grip of his strong brown fingers again, then his touch fell away.
‘I wouldn’t. That’s the castello’s original fire alarm, and this is the assembly point. It operates a big bell that gathers everyone within earshot and I don’t think either of us would want that, would we?’
Josie shuddered. The idea of being the centre of attention horrified her—unless her audience was as warm and friendly as this man. With a smile that told her he knew exactly what she was thinking, Dario flicked the safety catch back on.
‘To ring the bell, you need to get up close and personal with Stella Maris here,’ he said, nodding towards the iron mermaid. ‘One of my forebears had a wicked sense of humour.’
Dario seemed to have inherited it. Sticking out his index finger, he pressed the mermaid firmly in the tummy button. An astonishingly loud ring drilled into the interior of the house.
‘Ah! Was this one of the inventions of the eighth Count? When Toni suggested I came here, I read everything I could find about the castello,’ Josie gabbled to cover her embarrassment.
Dario looked bemused, then shrugged. ‘If you say so. I have no idea, I’m afraid. Whoever thought of it must have wanted to deter honest women.’ Dario gave her a wickedly expressive look.
Josie blushed again. Beside Dario, she felt like a hedge sparrow matched against a peregrine falcon. He was totally at ease in his sunny surroundings, and dressed to enjoy them. Josie wasn’t. Her shoes were comfortable but clumpy, while her chain-store skirt suit was totally out of place beyond her university’s lecture theatre.
Within seconds, the great main door creaked open and a servant showed them into Dario’s home.
The castello’s entrance hall was dominated by a huge stone hearth. The fire back was a copy of the di Sirena family crest, with more mermaids like the ones Josie had seen discreetly stamped on Antonia’s luggage.
‘There go your things,’ Dario observed as a member of his staff swept past carrying a suitcase in each hand. ‘They’ll have put you in the West tower. That means you won’t be disturbed by any of the yachting club who stayed here last night. They’re all in the East wing. Come on, I’ll show you up to your suite.’
While Josie stared in wonder at the entrance hall’s carved ceilings and wooden panelling, he was taking the marble staircase two at a time. When he called to her, she had to run to catch up.
‘I’m sure you must have better things to do, Count Dario. Don’t let me put you to any trouble.’ Her voice echoed through the foyer.
He looked down at her sharply from his vantage point on the first landing. ‘You’re already a friend of the family, Josie, so to you I’m Antonia’s brother. Just call me Dario. It really would be my pleasure to show you to your suite,’ he finished firmly.
Josie followed him, although she had her reservations.
‘Are you sure you can find it?’ she said drily as they walked through a warren of corridors. All the flawless white plaster and polished woodwork made them look alike to her.
‘I have been rattling around inside this place all my life. Hasn’t Antonia told you why these floors are so shiny?’
Josie shook her head, smiling at the incongruous image of Dario with floor polish in hand.
‘I’d