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As she turned to trudge back to the villa through the groves of olive and lemon trees, though, she spotted an old bike propped against the boat shed.
‘Marco, is that your bike?’ she asked.
He nodded.
‘Could I borrow it? Just for a little while?’
The boy smiled. ‘Of course, yes, you are a guest,signorina.’
She stifled the prickle of guilt. She wasn’t really a guest. But she didn’t knowwhatshe was any more—which in some ways was almost worse, because now she felt like an inconvenience,and a forgotten one at that... Which was exactly how her father had always made her feel.
Garner hadn’t kidnapped her precisely, because he really hadn’t put that much thought into last night’s ‘abduction’. And after his parting shot when he’d left her in the guest bedroom, she suspected he had changed his mind once they’d arrived on the island.
But her phone had died during the night, so she couldn’t get anyone to come over from Sorrento and collect her, even if she had the funds to pay them, which she did not. So she was basically an accidental prisoner here, until she got Roman Garner’s permission to leave.
The arrogant, entitled egomaniac.
She jumped on the bike, and took the coastal path past the dock, heading in the direction Giuliana had mentioned. As she pedalled down the bumpy island tracks, past the ruins of fisherman’s cottages, and the collection of secluded beaches and rocky coves, the cliffs decorated with rambling bushes of bougainvillea, she was struck by the island’s natural, unspoilt beauty—and how much she would have loved to capture some of the landscape in pen and ink and acrylic, if she weren’t here under duress.
But as the sun rose higher in the sky, and she began to sweat, she found herself scanning the deserted cliffs, trying to locate the Blue Cove Marco had mentioned, or a lone billionaire swimming in the sea. She needed to find out where Garner was hiding, apologise again for borrowing his boat, thank him for the bed for the night and the delicious breakfast, and then ask him, ever so politely, to let her off his blasted luxury island,pronto.
Roman ploughed through the water, the soft waves buffeting his aching limbs and the tide dragging his tired body back into the surf.
Where was the damn Baia Azzurra? Because it felt as if he’d been swimming towards his favourite cove for days, even with the fins he’d slipped on when he’d set off at the dock just after dawn. He had not slept well last night, again, thanks mostly to sweaty erotic dreams of his uninvited guest—aka the boat thief. If the beach wasn’t around the next rocky outcrop, he might have to attempt a cliff climb, in his swimming shorts.
He cursed the decision to venture out on this marathon swim before he’d really woken up properly for about the thousandth time as he finally cleared the headland.
The sight of the translucent sea, calmed by the rocky bay, its stunning azure waters lapping lazily onto the white sand beach less than fifty feet away, pumped renewed vigour into his leaden arms. He powered towards the shore, letting the waves carry him into the shallows, sending up a prayer of thanks that his staff had left the sailing dinghy anchored on the sand as requested.
No way was he swimming back.
But as he stood in the thigh-deep surf, his knees shaky from the one-and-a-half-hour swim, he spotted movement beneath the trees near the cliffs.
He swept his wet hair back, and stared, as a figure—dressed in perky shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt—jumped up from the rock and walked barefoot across the sand towards him.
Her.
Shock came first, swiftly followed by annoyance.
What was the star player in last night’s X-rated fantasies doing in his favourite cove?
The denim cut-offs moulded her butt like a second skin, while the figure-hugging vest made her lack of a bra all too obvious.Holding a pair of worn running shoes, she looked fresh and young and appealing, and as beautiful as the trashed socialite boat thief he’d met the night before.
He swore under his breath, unable to detach his gaze from her figure as she strolled across the beach as if she had every right to be there—invading his downtime, again. And sending inconvenient pheromones firing through his exhausted body.
He scowled. Maybe he was hallucinating, courtesy of the nightmare swim that had nearly drowned him—and which he had only embarked on in the first place to forget about her.
No such luck.
‘Hello, Mr Garner,’ she called, waving, the tone sweet and accommodating. He stood like a dummy, aware of the heat he had hoped to freeze out coursing through his system all over again.
She used a hand to shield her mesmerising golden eyes from the dazzling sunlight.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked. ‘I spotted you swimming around the point from the clifftop. For a minute there, I thought you weren’t going to make it.’
He tugged off the flippers and shoved them under his arm, annoyed she had spotted him struggling. He hated to show a weakness to anyone, especially women—but showing a weakness tothiswoman was even more galling.
He trudged out of the water, gratified when she backed away as he arrived on the sand. No doubt she could guess from the frown he could feel turning into a crater on his forehead he was not pleased to see her.
