In the Italian's Sights by Helen Brooks Page A

girlfriend had unceremoniously dumped him.
    Vittorio nodded. ‘The porcupine with the soft centre. I like this. Too often I have found it is the other way round with modern women.’
    She eyed him over her cappuccino as she took a sip, but said nothing. She was feeling a little shattered, to be truthful.
    ‘You think I am hard, unkind, si ?’ he murmured. ‘Unfair?’
    If she was going to be around for a while she might as well be honest. ‘Certainly cynical,’ she said, without denying the other words.
    He didn’t seem offended. Surveying her thoughtfully, he leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee. ‘I think you are right,’ he said after a moment or two. ‘But I do not consider cynicism a bad thing on the whole—not if it is hand-in-hand with fairness and impartiality. The only danger can be if it sours an individual so that he or she cannot recognise true genuineness when it is presented to them.’
    Cherry stared at him. ‘And can you?’ she asked bluntly. ‘Recognise the real thing, I mean?’
    Something flared in the grey eyes before his lids came down to conceal his gaze for a second. When he looked at her again it was gone. ‘But of course.’
    ‘Of course,’ she agreed derisively. ‘Silly of me to ask. It must be wonderful to be so amazingly clever.’
    ‘It has been that way for so long that I do not eventhink about it,’ he said gravely. ‘But, si , you are right again. It is wonderful.’
    She tried not to smile, she really did—his ego was big enough already—but she couldn’t help herself.
    ‘That is better,’ he said contentedly. ‘You were in danger of giving yourself indigestion with all that acidity. Now, eat your breakfast, Cherry, and then we must make the call to your car people, si ?’ He smiled innocently. ‘To insist on a vehicle?’
    He knew. She wasn’t sure how he knew she’d changed her mind about leaving, but she was positive he did. She ate a pastry before she said, ‘Actually, I shan’t need a car today after all. I’ve told Sophia I’ll at least think about staying for a bit and talk to her later. I’ll phone and postpone delivery.’
    ‘Really?’ The grey eyes opened wider in simulated surprise.
    Yes, really, Mr Know-All . ‘But I’ve made no promises.’
    ‘Of course not.’ It was soothing. And irritating.
    ‘And if I do stay it can only be for a short time, until Sophia is feeling more in control.’
    ‘Absolutely.’ He nodded thoughtfully.
    ‘She is very emotional at the moment.’
    ‘As is to be expected,’ he agreed gravely.
    Cherry admitted defeat and ate her breakfast, aware Vittorio was watching her with silent amusement. But it wasn’t that which was causing the flutterings in her stomach. More the fact that now she’d made up her mind to stay she knew she would have found it a huge wrench to leave this morning. Which confirmed all her fears. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
    She had almost finished eating when Vittorio spoke again. ‘I think Sophia will sleep for some time. She iscertainly over-tired and will wish to be composed for the meeting with Santo’s family this evening. I am visiting our factory this morning. Would you like to accompany me and see for yourself how the Carella olive oil is produced? It will while away an hour or two,’ he added offhandedly.
    Cherry hesitated. She was genuinely interested in seeing first-hand the process which made Puglia the main olive oil centre in Italy, but it seemed a little too… cosy somehow. Then she told herself she was being ridiculous. If she stayed on for a while she had to be able to be around Vittorio; perhaps there was no time like the present to get used to it and master her body’s response to his particular brand of vigorous masculinity? ‘Thank you,’ she said politely. ‘I’d like that.’
    ‘I will meet you outside in fifteen minutes.’
    Vittorio was sitting in a gleaming black Range Rover when she walked down the steps of the villa, the morning sun already blazing