perfectly understand that.” It would give her time to work on the feature article. She’d ring Polly to explain as soon as she got back to the hotel and ask for a few hours grace.
Chapter Seven
Dante dropped Joanne back at the hotel. She inquired at reception after Byrne’s whereabouts and discovered he’d booked a flight out a couple of hours ago. That was strange. He must have booked his own flight back. Maybe Polly needed him urgently for another assignment. His work here was finished.
She tried ringing the London office only to be informed her editor was in an all-day meeting. Typical, when she needed to speak to her. She tried Polly’s mobile phone, but it went through to voice mail.
Back at her hotel room, she took a long shower, luxuriating in the thoughts of last night’s lovemaking session. He had been such a tender, understanding lover. It was as if he knew what made her tick. No man had ever done that before. Not that she’d been with many, but they seemed more concerned about their own welfare than hers. She tingled at the thought of his hands trailing a blaze along her body and the butterfly kisses on her stomach. That had been most erotic. With any luck, there would be more to come.
She dressed and took her laptop and a cold cola from the fridge out onto the balcony to work on the article. It would be finished within the next couple of hours. Most of the work was done. She just needed to include the visit to the vineyard and a little more of the man on his own turf. Then along with Byrne’s photographs, the article would be complete.
She worked at a steady pace for about an hour or so, and then took a break to lie down on the bed and phone room service for something to eat before she returned to work. Working to a deadline was nothing new to her.
By four p.m., the article was ready to e-mail to Polly.
She rubbed her aching back and closed her eyes for a moment. How was Dante coping at his sister’s home? She didn’t envy him the task of taking care of the grieving widow and her children, but even so, he must be relieved that Ponti was out of the picture.
She fired off a quick e-mail to Polly, apologizing for the lateness of her article, added the file attachment, and pressed the Send button on her laptop. She sat back, relieved it was off her hands. Now she could enjoy the rest of her stay without Byrne’s sarcasm or Polly on her back.
There was no sign of Dante for the rest of the day or the evening, for that matter. She didn’t want to intrude into his family’s grief, so she kept herself occupied by taking advantage of sunbathing by the hotel’s pool and opening a bestselling novel she’d promised herself she’d get around to reading. She ensured her phone was by her side and kept hoping for a call from him or even a text message, but there were none.
After breakfast the following morning, she went for a walk and had coffee at the seafront. It was so peaceful. He had been right. Sicily was a healing place for her. She closed her eyes and inhaled a wonderful fragrance. What was it? She asked the waiter, who explained it was jasmine. If only she could bottle what she was feeling right now, the peace, the warmth, the scent, she’d keep it forever and dip into it on a cold winter night back home.
She almost drifted away in her thoughts but became aware of a presence casting a shadow over her. Opening her eyes, she blinked several times, looked up from her chair, and put her hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun, which was dazzling her from over the man’s shoulder. Recognition dawned. “Dante, what are you doing here? How did you know where I was?”
He did not smile as usual. His mouth was set in a thin, firm line, his eyes as dark as coal. “I followed you, Joanne.”
His words did not trip so beautifully off his tongue, either. What was the matter with him?
“Please sit down,” she gestured to the chair beside her. “Tell me what’s wrong?”
“This is what’s
Chapter Seven
Dante dropped Joanne back at the hotel. She inquired at reception after Byrne’s whereabouts and discovered he’d booked a flight out a couple of hours ago. That was strange. He must have booked his own flight back. Maybe Polly needed him urgently for another assignment. His work here was finished.
She tried ringing the London office only to be informed her editor was in an all-day meeting. Typical, when she needed to speak to her. She tried Polly’s mobile phone, but it went through to voice mail.
Back at her hotel room, she took a long shower, luxuriating in the thoughts of last night’s lovemaking session. He had been such a tender, understanding lover. It was as if he knew what made her tick. No man had ever done that before. Not that she’d been with many, but they seemed more concerned about their own welfare than hers. She tingled at the thought of his hands trailing a blaze along her body and the butterfly kisses on her stomach. That had been most erotic. With any luck, there would be more to come.
She dressed and took her laptop and a cold cola from the fridge out onto the balcony to work on the article. It would be finished within the next couple of hours. Most of the work was done. She just needed to include the visit to the vineyard and a little more of the man on his own turf. Then along with Byrne’s photographs, the article would be complete.
She worked at a steady pace for about an hour or so, and then took a break to lie down on the bed and phone room service for something to eat before she returned to work. Working to a deadline was nothing new to her.
By four p.m., the article was ready to e-mail to Polly.
She rubbed her aching back and closed her eyes for a moment. How was Dante coping at his sister’s home? She didn’t envy him the task of taking care of the grieving widow and her children, but even so, he must be relieved that Ponti was out of the picture.
She fired off a quick e-mail to Polly, apologizing for the lateness of her article, added the file attachment, and pressed the Send button on her laptop. She sat back, relieved it was off her hands. Now she could enjoy the rest of her stay without Byrne’s sarcasm or Polly on her back.
There was no sign of Dante for the rest of the day or the evening, for that matter. She didn’t want to intrude into his family’s grief, so she kept herself occupied by taking advantage of sunbathing by the hotel’s pool and opening a bestselling novel she’d promised herself she’d get around to reading. She ensured her phone was by her side and kept hoping for a call from him or even a text message, but there were none.
After breakfast the following morning, she went for a walk and had coffee at the seafront. It was so peaceful. He had been right. Sicily was a healing place for her. She closed her eyes and inhaled a wonderful fragrance. What was it? She asked the waiter, who explained it was jasmine. If only she could bottle what she was feeling right now, the peace, the warmth, the scent, she’d keep it forever and dip into it on a cold winter night back home.
She almost drifted away in her thoughts but became aware of a presence casting a shadow over her. Opening her eyes, she blinked several times, looked up from her chair, and put her hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun, which was dazzling her from over the man’s shoulder. Recognition dawned. “Dante, what are you doing here? How did you know where I was?”
He did not smile as usual. His mouth was set in a thin, firm line, his eyes as dark as coal. “I followed you, Joanne.”
His words did not trip so beautifully off his tongue, either. What was the matter with him?
“Please sit down,” she gestured to the chair beside her. “Tell me what’s wrong?”
“This is what’s
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