He was nothing like as old as she’d expected, but to think such a young man was already notorious in the newspapers somehow made her situation much worse. Michelle’s spirits skidded along rock-bottom. Despite his hunched shoulders and considered pace, he was moving quickly. Instead of taking the track of scuffed, dead grass leading directly from the helipad to the house, he took a much longer route. This went by way of paved paths through banks of thyme and sage, and stretched out her agony still further. Watching bees working among the herb flowers always persuaded Michelle to relax and linger. They had absolutely no effect on this man. He was totally single-minded. Looking neither to left nor right, he homed straight in on the front door of the villa.

If Michelle hadn’t been so frantic she would have appreciated his fine features. The natural curl in his thick, dark hair, his quick brown eyes, frowning brow and heavy tread would normally have made such an impression on her she would have been struck dumb. Instead she was speechless with embarrassment. Hands behind her back, she went on easing, tugging and wheedling at her skirt to try and free it. It was no use.

The closer the newcomer got, the more frantic she felt. Her fingers throbbed from trying to break free. So did her pulse. It was so hot. She might as well have been a butterfly beating its wings against a closed window. She was well and truly stuck. If that wasn’t bad enough, she was beginning to see why this guest hadn’t fitted in on Mr Bartlett’s yacht. It was designed for holidays and having a good time. Alessandro Castiglione looked as though he didn’t know the meaning of the words. Despite the heat, he was wearing a top-quality suit and a hand-finished shirt. His only concessions to the Mediterranean were the ivory colour of his linen trousers and jacket, the open buttons at his neck, and the mulberry-coloured tie peeking from his pocket.

Michelle swallowed hard. The time for practising her welcome was over. Now for it…

‘Buongiorno, Signor Castiglione. My name is Michelle Spicer, and I’ll be looking after you during your stay here at Jolie Fleur.’

His pale, aristocratic face was compressed. ‘I don’t need looking after. That’s why I jumped ship. There were too many people running round after me. All they do is get in my way,’ he growled in faultless English, speaking with the accent of a Caesar. It drove everything from Michelle’s mind except her fear of explaining exactly how much of a fool she was.

And then, ten feet away from her, his expression changed from distracted to thoughtful. He stopped. Michelle tried to take a step backwards away from him, but her heels rattled against the firmly closed door. There was no escape. She stood and quailed, while he stood and watched her. He pressed his lips together in a tight line, matching the deep furrows on his brow. Michelle couldn’t think of a single thing to say. This was worse than she had ever imagined it would be. She was pinned to the door by his unblinking stare. Michelle tried to tell herself this was just another job and she really shouldn’t care what impression he was getting of her. The truth was, she cared very much. Staff should be invisible and silent. Here she was, pegged out with no hope of release. You couldn’t get much more visible than that.

Why does he have to be so good-looking? she thought. It wouldn’t be half so bad if he was old, or ugly, or ranted and raved at me—anything would be easier to bear than this slow, silent interrogation…

‘Well! What have we got here?’ he drawled eventually. ‘You’re trapped.’

So tell me something I don’t know! she thought, but the relish in his eyes was too obvious. Instead, she nodded and tried to smile.

‘I—I’m the housekeeper here at Jolie Fleur and I shall be doing everything I can to make your stay as pleasant as possible…’ Though how I’m going to manage it from here… she added silently.

It didn’t seem much of an obstacle to Alessandro Castiglione. He pinned her to the door with a knowing look.

‘Everything?’ he questioned with a mischevious twinkle. ‘You mean my wish is your command? That’s dangerous talk, signorina, when you look to be stuck fast!’

Michelle burbled something wordless, her mind melted by flames of embarrassment. She needn’t have bothered. He was far too interested in her problem.

‘I was trapped too—on that damned boat,’ he added, almost sympathetically.

After a moment’s hesitation, Michelle screwed up all her courage and tried an explanation.

‘The door slammed shut in the helicopter’s downdraught. The key is in my pocket, but I can’t reach it,’ she said, in a voice so small she hardly recognised it.

To her surprise he gave a quick nod of understanding. ‘You must be more careful. This is a very heavy door, Michelle. You’re lucky it’s only your dress. You might have lost your fingers.’

Her heart slowed to about five hundred beats a minute. Looking into those nocciola– brown eyes was having a very strange effect on her. None of the bad things she had been told about him mattered any more. This was a man who had been through a lot. She could see that from his face. He must be in his late thirties, and creases etched between his brows added to the character of his otherwise fine features, but to Michelle he was at his loveliest when he smiled.