He blinked, murmured an apology, gave the order to a waiter, then leaned back in his chair. ‘So. You are in Firenze on holiday, Miss Alicia Cross?’

‘Yes.’

He arched a dark eyebrow. ‘Alone so young?’

‘No.’ Just how young did he think she was? ‘I’m here with my best friend. Megan was airsick on the flight this morning, so she’s sleeping it off at our hotel. But she insisted I come out to explore on my own.’ Alicia smiled. ‘And gave me a long list of instructions before I left.’

‘I can guess one of these.’ His answering smile set her pulse racing. ‘You must not talk to strangers.’

Twin dimples flickered at the corners of her mouth. ‘Top of the list.’ Her smile faded as his eyes lit with the unsettling look again. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.’

‘I am not offended—I am charmed by the fossetti,’ he said softly.

The word hadn’t come up in Alicia’s phrase book, but she was pretty sure he meant her freckles. ‘I hate them,’ she said passionately, then smiled as the waiter set her chocolate in front of her and thanked him with the one word of Italian she could remember.

Francesco leaned nearer. ‘You should not hate them,’ he informed her. ‘They are enchanting.’

Alicia sipped some of her chocolate. ‘Not to me,’ she said, resigned. ‘I’ve tried all sorts of things to get rid of them, but nothing works.’

He frowned. ‘I think we have a language problem. Smile again for me, per favore.’

Alicia obeyed, her smile widening as she realised he meant her dimples. Not that she was hugely keen on those, either. She brushed a finger over her cheekbones. ‘I thought you meant the freckles.’

‘They also are charming,’ he informed her gravely.

Not sure how to answer that, Alicia took refuge in her chocolate, which went down like liquid gold as she marvelled at her wonderful luck. She was here at last in Florence, with all the world going by in the afternoon sun in this famous piazza full of statues and wonderful architecture. And to top that she was actually, unbelievably, doing all this in the company of Francesco da Luca.

‘What are you thinking?’ he asked at last.

‘That you speak very good English, Signor da Luca.’ With a slight accent that sent shivers down her spine.

‘Grazie, but I am Francesco, please. And I speak English,’ he added, ‘because it is a great advantage in my business.’

His sporting career had been so brief Alicia had never discovered anything about his private life. ‘What do you do?’ She flushed. ‘I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.’

Francesco shook his head, amused. ‘What man does not like to talk about himself?’

Alicia beamed. As far as she was concerned he could talk about himself as long as he liked.

Francesco sat back in his seat, apparently happy to oblige her. ‘I studied law, but although the knowledge I gained is useful to me I do not practise it.’ He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘For me life is wine, olives and marble. And responsibilities.’ He shot her a searching look. ‘And you, Miss Alicia; you are still in school?’

‘No. Though I was until last week,’ she added honestly. ‘I’ve just finished my exams. If my grades are good enough, I go on to university in October.’

‘Then you are not as young as I thought,’ he said, surprised, and leaned forward again. ‘So. How old are you, Alicia?’

‘Eighteen.’ She hesitated, then smiled, for once deliberately bringing her dimples into full play. ‘Today, in fact.’

His heavy-lidded eyes opened wide and her heart skipped a beat as she saw they were a translucent shade somewhere between green and blue; improbable and unexpected in such a masculine face.

‘It is your birthday!’ Francesco exclaimed. ‘Buon compleanno!’

‘Thank you.’

‘But instead of chocolate to celebrate you should have champagne, or a glass of our own prosecco. Now you are a grown-up lady this is allowed, no?’

She smiled. ‘Will you laugh if I say I’m not very keen on champagne?’

‘No,’ he said very softly. ‘I will not laugh.’

Silence fell between them as the spectacular eyes held hers. Alicia gazed at him, mesmerised, then blinked at last and braced herself to confess ‘Actually, I know who you are.’

He nodded, smiling. ‘Because I told you my name.’

‘No. I mean that I once saw you play rugby.’

‘Davverro?’ he exclaimed, astonished.

She nodded and named the tournament in which she’d seen him play.

‘Few people remember that! I was injured soon afterwards and never played at that level again.’ Francesco shook his head in wonder. ‘You were just a child—also a girl. I am amazed.’

‘That I remember you, or that I’m a girl who likes rugby?’

‘Both of these. Your father played?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never met him,’ she said, and could have bitten her tongue the moment the words were out.

Francesco winced. ‘Mi dispiace!’

She tried to make her shrug nonchalant. ‘I follow the game because my best friend’s father is a rugby fanatic, her brother too. I used to watch Gareth’s school matches with Meg, then his club matches later on. Once he even got us tickets for an international at the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff.’

‘An impressive arena,’ he agreed. ‘I have been there to watch Italy play against Wales.’

‘Do you miss playing rugby?’

‘Yes.’ He shrugged impressive shoulders. ‘But I have no time for sport in my life now, except to watch on television. Will such an ardent rugby-fan look at me in disgust if I confess I also follow Fiorentino, the local soccer-team here?’

Alicia shook her head, smiling. Then she glanced at her watch and saw that they’d been sitting there far longer than she’d thought. With a sigh she replaced her dark glasses and pulled her hat down low over them. ‘It’s time I got back to my friend. Thank you for the chocolate—and for being so kind.’

Francesco rose quickly. ‘Where are you staying?’

She gave him the name of a small hotel in a quiet residential area well away from the town centre. ‘It was recommended by one of my mother’s friends.’

‘Bene. I shall escort you back.’ He bent his head to smile under the green-lined brim of her hat as they left the table. ‘I must make sure you return to your friend safely on your special day, Miss Alicia Cross.’

On her own earlier the route to the Piazza della Signoria had seemed quite long while she was finding her way, but the walk back with Francesco was far too short for Alicia, as she talked about her plans for the holiday as though she’d known him for years. Which in one way she had. When they arrived at the hotel she held out her hand.

‘Thank you again. It was an amazing coincidence to meet you.’ She smiled shyly. ‘And such a pleasure.’

To her delight Francesco kissed her hand. ‘It was a great pleasure for me also, Miss Alicia Cross. I hope you find your friend recovered. Arrivederci.’

Alicia went up in the lift in a daze, gazing at the back of her hand as though Francesco’s kiss was engraved on it. She came back to earth as the doors opened and hurried to knock on the door of their room, calling softly, ‘Sorry to get you out of bed. It’s me.’

Megan Davies blinked owlishly when she finally opened the door. ‘You’re back soon. I thought you’d be ages yet.’

‘I was worried about you.’ Alicia eyed her critically. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Feeble, but not throwing up any more. I’ll be fine tomorrow.’ Meg sighed despondently. ‘Which isn’t much use. Your birthday’s today.’

‘We’ll celebrate it tomorrow. In the meantime, lie down again; you still look peaky.’ Alicia plumped her friend’s pillows up invitingly.

‘So come on then, Lally,’ demanded Meg as she subsided against them. ‘Tell me what you’ve seen!’

‘I found the Piazza della Signoria quite easily. It’s not far, and just as amazing as expected, like a great outdoor sculpture-gallery. I had a look at the Palazzo Vecchio, though I didn’t go inside, then I went past the crowds round the Neptune fountain to look at the replica of David and the statues in the Loggia dei Lanzi. The Rape of the Sabines is pretty realistic,’ added Alicia with relish. ‘But my favourite is Perseus holding the severed head of Medusa.’