They remained on their phones, exchanging teasing remarks until their paths converged near the cypress trees. She sauntered out of the lavender dusk in a strappy black maxi dress, picking her way between rocks and wild rosemary. The dress, though plain and understated, hinted at her curves, more alluring than many a figure-hugging dress. Red toenails and red sandals completed her outfit and her glossy hair was piled on top of her head. Her beauty hit him so hard he felt as if every nerve ending was reaching out to her. It shook him. Managing to disguise his reaction, he took her hand and shortened his stride to match hers. ‘Are you happy to eat on the terrace?’

One eyebrow quirked as she glanced at him. ‘That little patch of paving by the creeper?’

‘No, the one on the first floor. Well, kind of first floor because the house is built into the slope. It’s one flight up from the front, two from the back.’

She nodded. ‘I should think it has a fantastic view over the valley.’

‘The best.’ He’d left the door from the drive standing open and guided her up the steps to the French doors, which he’d also left ajar. They stepped out onto the broad terrace that ran most of the width of the house.

‘How beautiful,’ she breathed, dropping his hand to approach the terrace wall and gaze out. The valley was fading into the twilight, the winery and Salvatore’s house shadows behind clusters of yellow pinprick lights, the vines thick, black ropes sweeping down the slope. Only the very peaks of the mountains were still bathed in apricot and pink as the sun sank.

He, too, caught his breath at the view – her rear view in the terrace lights. Her dress wasn’t as plain as it first appeared because it was backless except for laces criss-crossing her bare brown skin. He had to drag his eyes away and step forward to join her, catching the scent of honey again and wondering if it was body lotion.

If ever a body was worth taking care of, it was hers.

When she turned back from gazing out at the view, he guided her towards the end of the terrace where a cane sofa stood beside a small table. ‘I thought I’d give you a private tasting of the wines of Tenuta Domenicali.’

‘Sounds fantastic,’ she murmured, seating herself on one half of the sofa.

He stooped to open an aluminium-fronted cupboard. ‘The disadvantage of the terrace is it’s a long way from the kitchen so I had insulated cupboards installed. Once the heat of the day’s over they keep things at roughly the temperature they go in, if you don’t mix hot and cold.’ He drew bread, cheese and two bottles of wine from one and two more from the other.

‘Four bottles?’ she exclaimed, eyes widening.