As for her bust. . .it was actually beginning to look like a bust , instead of a mammoth continuation of flesh from her neck to her waist. She cupped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s with her hands, lifting them and pressing them together. Now that was a cleavage , she thought naughtily. Then dropped them when the oddest physical sensation shot through her. It was almost as though she'd had an electric shock.

Ava's blue eyes widened when she noticed her nipples standing erect, goose-b.u.mps having formed all over the pink circles around them.

She stared at them for ages before the compulsion to touch one finally overpowered her natural shyness. Her finger shook as it approached the taut peak but it would not be denied. Contact brought a sucked-in gasp. Ava wasn't sure if she liked the feeling or not. Her fingertip gently rolled the pebble-like point and Ava felt her whole insides contract.

My G.o.d! How could touching something up there make things happen down there? But it did. It definitely did! Her eyes shut and her lips fell softly apartas she touched her nipple a second time. The same thing happened.

What would it feel like if a man did this? she wondered as her heart began to beat faster. Maybe a gorgeous young Italian named Vincente. . .

A shudder of involuntary pleasure ripped through her and Ava's eyes shot open, shame heating her cheeks. She had gone too far. Far too far. She was becoming wicked in her old age. This type of behaviour was something she had never indulged in before. Never! And she wasn't going to start now.

Flushed and fl.u.s.tered, she spun away from the mirror, hurrying to drag on her bra. The confining cotton and lace, however, kept her hotly aware of her still erect nipples, and, much as she tried telling herself she was wicked, some secret part of herself revelled in this new-found sensuality. Finding something to team with the black trousers became a battle between her outraged conscience and her baser instincts.

In the end, she realised none of her clothes were s.e.xy anyway, so she settled for a multicoloured jacket- style blouse which had slimming black panels inserted in each side, black lapels and cuffs. The bright design of the rest was mostly in blues and yellows, with a dash of lime-green. The b.u.t.tons were black.

Ava had found, since frequenting her favourite boutique and listening to the advice of the salesgirls there, that separates with long-line tops did wonders for her short body, padded shoulders minimising her usual tendency to look top-heavy. She'd also been advised to wear really high heels to give her more height, but Ava thought that was tempting fate. She had enough trouble staying upright in flatties. But she compromised occasionally with mid-height heels. Actually, her habitual clumsiness had improved lately with all the running around and physical tasks she'd been doing. Maybe practice did make perfect.

Finally, Ava's attention turned to her face and hair. She'd had her short brown curly hair streaked a golden blonde for Jade's wedding, and it had seemed to be a hit with everyone, if you could believe their compliments. Razor-cut short at the sides and back, the hairdresser had left it longer on top, a body perm giving her natural curls more controllability. It looked equally well brushed back off her face, or with a softly wavy fringe flopping towards one eye.

Ava chose the former style that morning, then proceeded to make up her face with more attention than she had in years at that hour of the day. Some navy blue eyeshadow around her eyes deepened their bright blue colour to rich sapphire, especially once she stroked layers of black mascara along her long curly lashes.

That was one area of her looks where she had fared as well as Byron, Ava thought. Her eyes. Her mouth was pa.s.sable as well, though it wouldn't have looked any good on a man. It was small, with a bow-shaped top lip and a softly full bottom lip. It was the mouth of a child. Or a southern belle. Slightly pouty. Ava decided for the first time that day that she rather liked it. She glossed it in generously with a deep coral lipstick that had a high l.u.s.tre.

Her double chin, though, did not find favour, even if it wasn't as jowly as it had been a few weeks ago. Ava turned side on, patting it upwards, but it still drooped down when she stopped. Sighing, she searched through her box of earrings for something that would distract from her jawline without looking too ridiculous in the daytime. She settled on drops in the same lime-green that was in the jacket.

Her level of nervous excitement precluded breakfast, though she did have a couple of cups of coffee before settling down in front of the television to wait for nine o'clock to come round. The gates were already open and she was beyond housework. There wasn't much to be done anyway, what with Byron having spent the night elsewhere.

Which reminded her. . .

Ava jumped up and hurried out into the kitchen and over to the noticeboard on the wall where Melanie had always jotted down reminder notices and messages. Picking up the attached pen, Ava wrote PICK UP BYRON'S SUIT FROM THE DRY CLEANERS in big bold letters.

There, she thought smugly as she slotted the pen back into place. That should do it!

Ava was on her way back to the family-room when she heard the sound of a vehicle crunching to a halt on the gravel driveway at the side of the house. A quick glance at the kitchen showed less than a minute to nine. It seemed Mr Morelli was either habitually punctual, or he wanted to make a good impression on the first day.

Ava didn't care either way. She was simply glad he'd shown up at all! Tradesmen didn't have the best reputation in the world for doing that these days.

Her relief was short-lived, however, quickly replaced by a fluttering stomach and a whirling head. Maybe fantasies were best kept in the imagination. What if Mr Morelli proved to be a dreadful disappointment in the looks department -five feet two inches tall, wi th a portly belly and a droopy moustache?

Most unlikely, she decided with a ruthless logic that surprised her. Would his mother have reacted as she had on the telephone last night if her son didn't have women throwing themselves at him in droves? No, Vincente Morelli was going to be good-looking all right. Ava could see him now. Tall, with black wavy hair, flashing black eyes and a cruelly sensual mouth that lifted at the corner when he smiled his coolly seductive smile.

She knew the type. Their glamorous images had filled the screen in all those Italian films she'd gobbled up over the years, the ones with subt.i.tles and darkly handsome heroes -often in period costume -wh o smouldered at fan-holding heroines across the palatial rooms of white-walled villas overlooking a crystalline blue sea.

Ava sighed. How she adored those movies!

The side doorbell rang, and Ava froze. Oh, G.o.d. . .

The doorbell rang a second time eventually and she forced her jelly-like legs to move in the direction of the - sound, to make her way past the laundry and around the corner to the left where the corridor ended abruptly in a white wooden door. Steeling herself, Ava clasped the bra.s.s k.n.o.b, turned it then wrenched open the door.

Ava tried hard not to stare.

The man standing a few feet from the side door wasn't darkly handsome at all.

Because he simply wasn't dark. Other than that, he as handsome. Incredibly so.

'M. . .Mr Morelli?' she queried, her still stunned eyes rolling over his light brown wavy hair, golden bronzed skin and velvet-brown eyes.

That's me,' he replied quite curtly, those same velvet eyes hardening for some reason as they flicked over her. 'I take it you're the lady I spoke to last night? Miss Whitmore?'

'Yes. . .yes, I'm Ava Whitmore.'

'G.o.d, I should have known better,' he muttered under his breath before sighing a disgruntled sigh then arching his left eyebrow at her.

Ava blinked back at him.

'I suppose you'll want me to call you Ava,' he went on with the most peculiar note in his voice. If she didn't know better she'd think he was being sarcastic. As for the way he was looking at her. . .there was something oddly contemptuous in it.

She frowned her confusion. 'Will I?' she said blankly.

He stared at her for a long moment before frowning himself. Ava found herself noting the details of his face, now that the initial shock of being confronted by such a gorgeous creature was receding.

He had a big face, feature for feature. A man's face, dominated by a stubbornly square chin complete with cleft in the middle. It would have been a hard face if it hadn't been for those incredible eyes and that full, slightly feminine bottom lip which was protruding at the moment in a pensive pout. His blackly brooding expression brought her back to his odd comment.

'You. . .you can call me Miss Whitmore,' she offered tentatively, 'if you'd prefer.'

His smile, when it came, wasn't anything like those mockingly cynical ones her fantasy men always delivered. It was wide and flashing, reaching right up to his eyes which twinkled down at her in some secret amus.e.m.e.nt. Smiling, he looked about twenty-five, but her guess was that he was a good few years older.

'No. Ava it is. I'm glad we got that sorted out.'

What sorted out ? she wondered.

'You were certainly right when you said you had a lot of lawn,' he went on after a brief glance around. 'I'll be lucky to be finished by lunchtime. Well, I'd better get started. Nothing will get done if we stand around chatting all day. I'll knock when I've finished.' Throwing her a final fleeting smile, he turned and began striding towards the combi-van parked under the elm that shaded that side of the house.

'Mr Morelli,' Ava called out.

He spun round, and she could have sworn a dark wariness clouded his eyes for a second. 'Yes?'

'I. . .1 have to go out later for a while. But I should be back before noon. Would you rather I pay you now just in case you finish earlier than you expect?'

T can't see my doing that. Besides, I won't know what to charge till I'm finished. And could we make it Vince? My father was Mr Morelli.'

'Vince,' she repeated, much preferring the romantic-sounding Vincente his mother had called him the previous evening. Yet the name did suit him. It was a strong name. And very male. Just like him.

'Your father's pa.s.sed on?' she asked gently, not wanting to finish their conversation just yet. Or was it that she didn't want to stop looking at him just yet?

There was certainly plenty to look at in his lawn- mowing garb of chest-hugging white T-shirt and washed-out blue jeans, both of which lovingly followed every contour of his macho and very muscular body.

Not that he was muscle-bound. Just superbly toned and honed. And very watchable.

'Eight years now,' he admitted, if a little reluctantly. 'He was a good man. I miss him.'

When he didn't follow this up with any questions about her own father or family, Ava got the hint. He wanted to get on with his work, not make idle chitchat. She began to feel self-conscious, not to mention a little guilty.

'I'm sure you do,' she murmured. 'Look, I won't hold you up any further. Ring the bell here when you're finished.'

'Right.'

Despite her resolve to dash inside and stop making a potential fool of herself, Ava stayed standing on the doorstep, watching in dry-mouthed fascination while Vince slid open the side-door of the van and lifted out a lawn-mower, then an edger, both heavy items, but both placed on to the gra.s.s without undue effort. When he noticed her still there, he threw her a puzzled look. 'Is there something I can do for you?' he asked, that peculiar wariness back in his eyes.

She blushed at the thought that automatically slid into her mind. G.o.d, but she was shameless today. Simply shameless!

'I. . .I was just wondering what the ladder was for,' she improvised wildly, indicating the extension ladder roped to the roof. 'I mean. . .how often would you need a ladder to mow lawns?'

'Not ever as I recall. But we Morellis don't just mow lawns.' And he pointed to the sign on the side of the van. 'Morellis House and Grounds Maintenance Service '. 'We wash windows and clean out gutters and paint roofs and keep swimming pools crystal-clear, as well as all manner of handyman jobs.'

'You do? Oh. . .oh, that's good then, because I'm sure we need most of those things done around here.'

Vince's laugh was dry. 'Well, I can't do them all today. Fact is I can only give you this morning. I've already had to shuffle my normal schedule around like crazy to fit you in because you sounded pretty desperate on the telephone last night. But I'll put you down as a spring-cleaning client and line up one of my brothers to come over and tackle the rest on a regular basis. Will that be all right?'

'I suppose so. . Why did she have to sound like a little girl whose daddy had just said he couldn't make it home for her birthday?

'We'll talk about it after I've finished the mowing, OK?' Vince said brusquely. 'I really must get started.'

'Yes. . .yes, of course.'

Ava forced herself to go back inside but almost immediately she dashed upstairs and went round all the windows, seeing which one gave her the best unimpeded view of Vince Morelli mowing. Her own studio won hands down for the back lawn, but she ' would have to venture into Irene's old bedroom once Vince moved round to the front. An intimidating thought, and one she pushed aside since he was thankfully starting on the back lawn.

How utterly gorgeous he was, she sighed as she spied on him through the lace curtains. She could keep looking at him for hours on end. Gradually, her earlier thought about going to pick up Byron's dry cleaning this morning was pushed aside.

The sound of the telephone ringing first startled,then annoyed Ava. It seemed fate didn't even want to allow her the harmless pleasure of just looking at a real live fantasy man.

Muttering, she hurried out into the hallway, where they kept an upstairs extension on a marble-topped cedar console that matched the one in the foyer downstairs. She couldn't imagine who it could be ringing her at this early hour.

'Yes?'

'Ava? Is that you?'

'Of course it's me, Byron,' she snapped irritably. 'Who else would it be?'

'Lord only knows. It just didn't sound like you for a moment. You sounded all breathless, as if you'd been running.'

'Maybe I've taken up jogging.'

'Are you being sarcastic? Ava, what's got into you lately?'

'Maybe I'm growing up at long last, Byron,' she returned, pleased with herself for standing up to her domineering brother. 'What is it that you wanted, anyway?'

'What? Oh -er -I wanted to remind you to pick up my suit from the dry cleaners. Catherine and I are going to the opera on Friday night.'

'It's only Wednesday.'

'Yes. well, better safe than sorry, wouldn't you say?' came his dry remark. 'You've got a memory like a sieve.'

Ava bristled. T can't go today. I'll go tomorrow.'

'Why can't you go today?' he demanded to know.

Ava was going to invent some white lie but at the last second another spurt of defiance had her deciding to tell the truth -in part. 'I have a man here mowing the lawns,' she stated firmly. 'And when he's finished I want to be here to talk to him about getting some other jobs done that need doing around Belleview.'

'The man's here mowing the lawns? On a Wednesday? Doesn't he always come on a Monday?'

'The last chap did. I got rid of him and hired someone new, someone who's a bit more. . .versatile.' Ava was glad Byron couldn't see the fierce blush that zoomed into her cheeks at that moment, or the amazing thoughts that entered her head. She wondered if 'versatile' had ever had that sort of connotation before.

'You hired someone new?' Byron huffed and puffed. 'And you didn't discuss it with me first?'

Ava counted to ten before replying. 'Melanie wouldn't have had to discuss such a thing with you. Why should I?'

'Melanie was competent at that type of thing,' he growled. 'Whereas you're. . .you're. . .'

'Just as competent,' Ava argued, though her voice had begun to shake. 'Or I will be soon, if you keep your bib out of things and give me a fair go!'

'Ava!'

'Oh, do stop "Ava"-ing me, Byron! It's beginning to give me the pip.'

'The pip?'

'And stop repeating everything I say. Look, I know you think I'm a nincomp.o.o.p. You've told me often enough. But you're wrong. I'm quite intelligent, really.'

'Well, of course you are. You're a Whitmore!'

'Not to mention your sister,' she reminded him pointedly. If there was one thing Byron could be relied upon, it was standing up for the family name. Nevertheless, Ava decided to change the subject. She was still rather sensitive when it came to his and other people's opinion of her intelligence, not to mention competence.

'Did you have a pleasant evening?' she asked, half fearful of hearing news she didn't want to hear. She knew Byron had been lonely since everyone had married and moved out of Belleview, but the thought of Catherine as her sister-in-law made Ava want to puke.

'Quite pleasant, thank you.'

Ava wasn't sure if her brother's stiff reply was a reluctance to admit, even to his sister, that he was sleeping with that woman, or evidence that the evening had not gone all that well. She prayed the latter was the case. Doubtful, though, since they were off to the opera together in two days.

'Now look, Ava,' Byron resumed abruptly. 'About this new fellow you hired to work around the place. What do you know about him? I mean, how did you find him?'

'He came highly recommended,' Ava lied outrageously. 'Please give me credit for some common sense.'

Silence from the other end.

'I must go, Byron. I think Mr Morelli's finished out the back and I want to make sure he trims the weeds around the terrace before he starts on the front.'

'You. . .you certainly seem to have everything in hand.'