"I could sure do with some," he answered, his gaze lingering on her lips for a moment before he grabbed his T-shirt from the ground nearby and straightened. "Did you sleep okay?"
"Not really," Melo admitted, striding to the house. "I have to go back to Italy."
A touch on her arm stopped her mid stride. "What?"
"I have to see someone in Rome." Melo avoided his eyes, not wanting to share her suspicions until she had concrete proof, a definite solution to her family's problems. "I have to go back sooner than I planned."
His hand dropped from her arm and an uncomfortable silence blossomed between them. "You don't have to leave. If what I said last night makes you uncomfortable, I won't talk about it again, but you don't have to leave."
There was no getting away from it then. "It's not that-I have a meeting to get to. It's work."
He didn't believe her. She could tell from the way he held himself, aloof and reserved. Closed off.
"Come on, let's go in. We can talk."
He followed her silently into the house. Slipped the T-shirt over his head, and crossed his arms. Waiting. Melo pulled in a deep breath, pushed the discarded blanket to one side and sat down on the sofa. To her relief he didn't sit down next to her, but instead settled on a rocking chair opposite.
"About last night … " she started, feeling her face warm with heat as he regarded her silently. This was much harder than she'd anticipated. "I appreciate your offer, but I don't want to marry you, Cade. If the beach must be sold, then I'd be happy to sell to you."
She twisted her hands together and wished he'd say something. Show some emotion.
He stared back impassively.
Nerves compelled her to elaborate. "We don't need to complicate things between us-we're friends-"
"We're a lot more than friends," he said, in a deep husky voice.
Melo nodded. "A lot more. But we don't need to marry to find a solution to this problem. We always knew this was temporary." Why was he looking so … so hurt? "Let's not let a difficult situation force us into something neither of us really want."
Cade's expression shuttered. "You're right of course. There's no need for that." He stood. "I'll take a quick shower and then we'll go back to the hotel and organize flights. When are you going back to Isola dei Fiori?"
Melo did some quick calculations in her head. Rosa and Adam would be returning from honeymoon in five days; the deadline to pay Mezzuti was a week away. If she was wrong, or couldn't reverse the situation by then, the beach would have to be sold.
"I'll be back on the island by the eleventh."
****
"So, what's next?"
Melo stretched out her jeans-clad legs and glanced across the acres of dark mahogany desk at Aldo Renda.
He pushed his tortoiseshell glasses up with a finger, and put down his pen on the desk's surface.
"As you supposed, the contract is invalid due to the fact that the investment wasn't sanctioned by the board. But the fact that your father signed it is damning for him. Mezzuti could claim he signed the contract fraudulently, should they desire. And if the board decides to press charges … " Aldo grimaced. "Your father could be facing a jail sentence for fraud."
Fear pulsed through Melo. Her frail father couldn't be put into that position, but really, what choice did they have? She couldn't protect him any further; his bold black signature on the papers ensured that.
"What if the board could be persuaded not to press charges?" Melo held her breath for Aldo's answer.
"If they did that, he could escape prosecution. But Mezzuti could still decide to sue-and at that stage it would be out of our hands, I'm afraid."
Melo twisted her hands together. A headache pounded in her temples. She'd spent two long days barricaded in the room with Aldo. Her eyes ached from reading through endless papers.
Two days of intense work, with sleepless nights between, did nothing to ease the strain. Every time her eyes closed, an image of Cade drifted to the surface. Walking on the lakeshore, wielding the axe in the clearing, with his glistening body flexing in the sunlight. She couldn't eat, couldn't settle, couldn't find any peace in the Eternal City. Even her usual addictions-the little shops stuffed with jewelry and shoes on the route to the Spanish steps-failed to alter her mood or distract her. When she'd arrived in Rome Aldo had regretfully told her that her father was right, he was the legal owner of Paradise Beach, not her. And she hadn't cared. Not really. Not when she remembered what else she'd lost.
She'd told Cade no and walked away. Her reasons were perfectly valid, but her heart ached with the prospect that their romance was over. She didn't think she'd ever get over it.
She forced her mind back to the matter at hand.
"Surely they would have to do due diligence, make sure he was entitled to sign on behalf of the company?" She felt like she were clutching at straws, but couldn't banish the suspicion that Mezzuti knew exactly what they were doing, and would have done everything in their power to slant things in their favor. They wouldn't be above bending the rules.
"That wouldn't stand up in court. It's your father's responsibility to ensure that, I'm afraid." Aldo forced a hand through his thinning grey hair, and stood to stride to the large window overlooking a small park. "I think we need more coffee."
The nerve endings of Melo's hands trembled with the overload of caffeine and stress. If she drank any more coffee she'd pass out.
Aldo walked to the desk, and his eyebrows rose as he looked at her face.
She'd doubtless been grimacing.
"Tea, then?" he questioned. At her nod, he pushed the button on the intercom on his desk, and passed on the request to his super-efficient secretary.
"Let's go through it again," he said, with a calm, soothing tone.
Melo walked to the flip-chart they'd set up to jot important points on, and stilled as her eyes focused on a date scrawled in the corner.
The 15th of May.
She scrambled to the chair, grabbed her bag, and pulled out her filofax with shaking hands. Rifling through the pages, she identified the date, then flicked a couple of pages further on, unerringly finding the page with the date circled in red.
Her legs felt shaky. She sank down onto the chair. Her heart was thundering, and her head filled with white noise as a memory floated to the surface. She'd seen something in the paperwork, something that was causing bells of alarm to sound in her head, and driving up the hairs on the back of her neck.
"What is it?" Aldo said, his voice laced with concern. "Are you feeling unwell?"
"The dates," Melo whispered. "Something about the dates."
She leafed through the stack of paperwork with shaking fingers. Finally found the contract that her father had signed. She'd read every inch of every page. And …
Her eyes skimmed the pages impatiently. There! She stabbed at the sentence with her finger.
Clause Two: There is a cooling off period of 14 days.
"Here," she said.
Aldo strode around the desk to peer over her shoulder.
"It's a standard clause; I don't see how it helps us." Disappointment flickered across his face.
Melo forced down the excitement that threatened to explode from her. She wasn't a lawyer, and maybe she was just going to receive another disappointment, rather than the solution she prayed she'd just found. She opened her diary wide, then flicked back to the front page of the agreement.
"Look." She pointed at the date of the agreement. "The 15th of May. The contract refers to a cooling off period of 14 days. At any stage during this period my father could have cancelled, right?"
"He could have." Aldo said in a tone that indicated he had no idea where she was going with this. "But he didn't."
"No he didn't." Melo agreed. "But surely they shouldn't have ratified the document while he was in intensive care, unable to even speak?"
Chapter Fifteen
They traveled to the island together.
Aldo's eyes widened as they drove up to the villa. "It's very beautiful. Your father will be very proud, when he learns what you have achieved in the last few days, Melo." The older man's eyes gleamed. He patted her hands.
"Thank you," Melo said.
Her father was waiting for them in the sitting room. His color was better, but worry pulled his mouth tight, lived in his brown eyes.
"Would you like some tea?" Mary asked, her hands fluttering nervously as she eyed her daughter and the lawyer she'd brought along.