His lingering preoccupation with Carla, with whom he’d irrefutably crashed and burned, had to stop too. Despite handing her his card, he wasn’t expecting to hear from her, so he had no reason whatsoever to dwell on what might have happened had she accepted his invitation. No reason to continue contemplating her stunning green eyes and lush, kissable mouth. She wasn’t the first woman he’d wanted, and she certainly wouldn’t be the last. She was hardly irreplaceable. In fact, when he got home he’d set about doing precisely that.
The beep of his phone cut through his turbulent thoughts, and he switched his attention from the wide expanse of cloudless azure sky to the device on the table in front of him. He didn’t recognise the UK number and on any other occasion would have let it go to voicemail, but today, now, he was more than happy to be disturbed.
With any luck, it would be someone from the London-based brokerage firm he used with something business-related. Details of a unique and complex opportunity in an emerging market, perhaps. A forex swaption recommendation. An unexpected profit warning. As long as it was something that made him money and required significant focus, he wasn’t fussy.
‘Pronto.’
‘Rico? Hi. It’s Carla Blake. We met earlier.’
At the sound of the voice in his ear—very much not the head of research at the London-based brokerage firm—every inch of him tensed and his pulse gave a great kick. Her words slid through him like silk, winding round his insides and igniting the sparks of the desire he hadn’t managed to fully extinguish. He could visualise her mouth and feel her hair tickling his skin. It was as if she were actually there, beside him, leaning in close and making his groin tighten and ache, and all his efforts to put her from his mind evaporated.
‘How could I possibly forget?’ he said, sitting back in his seat and forcing himself to get a grip on his reaction to her and relax.
‘I was hoping that might be the case.’
‘Why?’
‘I’d like to take you up on the offer of dinner.’
The jolt of pleasure that rocked through him at that took him by surprise. ‘I see,’ he said, deciding to attribute it to satisfaction that she hadn’t been able to resist him after all.
‘If the invitation still stands, that is.’
He ought to tell her it didn’t. He’d intended to wipe today from his head—every single second of it—and pursuing Carla with her connection to the brother he wanted nothing to do with would not be conducive to a return to his former shackle-free, nihilistic life.
But he didn’t like rejection. He didn’t like failure. He wasn’t used to either. And the fact remained, he did still want her. Badly. Plus there was the intriguing volte face. Why had she changed her mind when only at lunchtime she’d been so adamant in her refusal? Had she finally decided to accept the chemistry they shared and act on it? The potential for a night of scorching, mind-blowing sex wasn’t something he was going to ignore. Reclaiming the upper hand and taking back control of their interaction wouldn’t hurt either.
‘It still stands,’ he said, anticipation at the thought of seeing her again and everything that might entail now thrumming through him and setting his nerve endings on fire.
‘Excellent.’
‘Why the change of heart?’
‘I’ll tell you when I see you.’
‘I can hardly wait.’
‘Where should I meet you?’
‘La Piccola Osteria.’
‘Hmm. I don’t think I know it,’ she said, and he could hear the frown in her tone. ‘What’s the address?’
‘Calle dell’Olio. Venice.’
There was a stunned silence, and then a breathy, ‘Venice?’
‘I’m on my way home.’
‘Already?’
‘One of the many advantages of having a private plane,’ he said, shifting in his seat to ease the ache and tension in his groin that her soft gasps had generated. ‘So if you want to have dinner with me, tesoro, you’ll need to come to Venice. Tonight. After which my invitation expires. It’s your call.’
* * *
On the other end of the line, Carla stood in the cool hall of Finn and Georgie’s home, every cell of her body abuzz. The effect of Rico’s deep, masculine tones in her ear had been unexpectedly electrifying, sending shivers rippling up and down her spine while heating her blood, but that was nothing compared to the shock that was reeling through her now.
So much for the blithe assumption of an easy acceptance of his earlier invitation, she thought, her heart hammering wildly while her head spun. This was an entirely different prospect.
Dinner in Venice?
Tonight?
It was impossible. She’d never make it. She was knackered. The last thing she needed was another dash to another airport for another flight. The whole idea of haring halfway across a continent with next to no planning to meet a man she barely knew smacked of recklessness, something she abhorred and had taken great care to avoid after what had happened to her when she was young. She’d have to be mad to even consider it, as Georgie would no doubt tell her if she knew what Rico had just proposed.
On the other hand, when would there be another opportunity to at least try and fix the mistakes she’d made? If she didn’t accept his challenge, how would she be able to change his mind or keep the lines of communication open?
She couldn’t wimp out now. She had to give it a shot. The situation could hardly get worse and she could catch up on sleep any time. In fact, she might even request the next week off. And yes, she loathed the idea of giving in to any man’s demands, but ultimately whether or not she went to Venice would be her decision. Rico wasn’t forcing her to do anything. No one was. She was in total control of her choices, which was crucially important to her, and that was where she’d stay. And even if she weren’t, for her best friend she’d make that sacrifice.
The fluttering in her stomach and the racing of her pulse had nothing to do with nerves. Or excitement. Or anticipation. Everything going on inside her was purely down to the crushing weight of responsibility she felt. Finn was worried that Rico could vanish into the ether for good and, because it was her fault he’d left in the first place, it was up to her to prevent that whatever it took.
‘What time?’
* * *
At half-past ten Italian time, thirty minutes after she and Rico had been due to meet, Carla grabbed her suitcase and stepped off the water taxi she’d caught at the airport.
She was still barely able to believe she’d actually made it, she thought dazedly, heading for the restaurant he’d named. None of this felt real. Not the racing from Oxfordshire to her flat to the airport. Not the packed two-hour flight for which she’d been on standby and which she’d caught by the skin of her teeth. Not even the buzzing energy and the anticipation and excitement that were crashing around inside her.
The energy was a relief, but she had no business feeling excited about anything, least of all seeing Rico again. Wary? Definitely. Determined to find out why he’d run and then complete her mission? Absolutely. Anything else? Out of the question. Because this wasn’t a date. Or a minibreak in a romantic city she’d never visited before. This was going to be a conversation, a retrieval of information, possibly a negotiation, nothing more, which she simply could not forget.
With her suitcase stowed in the cloakroom, Carla took a deep, steadying breath and followed the waiter out onto the terrace, channelling cool, calm control and reminding herself of the goal with every step, but no amount of preparation could have braced her for the impact of seeing Rico again.
He was lounging at a table in a far, shadowy corner of the terrace, impossibly handsome and insanely sexy in the candlelight, and when his gaze collided with hers it was as if the world suddenly skidded to a halt. Her surroundings disappeared, the twinkling fairy lights winding over and around the pergola, the clink of cutlery,
the chatter of the clientele and the dashing around of the waiters gone in a heartbeat. All she could hear was the thundering of her blood in her head. All she could feel was the heavy drum of desire. All she could do was weave between tables covered with red cloths and flickering candles, as if tied to the end of a rope he was slowly hauling in.
She tried to convince herself that the flipping of her stomach was down to hunger or stress or relief that he hadn’t given up on her and gone home, but she had the unsettling feeling that it was entirely down to the darkly compelling man now slowly unfolding himself and getting to his feet without taking his eyes off her for even a second.
When she reached his table, he leaned forwards, dizzying her with his spicy, masculine scent, and for one ground-tilting, heart-stopping moment she thought he was going to put his hand on her arm and drop a kiss on her cheek. In a daze, she went hot, her heart gave a great crash against her ribs and her gaze automatically went to his lips. How would they feel on her skin? Hard or soft? Would they make her burn or shiver or both?
But with a quick frown and a minute clench of his jaw he straightened at the last minute, and the searing disappointment that spun through her nearly knocked her off her feet. Her response contained none of the relief she should have felt at the fact that he hadn’t kissed her, and the realisation hit her like a bucket of icy water.
God, she had to be careful here. She was miles out of her comfort zone and on his territory. It would be so easy to lose control and herself in the highly inconvenient and deeply unwanted desire she felt for him. One slip and everything she’d worked so hard to achieve could be destroyed. One slip and she’d have more than a mistake to rectify.
She had to focus on why she was here and keep it at the forefront of her mind at all times. She had to get a grip on her reaction to him and remain composed, no matter how powerful the attraction, which surely had to lessen with familiarity.
‘Buonasera,’ she said, her voice thankfully bearing no hint of the struggle going on inside her.
‘You’re late,’ he said with a smile so easy it made her wonder if she’d imagined his discomposure a moment ago.
‘The traffic was terrible.’
‘The canals can get busy at this time on a Saturday night. How was your journey?’
‘Tight,’ she said with a thank-you to the waiter who whipped out the chair opposite him so she could sit down. ‘As you knew it would be when you told me it was Venice or nothing.’
Rico lowered himself into his own seat and sat back, the smile curving his mouth deepening. ‘Yet here you are.’
‘Here I am,’ she agreed, hanging her bag on the back of her chair before making herself comfortable and then fixing him with an arch look. ‘As are you, which is a surprise.’
‘Why would you say that?’
‘You don’t do waiting, do you?’
He frowned for a moment, as if he had no idea to what she was referring, and then the frown disappeared and the smile returned. ‘I decided to make an exception for you.’
‘I’m flattered.’
‘Drink?’
God, yes. ‘That would be lovely.’
‘What would you like?’
‘Whisky, per favore. Could you make it a double?’
‘Certo.ʼ
‘Grazie.ʼ
* * *
With a minute lift of his head, Rico summoned the waiter while contemplating bypassing the request for two double whiskies and simply ordering the bottle.
God knew he could do with the fortification. He was still reeling from Carla’s appearance at the door of his favourite restaurant. He’d been sitting at his usual table, frowning at his watch and feeling oddly on edge, when his skin had started prickling and his pulse had leapt, a crackle of electricity suddenly charging the air around him. He’d glanced up and there she’d been, standing at the edge of the terrace, scanning the diners for him.
She’d changed from the red dress she’d been wearing earlier into tight white jeans and a silky-looking pink top over which she wore a dark jacket, but the effect she’d had on him was just as intense as it had been when he’d met her beneath the tree. The bolt of desire that had punched him in the gut was equally as powerful. The whoosh of air from his lungs had been none the less acute.
Time had slowed right down as she’d walked towards him, her gaze not leaving his for even a millisecond, and he’d been so mesmerised that instinct had taken over. Out of habit he’d got to his feet and he’d been this close to kissing her cheek when a great neon light had started flashing in his head, an intense sense of self-preservation pulling him back at the last minute.
For one thing, if he touched her he might not be able to stop, and for another, it hadn’t looked as if any sort of physical contact would be welcome. Carla’s expression as she’d approached him had been severe, her gaze unwaveringly cool and her mouth once again a firm, uncompromising line, which was...unexpected.
Disappointingly, she neither sounded nor looked like someone keen on exploring the searing attraction that had arced between them, but the night was young, by Italian standards, and, at the very least, the last three months had taught him patience.
Nevertheless he was going to need his wits about him if he was going to maintain control while convincing her that taking ownership of the attraction they shared and acting on it was a good idea, which was why he decided against ordering the bottle.
When their drinks arrived a few moments later, he watched Carla pick hers up, tip back half of it and sigh with appreciation.
‘Long day?’ he asked, noting the faint smudges of tiredness beneath her eyes and briefly thinking about all the other ways in which he’d make her sigh once she’d come round to his way of thinking.
‘Long week,’ she corrected. ‘I was in Hong Kong until ten o’clock last night their time.’
‘Work?’
‘Yes. I went straight from the airport to my flat to the christening, then did the whole journey in reverse, only ending up here instead of there.’
‘And now I’m flattered.’
She set her glass down and arched her eyebrow. ‘I wouldn’t be.’
‘What made you reassess my invitation?’ he said, rolling his own glass between his fingers, her spiky attitude once again only intensifying his interest. ‘I was under the impression that it would be a cold day in hell before you would have dinner with me.’
Her gaze dropped to his fingers for one oddly heart-stopping moment before slowly lifting back to his. ‘Toast and smashed avocado lost its appeal.’
‘Really?’
‘No,’ she said drily. ‘Of course not. Your visit was brief but devastating. You departed in a hurry and left chaos in your wake. I’d like to rectify that.’
‘Why?’
‘Finn is upset and Georgie’s my best friend. If he’s upset, she’s upset, and that upsets me.’
‘Enough to accept an impromptu invitation to dinner in Venice?’ He couldn’t even begin to imagine a relationship that deep.
‘Evidently so.’
‘That’s some loyalty,’ he said, although who was he to judge when he’d done a similar thing, compelled by an intuition he didn’t even understand?
‘It goes both ways.’
Not always. In his experience, loyalty was a fickle, one-sided thing that could destroy and traumatise. Life, he’d come to discover, went a lot more smoothly if you expected nothing from anyone and no one expected anything from you. Not that now was the moment to be thinking about the gang he’d joined as a youth and the mistaken belief he’d found a place to belong and a bunch of people who’d turn into family.
‘So you’re here to change my mind about meeting Finn,’ he said, ruthlessly suppressing the harrowing memories before they could force their way into his head and focusing on Carla instead.
‘Yes.’
‘And there was me thinking you were interested in my charm, my wit and my devastatingly good looks.’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘What a waste of a journey,’ he said, ignoring the tiny dent to his ego, since he had no doubt he’d be able to change her mind. He’d caught the flicker of heat in her shimmering green gaze when she’d looked at his hand a moment ago. He’d heard the barely-there hitch of her breath. Just as when they’d been talking by the tree earlier today, she wasn’t as uninterested in him as she was trying to make out.
‘Not at all,’ she said pleasantly. ‘If I can’t change your mind, I will find out as much as I can about you and report back.’
‘Good luck with that.’
‘Oh, I won’t need luck,’ she said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘I do a similar thing on a daily basis for work.’
‘I’m not one of your clients.’
‘You looked me up?’
He gave a brief nod. ‘I did. After leaving school at eighteen you went straight into an internship at the top PR firm in London at the time. Six years with them then you moved to your current company. You specialise in corporate damage limitation and crisis management. Your clients span the globe. Your reputation is stellar.’
‘You’ve done your research.’
‘I can’t be manipulated.’ Not any more.
‘Everyone can be manipulated,’ she said with a slight lift of her chin. ‘The trick is subtlety. To make them unaware of it. I’m very good at my job.’
‘So I understand,’ he said easily, knowing that no one would ever be good enough to prise out his secrets.
‘But I wouldn’t take you on as a client anyway,’ she said with a shrug and a sip of her drink.
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