A Dangerous Solace

by Lucy Ellis

  What did she wish? Too many things—and they came over her in a rush.

  To be the girl she had been on that long-ago night—softer, willing to share her feelings for the first and only time in her life, instead of being constantly on her guard against being attacked, ridiculed, exposed...let down.

  Her early years had taught her too many harsh lessons about showing vulnerability. About people taking advantage, not living up to their promises. She had applied those lessons to business and they had steered her well.

  But she had also applied them when she’d climbed out of his bed seven years ago, and right at this minute she wished with all her heart that she had made a different decision that morning—that against all odds something could have come of that night.

  Even more fancifully she wished for this to be a romantic trip away together, at the beginning of their relationship, when everything was full of possibility—and for him not to be a playboy, spoilt by too many women, and herself not to be a woman who prided herself on playing it safe.

  It was foolish, and her wistful expression was undoubtedly telling him everything she didn’t want him to know, and yet she couldn’t stop the feelings from rushing in...

  It was a shock when his expression unexpectedly hardened with determination.

  With a quiet, ‘Hold on,’ Gianluca angled the helicopter and without warning they swooped inland.

  At first she thought he was giving her a better look at the town clinging to the cliffs, and then she realised they were dropping down just below the mountain peak. Too low. Much, much too low.

  Ava’s pulse began to surge.

  Directly beneath them was a helipad above a grove of pines.

  With a sense of inevitability she realised she was going to get her wish. They were going to land.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE ENGINE CUT and the rotors slowed and whirred to a gradual halt. Gianluca whipped off his helmet, tackling his harness with the same economy of movement.

  ‘What’s going on? What are we doing here?’

  ‘I’ve got a meeting I should have taken in Rome today,’ he responded, as if he were stating the obvious. ‘I’ve decided to take it in Positano.’

  Ava’s mouth fell open. ‘You’re what?’

  But he was already leaping out, leaving her sitting harnessed to her seat. He’d done this on purpose. She felt sure he did everything on purpose to undermine and confuse her. Frustrated, Ava began tugging at the belts, getting herself hopelessly tangled up.

  She knew she was overreacting, but her own longings suddenly felt entirely too dangerous in this new situation.

  ‘This was not what we agreed to,’ she erupted as he came alongside her, his capable hands taking hold of the harness.

  ‘Relax, cara,’ he advised. She wasn’t sure if he meant over being kidnapped or to make it easier for him to unhook her.

  ‘The hard part’s over.’

  A little stunned that he’d recognised her fear of heights when she thought she’d hidden it so well, Ava held still long enough for him to unhook and free her. She wanted to slap away the hand he offered, but falling flat on her face wouldn’t be a good look, so she took the assistance he proffered and concentrated on disembarking.

  She wasn’t sure how it happened, but in stepping down she pitched forward. He caught her, and she was suddenly very conscious of her soft breasts pressed up against his hard chest. A memory of the last time they’d been this close flamed to mind. His hands settled on her hips. Her legs did a little wobble.

  ‘The hotel here is owned by a friend of mine,’ he was saying.

  She tried to wriggle free, but it only provided friction between them. Friction she didn’t need! His mouth felt far too close to her ear.

  ‘We relax, enjoy the amenities, you tell me about yourself and we go from there, si?’

  Go where? What was he talking about? She trembled as one of his hands drifted to her waist, tightened.

  He drew back, his eyes intent on hers.

  ‘Seven years is a long time, Ava. We have a lot of catching up to do.’

  Ava’s heart stuttered to a halt.

  What was he saying? Was he saying what she thought he was saying?

  She gave a little gasp. What was he doing with his hand? Somehow her shirt had come a little adrift of her pants and his rough, broad fingers slid underneath. She felt the firm press of his large dry palm shaping the indent of her waist and the flare of her hip under her waistband. Lightly stroking. His long fingers stretched higher over her ribs and Ava caught her breath, her breasts swelling, her nipples tightening with anticipation.

  ‘Stop it!’ she hissed. But she wasn’t quite sure who she was addressing, and there was a suspicious lack of force behind it.

  Two men were coming up the slope to the helipad from the gardens, their voices intruding, and with a powerfully intent look Gianluca released her and turned away to deal with them as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. When everything had just happened to her.

  She heard him issuing instructions in Italian, something about their luggage, and realised she was still just standing where he’d left her, with her shirt adrift, gazing stupidly after him.

  ‘Oh, good grief,’ she muttered, and rapidly began stuffing the hem of her shirt into her waistband, mortified. What was she doing, letting him feel her up like a teenage girl? Where was her dignity?

  She walked up to him and stopped a good metre away, arms folded. ‘What do you think you’re playing at, Benedetti?’

  He looked her up and down, as if everything about her amused him, but she saw he was noticing where a little of her shirt still hung loose. She tucked it in fast with her free hand, aware she hadn’t exactly been fighting him off.

  ‘Glad to see the flight hasn’t dented your charm, cara,’ he observed with a bit of a smile. ‘But next time you throw yourself into my arms give me fair warning and I’ll try to arrange it so we don’t have an audience.’

  Ava’s gaze shot to the men dealing with their luggage.

  ‘I did not throw myself at you,’ she hissed.

  But he was already heading down the steps.

  ‘I thought the idea was to get from A to B as efficiently as possible,’ she called after him.

  ‘This is most efficient. I conduct a little business; you enjoy a little down time; we keep each other company.’

  ‘Company?’

  He shrugged those wide shoulders.

  ‘My brother—’ she began, hurrying to keep up with his long strides.

  ‘Twenty-four hours ago you cared so little for your brother you refused to answer his phone calls.’

  Ava stared at his back in horror. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘What is more, you never had any intention of seeing him. I cannot help but wonder, cara, if this sudden overwhelming need to rush to his side has more to do with spending time with me.’

  Ava almost choked.

  ‘And, as I have already told you...’ He stopped and she almost ran into his back. As he turned around she backed up. ‘I am most happy to accommodate you.’

  ‘Accommodate me?’

  ‘My English...’ He shrugged, but she caught the amusement lurking in those golden eyes.

  His English was bloody perfect, she thought, feeling hot all over.

  She followed him out of the hot sun into a southern coastal garden, with a wide, sandy path underfoot, narrowing as it wound down through the trees. But Ava was too focussed on the lean, muscular physique of the man in front of her to pay it much mind.

  From his attitude he clearly expected her to fall into line with his wants and needs. Keep him company! She eyed his lean, muscular physique resentfully.

  He could find all the company he wanted, but it wouldn’t be hers.

  The minute she was in possession of her belongings again she would make arrangements and be out of here so fast he wouldn’t know what had hit his privileged behind.

  Unnecessarily her eyes were drawn to tha
t behind... Incredibly taut, it made a masterpiece of those fitted dark jeans.

  ‘I don’t know why you ever imagined I would let you get away with this,’ she called after him.

  He continued walking down the path, moving with that easy, wide-shouldered grace she could only envy. She hobbled behind him.

  ‘Bringing me here like some sort of concubine.’

  ‘You really need to get this imagination of yours under control, cara. I have a meeting.’

  ‘And I’ve already told you I don’t have an imagination. You’re unbelievable. You have a meeting. What about my meetings, my life? That’s all on hold!’

  ‘You are on holiday.’ He turned around and Ava tried not to be swayed by his warm eyes, his half tilted mouth. He looked completely relaxed, and she felt...she felt...

  ‘Yes, my holiday.’ She seized on the concept, veering away from those inconvenient longings. ‘And you’re such a Neanderthal you think you can just hijack it on a whim.’

  ‘That is the second time you have compared me to our early ancestors.’ He suddenly looked like a big cat, deciding whether to take a swipe.

  Ava felt a little uneasy. She hadn’t actually thought he was paying attention to her insults. How worried should she be that he was keeping score?

  ‘I wonder why,’ she shot back.

  ‘I have a contemporary outlook,’ he said simply.

  ‘Yes, that’s apparent,’ she snapped.

  He raised an enquiring brow.

  ‘You behave like...like a Roman Caesar. You have run roughshod over my wishes from the moment we met. You critique my clothes, as if as a woman I should only be dressing for a man!’

  ‘It is clear you do not,’ he responded, resuming his stride.

  Ava ignored him. ‘You behaved last night as if I’d committed a crime by informing you that we were previously—’ she cast about for a suitable neutral description for a night she had never forgotten and came up with ‘—acquainted.’

  ‘I was naturally cautious.’

  She snorted. ‘I’m sure you encounter predatory women all the time. How disappointing for you that I’m not one of them!’

  ‘Yes, we would possibly have less trouble now.’

  Brought up short, Ava frowned and halted. She wasn’t sure if there was an insult in that comment, or a backhanded compliment, but it was clear as day which sort of woman he’d prefer.

  ‘I feel sorry for you,’ she slung at his broad back. ‘Never knowing if a woman is interested in you or your bank balance.’

  He shrugged.

  ‘And you’re promiscuous. You lecture me, but you, Benedetti, are a playboy of the worst kind. You treat women like playthings. That sort of thinking went out in the Seventies, along with Sean Connery playing James Bond.’

  ‘Connery continued to play Bond into the Eighties,’ he inserted dryly as they approached a large gate cut like a keyhole into the stone wall. He gave her a shockingly charismatic smile over his shoulder. ‘But do go on. I would like to hear some more of your opinion of me.’

  He thought this was funny!

  ‘No, you wouldn’t. What you want is to be praised. All men do.’

  ‘All men? This would come from your vast experience of my sex, cara?’

  Ava looked around for a rock. She needed one heavy enough to cause some damage when she threw it at his head.

  He turned, folding his arms across his chest. ‘Tell me about all these men.’

  Ava suddenly wished she’d slept with a hundred men. She wished she had put the last seven years to better use. Right at this very moment it seemed as if bed-hopping would have been a far better utilisation of her time than attaching herself to a dull, self-effacing man and building a business with a national reputation.

  She gritted her teeth.

  ‘I don’t know how you dare to stand in judgement on my sex life when your own is nothing to brag about.’

  He gestured with one hand, as if he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. ‘What is this bragging?’

  Ava didn’t know. She didn’t really know anything about him other than how he made her feel. Out of her depth, out of bounds, a little crazy.

  Passionate.

  Her thoughts came to a juddering halt. Look at me, she thought, a little light-headedly. Burning up like a firework ever since he came strolling back into my life...

  ‘It’s obvious you’re proud of your reputation,’ she rattled on, desperately holding on to her anger. Because this man might have strolled in, but he would also stroll out. Guys like Benedetti didn’t stick.

  ‘You think sleeping with hundreds of women makes you such a man, when really all it makes you is cheap.’

  He had been watching her with a slight smile, his big shoulders relaxed, as if she were providing some form of impromptu entertainment, but her last words had hit their mark, because the smile got lost and his jaw hardened.

  Right—good. Ava realised she had unconsciously balled up her hands into fists.

  ‘Yes, cheap—to be had by anyone if she hitches up her skirt and bats her eyelashes at you.’

  He closed the space between them and Ava had to force herself to hold her ground. The scent of him took up an assault on her hormones, making her a little dizzy.

  ‘As I recall you did both those things last night,’ he said in a low voice, his eyes moving over her face, ‘and yet still I refused you.’

  His words went through her like an Italian stiletto knife, right under the ribs.

  ‘Well, lucky me,’ she forced out airlessly. ‘What a near miss.’

  He bent his head just slightly, because he was already worryingly close, and his breath feathered her ear.

  ‘Nowhere near, cara,’ he said.

  Three little words and everything—her stomach, her anger and her somehow connected fizz of arousal—all dropped away with a clang.

  He turned around and unlocked the gate, giving it a good shove. He seemed angry all of a sudden. He had no right to be. She was the one being pushed around, insulted.

  Yet suddenly all she felt was shut out.

  The gate creaked and the door broke open onto a brightly lit road outside. He walked through and waited for her on the other side.

  Ava came blinking out into the bright southern light. It was hot, but she felt cold, and her attention wasn’t on her surroundings. It was on his words.

  Feeling a little lost, she found herself blurting out her uncertainties.

  ‘I did not come on to you. I did not bat my eyes and—and lift up my skirt.’

  ‘As you say.’

  ‘I might have been drunk last night, but I’d remember that.’

  ‘Si, you were.’

  ‘Were what?’

  ‘Drunk.’

  Ava tried to shake off the feeling that she had lost something she’d almost had her hand on for a moment in that garden.

  ‘Oh, and you were such a gentleman!’

  ‘Yes, I was.’

  He said it with such lethal quiet that she shivered and really didn’t want to hear what came next. She watched him walk ahead of her down the winding road. A vista of pine treetops and a glimpse of blue sea lay before them. It was so incredibly lovely, but all Ava wanted to do was grab him and shake him and...and prove to him there was something between them.

  The realisation brought her up short.

  Was that what this was all about? Was he right? Was she here because she did want to spend more time with him?

  ‘I did not take advantage of you,’ he repeated, ‘and yet you harp on about it as if you are disappointed, cara. You can’t have it both ways. Either you attempted to avail yourself of this reputation of mine you speak of, or you drank so much alcohol last night you no longer cared. I can’t say that either of those scenarios reflect well on you, but go ahead and choose and we will abide by that version.’

  Ava gaped at him. The sun suddenly felt harsh and unbearable, beating down on the back of her vulnerable neck.

  She began to j
og a little to keep up with him.

  ‘It wasn’t like that at all. You’ve just twisted everything!’

  He shrugged, boredom implicit in the gesture. ‘I am no longer interested in any of this, Ava. If you want to justify your own behaviour go and talk it out with a therapist—isn’t that what women like you do?’

  ‘Women like me?’ she parroted.

  ‘Highly strung, too much time on your hands, with sexual needs that obviously aren’t being met.’

  Ava absorbed the impact of his opinion of her. It was wrong. It was so wrong. He had it all wrong.

  But somehow in that moment she thought he might be right.

  * * *

  Playboy. Lothario. User of women. Slave to his libido.

  Where did she get this from?

  He unlocked the doors and shoved them open, waiting for the dust to settle before he moved inside.

  Anyone who hitches up her skirt and bats her eyelashes...

  Yet he’d heard those words before, hadn’t he? And from thinner, far harsher lips.

  His father, yelling so hard his face had turned puce. Spittle hitting the wall. Himself, seven years younger—a lifetime ago, it seemed now, shoving his broad young shoulders back and, for the first time in their disastrous relationship, giving back as good as he got. Better. He was signing a second contract with the Italian team, he had no intention of doing military service, and as for his social life if he wanted to screw every last woman in Rome he’d give it his best shot.

  Was that when the pains had started? Had his unnatural colour been the first sign? Could he have stepped in even then, put his arm around his father, eased him into a chair, fetched the doctor, an ambulance—assistance?

  It was never going to go away—the guilt—and damn Ava Lord for bringing it all up again.

  He’d left her on the roadside, not trusting himself with her until his temper cooled off. He’d had to get off the mountain, and the usual scenic way—the steps that plunged down the side of a cliff to the road below—was not available to a woman who turned milk-white a hundred feet in the air.

  Maybe that was why he’d landed them both on the coast—the gesture of a man who was used to women falling in with his plans, no questions asked. He’d stumbled badly there. But that glimpse of vulnerability in the air had made him want to look after her.