He stood up and walked to the other end of the plane. It was only a small space, but he needed to put some distance between himself and her before every shred of reason or responsibility deserted him. There was no use in trying to kid himself that he was spouting A-level physics to reassure her, when he was all too aware it was just another tactic to divert his own mind from the much more interesting path it seemed hell-bent on taking.
‘.which overcomes the drag of the air against the plane. The difference in air pressure on the upper and lower surfaces of the wing creates enough lift to support the weight of the plane in the sky. It all comes down to the friction between the opposing forces.’
She gave him a tiny, wicked smile. ‘Ah, why didn’t you say that at the start? Friction between opposing forces is something I understand perfectly. Thank you, Professor. Your mission has been successful.’
* * *
Below them the Appennine landscape looked calm and tranquil. Raphael wished he could say the same for his own emotions.
No, he corrected himself. Not emotions. Hormones. Pheromones. Whatever else it was that made a man want to grab a woman and lose himself in her scent, her kisses, the pleasures of her body.
Her perfume, the same one that had shrouded him in warmth last night while he had been sleeping, was tantalising him now, affecting his ability to think clearly.
And there was a lot he needed to think about. Since his conversation with Marco he’d been desperately trying to come up with some way of moving the investigation into Luca’s drug dealing forward, and an idea had been growing at the back of his mind.
Deliberately he turned his face away from Eve, and with enormous self-control marshalled his thoughts.
Catalina was still living in Venice. She had returned to her home-town, where her parents still lived, after her break-up with Luca, to get over her drug addiction with their support and make a clean break from her old life. Raphael still had their number, and had made occasional contact with them over the past two years to enquire after Catalina’s progress.
Maybe it was time to get in touch again.
He wasn’t sure that Signora Di Souza would allow it, but if he could just meet up with Catalina maybe he could persuade her to give evidence against Luca and step into the breach left by the dead girl. But could he be sure he wouldn’t be putting her in danger?
Raphael’s relationship with Catalina had lasted just over two years, and, in spite of the fact that it had been Catalina who had walked out on him, he had always taken responsibility for the break-up himself. He had been too cold, too unwilling to commit. ‘Emotionally frozen,’ she had called him as she had hurled her bags into Luca’s waiting car.
She was right, of course. No wonder she had fallen for the laughing, charming Luca, whose extravagant romantic gestures were no doubt matched by effusive romantic words.
It must have been like travelling from Siberia to the Seychelles. But it had turned out to be a very poisoned paradise. Within six months Catalina had lost her contract with Lazaro as evidence of her drug habit became impossible to hide. She was lucky to have escaped Luca’s clutches before she lost her life.
The rolling fields and verdant hillsides of Emilia Romagna were now giving way to the flatter land around the Venetian lagoon. Raphael glanced up at Eve to tell her that they were nearly there, but the words dried in his mouth. She had kicked off her sandals and was curled up in the corner of the sofa, her laptop balanced on her knee, her glasses perched on the end of her nose. In between bursts of typing she absent-mindedly twisted a lock of hair around one finger. She looked unbearably young.
His insides gave a painful twist of longing, and he had to clench his hands into fists just to stop himself from reaching out and stroking the delicately pale arch of her instep, which was just inches from his thigh on the scarlet leather.
At that moment she moved, putting the laptop to one side and stretching like a contented cat. Leaning over to the fruit bowl on the table, she picked out an apple, then, glancing up, saw him watching her and held it out to him.
‘Do you want it?’
Her voice was husky from not speaking for a while, her expression artlessly, unconsciously inviting.
He gritted his teeth and forced a smile, hiding his discomfort behind a mask of irony.
‘No, thanks. I may not be the kind of devout Catholic Fiora would like me to be, but even I know better than to accept an apple from a woman called Eve.’
Venice was a city for lovers, Eve thought wistfully, gazing out from the vaporetto at the couples walking over bridges and in and out of narrow alleyways, their arms wrapped around each other in sensual intimacy.
Since getting off the jet, Raphael had hardly spoken a word to her. His mind was clearly somewhere else. Or maybe it was just on someone else. He was probably remembering all the other times he’d visited Venice, with various glamorous, interesting women who wouldn’t blush under the flirtatious banter of the vaporetto man, or jump so much they nearly fell into the canal when he took their hand to help them into the boat.
Out of the air-conditioned interior of the plane the air was as thick and sticky as warm honey, so it was a relief to feel the breeze in her hair as the boat moved through the water. At least she was here, she thought, in an attempt to be positive. She had wanted to visit Venice for as long as she could remember, though she had always imagined it would be with someone very significant.
Which, she realised with an agonising stab of despair, in a way it was.
Raphael dragged his gaze away from her and sighed inwardly. Venice was as grimy and glorious as ever, but he kept finding his eyes returning to Eve, enjoying her reaction to the sights more than the sights themselves. The emotions were so easy to read on her face—excitement, alarm, sadness, wistfulness—that he found himself constantly wondering what she was thinking.
And that was a dangerous path to go down.
She was probably eyeing up the local talent, he thought darkly. There were plenty of examples of Venice’s beautiful youth to admire, and she was barely more than a teenager, per l’amore di Dio. That was what girls her age did.
He gritted his teeth and looked around, suddenly impatient to be off the boat and out of such close proximity with her. Tonight they would attend the awards ceremony, which would at least provide the relative safety of a crowd, and tomorrow he would make his excuses and go and meet Catalina. That done, they could return to Florence—hopefully with some good news for Marco.
‘We get off here,’ he said suddenly.
The vaporetto came to a rocky halt beside a small jetty. Bewildered, Eve followed Raphael, reluctantly taking the hand he held out to her as she stepped onto the wooden boards. He didn’t meet her eye, dropping her hand again as soon as he decently could.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, having to run a little to catch up with him as he walked off.
‘Shopping.’
‘Oh … What for?’
‘I thought you said you had nothing to wear tonight?’ ‘Yes, but …’
She was almost running to keep up with him, and in the sultry afternoon heat it was unbearable. She lost her temper.
‘Would you just please stop for a minute? I’ve had enough! We are not going shopping! For one thing I can’t aff—’
‘Here we are.’ He stopped abruptly in front of a shop displaying the kind of clothes Eve had only seen on Hollywood’s darlings on Oscars night. A stunning gown of midnight-blue taffeta studded with starry clusters of diamonds fell with effortless glamour from the flawless plastic shoulders of a disdainful-looking mannequin. The next thing Eve knew he had opened the door and swept her inside.
‘Raphael,’ she said, anger and embarrassment fighting within her. ‘I said I—’
But the glamorous shop assistant was already beside them. Her face was almost as chillingly perfect as the model’s in the window, but it broke into a seductive feline smile at the sight of Raphael.
‘Signor di Lazaro, bentornato. It
has been such a long time since we have seen you.’
‘Grazie, Claudia. I know it’s short notice, but I wonder if you can find something for my friend here, for tonight?’
‘The photography awards? You are very naughty to leave it so late, but I’m sure we can find something.’ She turned to Eve, looking her over with dark, appraising eyes. ‘This way, please.’
At the back of the shop Raphael deliberately turned his back on the row of changing cubicles and, sinking into one of the vast cream sofas, picked up a newspaper from the coffee table. Claudia understood her wealthy clients as perfectly as she understood fashion, and she had gone to considerable trouble to create an oasis where weary husbands would be only too happy to wait while their wives tried on clothes. The espresso machine was state-of-the-art, a plasma screen TV dominated one wall, and every imaginable publication—from the finance papers to tasteful top-shelf magazines—was represented in the pile of reading material.
It was an area designed exclusively for relaxation. So why did he feel as wound up as a racehorse under starter’s orders?
In Columbia he’d found himself in situations that had been volatile and dangerous, but he’d never once felt at a loss as to how to react. He knew what he had to do, and he had no difficulty whatsoever in doing it, whatever the danger. How stupidly ironic that he should come home and find himself in a situation where he knew very well the right thing to do, but found himself ridiculously incapable of controlling his impulses to do the opposite.
In the changing cubicle Eve was still protesting, her soft, musical voice slightly breathless as Claudia ushered her out of her clothes. ‘Raphael—listen. I can’t afford to buy—’
‘I’m not asking you to buy anything,’ he said irritably. ‘I’m dragging you to this event, so the least I can do is buy you something to wear.’
There was a little pause. When she spoke again her voice was slightly muffled, and he realised she must be taking her top off over her head.
‘And what if I won’t let you?’
He felt himself smile. ‘You could always go in what you had on this morning.’
He heard her small gasp. The smile died on his face as lust kicked him in the ribs.
‘Bellisima, signorina.’ Claudia’s voice reached him, the approval in her tone clearly audible. ‘It looks beautiful on you. It certainly is a dress that makes a statement.’
‘It’s the statement it makes that worries me,’ he heard Eve murmur. ‘Something along the lines of Take me, I’m yours.’
Raphael thrust a hand through his hair. ‘It sounds perfect,’ he called out drily, trying to make light of the uncomfortable tension that was growing inside him. ‘Am I going to be allowed to see it?’
‘Uh-uh. No way. It’s coming off right this second.’
Gritting his teeth against the vivid images that conjured up in his overwrought mind, he steeled himself not to turn round and stared stonily ahead.
But he hadn’t noticed that the vast mirror in front of him reflected the row of changing cubicles. Beneath the door of the central one he could see a pair of smooth brown calves and slim ankles, and before his tortured gaze there was a slither of red as a dress slipped to the floor.
Hypnotised, he watched her step out of it on delicate feet.
It was the most perfectly erotic thing he’d ever seen.
He swallowed painfully, unable to tear his eyes away from the mirror. Each one of his senses was on hyper-alert, so that the rustle of silk as Eve slipped into another dress was almost unbearably tantalising, and the sound of the zip was like a physical caress. He found himself gazing helplessly at her small, highly-arched feet, watching her lift her toes, then rise up onto tiptoe for a moment before she stood still again.
There was a moment of silence, which was broken by Claudia’s voice.
‘Good. But you need to take your bra off to get the proper effect.’
Raphael shut his eyes and leaned his head back on the soft cream upholstery, crucified by desire. In his head he could picture the soft fullness of her breasts as she had stood by the pool that morning, naked, and furious as a kitten. Even when she was angry she had a fierce sweetness that just made him want to gather her up and kiss her quiet, as he had done in the street, when he’d seen her with Luca. He adored the way her clear turquoise eyes darkened almost to aquamarine, intensified by the prim librarian glasses she wore. ‘Signore? Ready?’
Claudia stood back and held open the door.
The dress was made of gunmetal-grey silk, strapless and unadorned. As Raphael’s eyes travelled slowly over Eve’s body he felt as if the air was being slowly squeezed out of his lungs and replaced with lead. Her lovely feet had been encased into high-heeled grey satin shoes that made her long legs seem endless. Her hips swelled sensuously beneath the dull sheen of the silk, her slender waist was nipped in, and her glorious, voluptuous breasts spilled out of the top of the boned bodice in hour-glass perfection. Claudia had pinned up her hair and added a dark stain of lipstick to her mouth, giving it a sensuality that was almost indecent.
She looked beautiful. And sophisticated. And glamorous. And he hated it.
Eve’s heart was in her mouth as she stood in front of him. Maybe now he would take her seriously. Maybe now she would be the kind of woman who could seduce a man properly.
He stood up slowly and took a step towards her, his face as cold and hard as granite. Time seemed to stand still as his eyes moved over her and she waited for him to speak.
He said nothing. But then he didn’t have to. His face said it all.
‘You like it, signore?’ asked Claudia nervously.
‘It’s fine,’ he said tonelessly and, turning on his heel, strode off to wait at the cash desk.
White-faced and trembling, Eve fled back into the changing room.
CHAPTER NINE
AS SHE walked out of the boutique Eve’s glance was a blast of winter in the sweltering afternoon. Angrily she handed him the large, stiff-sided carrier containing the dress.
‘As you insisted on buying the damn thing, you can carry it,’ she said icily.
Without speaking Raphael took the bag and walked away. Eve had no choice but to follow.
The sky was the colour of a bruise as they made their way through calles and campos still busy with summer tourists and couples walking slowly, hand in hand. The melancholy beauty of the place added to Eve’s utter despair as she hurried through the crowd in Raphael’s wake. They seemed to be the only people who were rushing—everyone else moved at the leisurely pace of holidaymakers or with the languor of lovers. The anger that had pulsed through her in the shop as she’d torn the dress off and savagely scrubbed away every trace of the lipstick began to ebb away, but she tried desperately to hang onto it, knowing that underneath it there was nothing but a deep well of hurt and confusion.
They had reached a vast, wide-open square, surrounded by colonnaded buildings. As they made their way across it Eve suddenly realised why it seemed familiar. Familiar, and yet powerfully, breathtakingly unexpected in its scale and beauty. She stopped.
‘Saint Mark’s Square,’ she breathed in awe.
Raphael turned round and saw her standing still, lost in wonder in the middle of the square. She was herself again: sweet, fresh-faced, all traces of the sophisticated beauty that had so unnerved him scrubbed away. His heart twisted painfully inside him.
‘Something wrong?’
‘No. I hadn’t realised where we were, that’s all.’ ‘Piazza San Marco. Home of the most expensive cappuccino in the world,’ he said scornfully. ‘It’s amazing.’
‘It certainly is. Amazing that tourists continue to fall for it.’
The sky had darkened slightly, lending a strange yellowish quality to the afternoon light. The heat was stifling now, and from out in the lagoon there was a distant rumble of thunder that made the crowds of people scattered around the square begin to disperse in search of shelter. Only Eve and Raphael did not move.
It was as
if all the energy of the building storm was concentrated in the air that crackled between them. Eve’s eyes flashed with fury.
‘Of course I wouldn’t expect you to find it in the slightest bit impressive or beautiful. You’re completely above all that, aren’t you, Raphael?
‘Beauty?’ he said softly. ‘No. When it comes to real beauty I’m as much a fool as anyone else.’ He took a step towards her, his face dangerously still apart from a muscle twitching in his jaw. ‘What I can’t stand is when it’s cheapened and flaunted for the masses.’
She gave a little gasp as the viciousness of his words stung her.
‘You bastard. You throw the Lazaro millions around like some sadistic fairy godmother, trying to turn me into Cinderella just so I won’t show you up at this bloody ceremony, and then you complain when you don’t like the results! Well, I’m afraid you just made a really bad investment. I’m not one of your glossy, glamorous, gorgeous women, and I never will be!’
The first fat drops of rain were beginning to fall from the livid sky. His face was pale in the unearthly light, but he gave a short, humourless laugh and dragged his hands through his hair.
‘You just don’t get it, do you? I don’t want you to be one of my “glossy, glamorous women”, for God’s sake!’
She looked at him as if he’d just hit her, then with an agonised sob turned to run away. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back, just as a monumental flash of lightning cracked the sky.
‘You don’t want me? Then stop playing games with me and leave me alone!’ she screamed. ‘If you don’t want me, just bloody let me go!’
‘No!’ The word came from him in a jagged cry. ‘I don’t want you to be turned into one of those women because you’re perfect the way you are! Eve, you’re—’
But he didn’t finish, because somehow his lips had found hers and he was kissing her as if his life depended on it. The warm rain mingled with the tears on her face, and she tasted of salt and earth and something pure and indefinable that was the essence of Eve, and he drank it in like a man who had been without water for days.
Latin Lovers: Italian Playboys Page 44