The Italian Next Door...

by Anna Cleary

  He frowned. No doubt she’d receive other offers before the end of the day, though he hoped she wouldn’t accept any of them. For her sake he hoped she’d choose the bus. With the degrees of human inventiveness for evil he’d witnessed over the years he began to doubt if any woman should travel alone, anywhere.

  He scanned the suspects coming and going around him. How many of these innocent-looking pillars of society were engaged in criminal activity?

  It weighed a man down, this constant policing. Lately, wherever he looked he saw corruption. Sometimes he wished he could shrug it all off like an unwanted skin. Forget about crime and rid his mind of terrorism threats, narcotics, human trafficking, credit-card fraud and the constant thievery of national treasures. Just relax and enjoy a vacation like anyone else. Enjoy a pretty woman and take her at face value.

  And what a face. He sighed.

  Waking suddenly to his surroundings, Valentino noticed that the car-hire queue had swelled in number, while even more people were flocking to the neighbouring booths. He tapped his uncle’s elbow to alert him to the rush, but by the time the old boy inserted himself into the line it was too late.

  Da Vinci Auto was all out of cars.

  ‘Per carita,’ his uncle wailed, slapping his forehead. ‘Now it’s a bus strike. First the trains, now the buses. What’s the country coming to? What are we to do?’

  At once Valentino’s thoughts switched to the Australiana. What would she do? He felt a twinge of remorse about his intervention, though he’d only acted for the best. It was his duty as a citizen to uphold public safety, surely.

  Though if she was stranded he couldn’t help feeling some responsibility. He weighed his car keys in his hand.

  * * *

  Pia received the news like a blow.

  The drivers were meeting, the harassed attendant explained earnestly to the small angry crowd before the bus link counter. Everything was on hold.

  Exactly what Pia didn’t want to hear. On hold was what her life had been for more than half a year, and she’d come all this way across the world, determined to break out of her security cocoon, plunge back into sweet lovely life and wring from it every last ounce of pleasure and excitement.

  None of it could happen until she escaped from the numbing blandness of airport world.

  Groaning about what could be a wait of potential days, she collapsed onto a chair and closed her eyes. As usual there was a man at the root of her troubles. She should have been cruising along the Amalfi coastline by now. If only she hadn’t engaged in conversation with the guy. She should have ignored his eyebrows, never even made eye contact.

  Maybe it was an omen and she’d made a terrible mistake agreeing to house-sit for Lauren. Then she chided herself for that backsliding thought.

  Concentrate on the positive. She’d come a long way from that timid mouse who’d cowered inside her terrace in Balmain day and night, padlocks on the doors and all the lights turned on. Every night the same predictable curry in the microwave. Every night, her lonely bed all to herself.

  She’d made great strides since that first conscious decision to grasp life in both hands and plunge in again with a hopeful heart and positive attitude. Her spirits, her confidence had lifted a thousandfold. How else could she have walked onto the plane? She’d even come round to thinking it was time to chance her luck again with the other species, though she’d be more careful this time.

  Where she’d gone wrong had been in allowing herself to fall in love and trust the love to last into the future ad infinitum. Big mistake.

  It was time for a brand-new paradigm. Love was a madness that ended in tears. Much better to be fond of someone, love them while they were fun, leave them on a high note. And no more of these slick, fast-talking, sport-obsessed guys who loved a woman when she was well and whole, as long as she looked good enough to flash around at friends’ parties.

  She’d ensure her next man had a vestige of sensitivity. So he might not be a tall, blond sex-god with rippling muscles. She was prepared, quite prepared, to look for someone less athletic. Big strong men were too domineering, anyway.

  Yeah. The more she considered the subject, the more she felt ready for some sweet, gentle guy with a slighter build who didn’t much care for sport. Who needed handsome? Handsome men were only too likely to be arrogant, egotistical narcissists who saw women as prey. Fine for the occasional fling, perhaps, the odd wild weekend of passion, but in the long term on a day-to-day basis she’d be much better off with someone who could understand her. Perhaps someone from the arts who shared the creative temperament. A sculptor. Maybe even a musician.

  She picked up a newspaper someone had left on the seat and tried to fathom one of the front-page stories with the remnants of her high-school Italian. From what she could make out, some enterprising thief had stolen another little-known painting from a museum in Cairo. A Monet, this time. There was a photo of the picture, which couldn’t have done it justice. From its grainy quality she could just make out some reeds and a couple of water lilies.

  Her sparse Italian wasn’t up to interpreting the finer details, so after a minute she cast the paper aside and lifted her feet to stretch out along the seats with her head on her arm. Closing her eyes, she made herself concentrate on the future.

  Beautiful Positano, where no one knew that eleven months ago in the Balmain branch of the Unity Bank a man in a ski mask had shoved a gun into the side of her head and made her believe she was going to die.

  Thank heavens for this opportunity to escape to a place where no one would ever dream how for a time that little drama had changed her entire life. What a wimp she’d been for months. One minute there she’d been, swanning through her reckless life with total disregard for what was around the corner, taking pleasure in her man, her friends, her blossoming work, her growing reputation, while the next minute…

  Until then she’d never known a thing about stress. It had come as a complete shock to her when, after the incident at the bank, all her mild little anxieties and cautions, the same ones everyone needed to keep themselves alive and well, had crept out of the woodwork and morphed into monstrous great phobias.

  Who’d ever have guessed it could happen to a cool sassy femme like herself? Unbelievably, she’d lost her renowned chutzpah and become scared of falling, drowning, crossing the road, being poisoned by unwashed lettuce, eaten by dogs and dying young. And, of course, big strong men in ski masks.

  Imagine her, Pia Renfern, up-and-coming landscape painter and portraitist, accepted as a bona fide exhibiting member of the Society, giving into fear. But to be struck by the worst tragedy of all and lose her ability to paint.

  As always when she thought of it, her stomach churned into a knot. But with a determined effort she fought the nauseous feeling. She needed to be positive and see the glass as half full. The horrible time was past. She was strong again and most of her anxieties had retreated back to their lairs. Only occasionally did one still leap out and surprise her.

  Now she only had her painting block to contend with, and, thanks to Lauren, Positano would give her the kick-start she needed. Once there, faced with all that beauty, she felt sure she’d be inspired to paint again.

  She’d barely managed five dozy minutes of concentrating on the positive before she felt a looming presence.

  She knew who it was. Even before she looked her pulse started an erratic gallop.

  She opened her eyes, then had to narrow them to shut out as much of the view as possible. How could black hair, strong brows and deep, dark, glowing eyes be so dazzling?

  Her wild pulse registered his mouth. Michelangelo might well have taken pride in having chiselled those meltingly stern, masculine lines. For a second her resolution to only consider slighter, more sensitive men wavered.

  Until she remembered. She frowned, then sat up with graceful unconcern. ‘Oh, it’s you. The man who interferes.’

  He inclined his head. ‘Valentino Silvestri.’

  His eyes wer
e serious now, cool, and though he curled his tongue around the r with devastating charm, his manner was brisk. A charged purposeful energy buzzed in the air around him.

  ‘I’m about to leave for Positano.’ He glanced at his watch. A telling movement, because it required him to push up the sleeve of his shirt and reveal his bronzed sinewy wrist. ‘Depending on the traffic, I expect to arrive there soon after midday.’

  There were black curly hairs on the wrist, and more poking from beneath his cuff. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to imagine there might be more on his chest.

  With an effort she dragged her glance away. ‘Why are you telling me?’

  ‘You need the transportation. I am Italian, and it is the desire of our nation to welcome visitors and make them happy. So…?’

  ‘I doubt if you could make me happy.’

  He relaxed and laughed, a low sexy laugh, his white teeth contrasting with his olive tan. ‘Ah, signorina. You so encourage me to try.’ He produced a set of car keys from his jeans pocket and dangled them in front of her. ‘At least allow me to make some amends for spoiling your chances to hire the car.’

  Ah, now that was better. She started to feel slightly more forgiving. Still, though her body was giving her chaotic signals and her travel options were nil, her response was immediate.

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘No? You’re sure? Fast car, good driver, safe trip?’

  She shook her head.

  He was silent a moment, frowning, then a gleam shone in his eyes. ‘Did I mention that my uncle, aunt and cousin will be coming along?’ With a gesture he directed her gaze to the family group she’d seen hugging him a few minutes earlier. They stood several metres away by the escalator with a pile of luggage, looking her way with avid curiosity. Even the sullen boy seemed halfway interested.

  ‘Oh, them?’ Pia appraised them, doubtfully at first, then with her heart leaping up in sudden hope. ‘Really?’

  A few months ago being crammed into a car with a bunch of strangers, forced to make small talk, would have been her idea of hell, but today… The family looked to be the essence of safe, solid respectability. Was this her chance to escape from the airport and break out into the world of grass, sky and fresh air?

  She eyed Valentino, awaiting her response with apparent patience. What was his motive? Remorse? Something else? ‘I don’t know… Though I guess… Are you sure—it wouldn’t be an intrusion?’

  He made an amused grimace. ‘It would be a relief.’

  ‘They won’t mind?’

  ‘They’ll be fascinated.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to impede your conversation with your family, or…or your—your privacy in any way…’

  ‘You couldn’t if you tried.’

  ‘Oh, well, then. Thanks.’ She stood up, smoothed down her clothes, picked up her bag. ‘Thanks very much. Though you—you do know this is just a lift, er—Valentino. Nothing more than that.’

  His brows lifted. ‘Scusi, signorina? What else would it be?’ He tilted his head with an expression of polite inquiry, and she felt a pang. Had she been crass to spell it out?

  ‘I was just—ensuring that you—understand…’

  His expression grew grave and quite dignified, as if she was insulting his honour, his reputation, his very heart and soul. She nearly had to pinch herself. Wasn’t this the same bold devil who’d been flirting with her only half an hour since?

  ‘Look, I—I just need to be clear you know that…this is not a pick-up.’

  Looking totally mystified, he drew his black brows together. ‘A pick-up. What is this pick-up? Is it an Australian thing?’

  She flushed and shook her head. ‘No, no. It’s… Look, it’s when…’

  It homed in on her at last that despite his beautiful accent up until now he had really quite excellent English. She stared suspiciously at his solemn, intent face, noting the sly glint in his brilliant dark eyes. ‘You know exactly what I mean, don’t you?’

  He grinned in acknowledgement, then broke into a laugh, his eyes lighting with amusement at her chagrin.

  ‘I might know, signorina.’

  ‘Fine.’ She let out an exasperated breath. ‘Well. So long as you understand I’m accepting this lift purely as a—a—an emergency and I have no intention of being taken for a ride. And it’s Pia.’

  He shot her a keen glance, then his luxuriant black lashes swept smilingly down.

  ‘Pia,’ he echoed. ‘Bella. I am charmed.’

  He was charmed. Well, she might have been a little that way herself, although at the same time she was churned up, confused and irritated. Did he think a woman’s concern for her personal safety was a joke?

  She took the hand he offered her, but briefly. As soon as his hard palm brushed hers her overreactive skin cells leaped like flying fish on ecstasy. And her hand continued to tingle as she trundled her baggage beside him to where the family waited by the escalator.

  He said, ‘So long as you understand that I will be doing the driving.’ His eyes gleamed, but there was a definiteness in his tone that brooked no argument.

  ‘What a surprise.’ She rolled her eyes, while inside her giddy pulse was rushing like storm water.

  CHAPTER TWO

  VALENTINO SILVESTRI drove fast, switching from lane to lane and cutting a path into tiny impossible crevices amongst the traffic with blithe disregard for the nerves of his passengers. Pia clung to her seat belt, enduring the aunt’s penetrating voice and trying not to dwell on the possibilities of dying young.

  The aunt had directed the seating arrangement, guarding her menfolk by steering her husband into the front passenger seat and planting her solid self in the back between Pia and the sulky boy. Pia envied the boy his earphones, but resisted retreating to her own for fear of causing offence.

  During a rare lull in the conversation Valentino’s deep dark eyes sought Pia’s briefly in the rear vision mirror and he said in his ravishingly accented voice, ‘So, Pia, why have you abandoned Australia for Italy?’

  ‘I’m here to house-sit for my cousin.’ Pia had to raise her voice a little to be heard. ‘Lauren’s a photographer. She’s gone to Nepal with a film crew to shoot a snow leopard. Maybe you know her. Lauren Renfern?’

  Valentino shook his head. ‘Is she a recent arrival? I haven’t been in Positano for some time.’

  ‘She’s lived there just over a year.’

  ‘There are so many newcomers now we don’t know our own town,’ the aunt chimed in. ‘But you will be very happy. Of course, you will go to Pompeii. Herculaneum is another very fine site. And you must join the climb to Vesuvius, shouldn’t she, amore? Vesuvius is a marvellous experience.’

  ‘And Capri,’ her husband added, turning to encourage Pia. ‘All the turisti go to Capri. You will love it.’

  ‘Shh,’ the aunt hissed, poking her husband and nodding towards Valentino with a frown. In a murmur she added, ‘Have you no respect?’

  Pia glanced at Valentino in surprise. Why shouldn’t Capri be mentioned, or was it the fact of her being a tourist that was the trouble? She saw his sensuous mouth tighten a little in the mirror, but that was the only sign he gave of having heard the aunt’s murmur. A moment later Pia’s gaze accidentally collided with his, and his dark eyes were so compelling, so sensual she forgot everything except the sudden mad rushing in her veins.

  That was why it was such a shock when, just as the first glimpses of the Bay of Napoli hoved into view, the aunt received a call on her cell phone and startled everyone with the announcement that her beloved Maria had started in labour. It was an emergency, the agitated woman declared. She was sorry, but there was no help for it. The journey must be halted and they must speed to her daughter’s side at once.

  There was no option but to alter the itinerary, so at the first available exit they diverted from the autostrada and drove into Napoli, where Valentino deposited the family with all their baggage in the entrance to Maria’s apartment building.

  With their departure a b
lissful silence descended over the car. While Valentino said his farewells, Pia stayed in her seat, staring out at the busy, ancient, narrow street, craning up at the tall buildings, a sudden tension in her nerves. An anticipation.

  What now? Now she would be alone with him?

  She saw his tall frame turn to stroll back and a shiver thrilled down her spine.

  Valentino paused with his hand on the door handle. A curious sensation charged his blood. His passenger hadn’t moved from her corner. Was she so wary of him?

  With measured calm he got in, reached for the ignition, then turned to examine her.

  Her blue eyes met his frankly, a little defiantly. He felt his blood quicken. He had no wish to make her feel vulnerable, but she was so pretty. He’d hardly be human not to feel excited by the situation.

  Pia sensed the air tauten. Suddenly she felt as if she were hanging over the edge of a cliff.

  He lifted his brows. ‘So…are you staying over there?’ His eyes were coolly amused, questioning, then he pointed at the seat next to his.

  On a surge of adrenaline, Pia overruled the sudden tension in her limbs. She reasoned that men were probably like horses and dogs. The last thing a woman should do was to give out some crazy vibe of being nervous. As soon as she acknowledged the threat, the threat would become real.

  What was there to be nervous about, anyway? Just because he’d looked at her once or twice as if she were a strawberry tartlet didn’t mean he was planning to speed her to the nearest lonely bush track to have his ruthless way with her. He’d hardly engineered the current situation. It was fate who had gone to such great trouble to arrange it, bringing on babies and all.

  So long as fate didn’t get carried away. So long as he didn’t.

  As she slid into the seat next to his and he reached across to assist her in finding the seat buckle her heightened senses caught the faintest tang of clean, spicy masculinity. She secured the seat belt, taking care not to brush his fingers. Smoothly, casually.

  ‘Bene.’

  Valentino’s eyes were drawn to a tiny flickering pulse disturbing the smooth skin of her temple. His fingers twitched with a sudden urge to reach out and stroke her, but he restrained the impulse.