The Italian Next Door...

by Anna Cleary

  He realised it was only natural she should feel some concern. What woman wouldn’t? He was a man, after all. Practically a wild animal. There would be no use in telling her he was the safest guy on the planet and upholder of the laws of one hundred and eighty-eight nations.

  He considered various things he might say to reassure her, and discarded them all as being likely to be counterproductive.

  Accelerating into the traffic stream, he worked at keeping the conversation at an easy flow. ‘Sorry about the change in plans. Bambini make their own rules, apparently.’ He indicated the dash clock. ‘Not much more than an hour to go now. Just enough time for us to introduce ourselves properly.’

  Pia read reassurance in the smile he flashed her. He was making an effort, she realised. Either to ensure she felt comfortable, or to lull her into a false sense of security.

  ‘So tell me,’ he said in his velvet voice, ‘what do you plan to do in Positano?’

  Stay calm and pleasant, Pia thought, eyeing his handsome jaw with its hint of shadow, his hands, casual on the wheel. No matter how smooth and polished, remember he’s one of the wolvish tribe. Keep him on an even keel. Don’t antagonise him.

  Her hands clasped themselves in her lap. ‘See the sights. Soak up the beauty.’

  ‘Ah. You are on vacation?’

  She nodded. ‘And you, Valentino—do you live in Positano or are you just visiting?’

  Valentino hesitated. Too much information would

  inevitably lead to him divulging his job to her. As soon as he did that she’d make all sorts of false assumptions about him and close up. It had happened too many times before with potential playmates. Mention Interpol and they vanished over the horizon like smoke. Tracking and pursuing high-class criminals was a grim business, more painstaking than romantic, but it was time his organisation received a sexier press.

  He lifted his hands in acknowledgement of her question. ‘My family home is there but I work—elsewhere.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Sì.’ He engineered a quick diversion. ‘I think you will enjoy Positano. It’s very small, but you shouldn’t have any trouble finding entertainment. Are you adventurous, Pia?’

  Pia looked quickly at him. His glance was searching, smiling with just the hint of a sexy challenge, and her heart lurched into a higher gear. Of course he’d have used the word deliberately. He was a man, wasn’t he?

  ‘No, I’m not,’ she said, pouring iced water on any attempt to flirt. ‘Not at all.’

  ‘No?’ He lifted his thick black brows. ‘That’s not what I would have thought.’ A smile flickered at the corners of his sexy mouth. A meditative, sophisticated smile.

  What did that mean? Pia wondered. Had he somehow divined the old courageous, indestructible Pia she used to be? Were elements of her former carefree self peeping out like a tart’s petticoat, or was this merely a seduction technique?

  ‘You have travelled across the world all by yourself. I would think that took some courage.’ His dark eyes were all at once surprisingly kind and sincere, and Pia realised she’d misinterpreted his intention. ‘No?’

  She allowed him a cautious smile and his eyes lit with a warmth that made her breath catch.

  ‘Oh, well…I guess.’

  She gave a breezy shrug as though her journey had been nothing much, though the truth was she’d been a nervous wreck for the first three thousand miles. Lucky they’d flown into darkness and the plane’s blinds had been drawn.

  ‘It’s as well to be fit in Positano,’ he went on, ‘but you don’t need to be too adventurous to enjoy hiking the mountain trails or exploring the grottoes. You must find yourself a guide. If you go to the tourist office they will help you.’

  Pia felt ashamed of her low suspicions.

  It just went to show she should get over herself. She was far too jumpy and ready to think the worst of every man she met. Clearly, it was time to let go of her angst and start to take people as she found them. Men, as she found them. They couldn’t all be thinking of sex and violence all the time.

  She sat back and allowed some of her tension to slacken a little. Here was a guy who’d been kind enough to come to her rescue, and all she could do was search for signs he was keen to jump her bones.

  And not just any old plain guy, as it happened. The more she saw of him, the more convinced she was of his drop-dead gorgeousness. She stole another glance. He looked so relaxed, his long limbs comfortably disposed in the sleek auto. He’d rolled his shirt sleeves back a little and his arms were as lean and tanned as she’d imagined. Sinewy. His collar opening revealed more of his olive-toned skin, the strong bronzed column of his neck.

  From an artistic viewpoint, the composition was fine. In fact, it was hard to take her eyes off him. The chiselled lines of his profile ravished her more with every slight movement of his head. Not, she reminded herself, that she was especially looking for chiselled. Or even looking.

  Valentino felt her gaze flicker over him and his blood hummed with a buoyant little charge. The chemistry was fizzing. And Grazie a Dio for that smile. A smile on a mouth so luscious was almost as good as a kiss, though a kiss would be highly desirable. Suddenly he felt glad to be alive and free and a mere mortal man.

  For the first time in ages his office at the bureau, the meetings with his team, the constant policing demands from forces around the world seemed a million miles away.

  Added to that, the sun was shining, the car handling well, he was flying down the autostrada with a blonde and the thaw was under way.

  If he could tempt her into that smile again, in no time at all the conversation would segue into some light and flirty repartee and Miss Pia Renfern would be ready for some real adventure.

  ‘Have your family always lived in Positano, Valentino?’ Pia said politely to break the silence.

  ‘For centuries, as far as we can count. My parents are no longer alive but my grandfather’s still there.’ He bathed her in a dark gleaming glance that seeped into her veins like old cognac. ‘Have yours always lived in Sydney?’

  ‘Not quite always. Some of us may have managed one or two centuries. I’m sorry about your parents.’

  Mesmerised by the amber highlights in his brilliant dark eyes, she felt her instincts plunge into warring turmoil. Somehow, while her internal security centre had been all for raising the alarm barriers high and keeping him at a very safe distance, another part of her was at risk of gaining the upper hand. An alarmingly female part that was softening and being drawn to him like a fridge magnet.

  She still felt perched on a precarious edge, but the quality of the edge had changed.

  He said casually, ‘Isn’t there some Aussie guy back there missing his bella ragazza?’

  ‘Not especially.’ There were some things a woman wasn’t about to confess. It wasn’t much to boast that the Aussie guy she’d once called the love of her life had bumped her for a trainee accountant with lank hair.

  ‘Amazing.’ His dark eyes scanned her face. ‘No wonder they can’t play the beautiful game.’

  ‘What game is that?’

  He stared incredulously at her, then his gaze grew pitying. ‘Per carita. This is a tragedy.’

  ‘Is it some Italian thing?’ she said innocently.

  ‘Mio Dio.’ He threw up his hands, though luckily they connected with the wheel again before the car veered off course. ‘Football. Have any of you Aussies heard of football?’

  She grinned to herself, then at him. As if every woman in Australia hadn’t been battered into insensibility with every sporting contest ever devised by man.

  His eyes narrowed as he realised she’d been kidding him, then his lean face broke into a laugh. Like the sun breaking out. His eyes were alight and she was devastated, her veins once again melting. His laugh was infectious and her tension eased down another twenty levels. Nothing like a moment of shared humour with a gorgeous Neapolitan to help a girl relax.

  He gazed at her with friendly mockery. ‘Lucky you have c
ome to a civilised country where you can start to learn how to live. How long do you stay?’

  ‘However long it takes.’

  ‘To do what?’

  ‘Oh. Well…’ She gestured. ‘I mean, however long Lauren’s away, or…or whatever happens.’ Such as how long it took to get her painting back.

  ‘Let’s hope Lauren stays away a long time.’ The words hung in the air, unsettling, provocative.

  She made no reply and Valentino wondered ruefully if he’d blundered. He didn’t want to rush things. It wasn’t any quick on-road seduction he had in mind. Not that he couldn’t be tempted.

  Involuntarily his heart quickened at the maverick thought. Sacramento. Where had that come from? He deserved to be shot. He was a disciplined man. A professional warrior against crime, a defender of the innocent.

  Regardless of how soft and curvy and feminine she was, how achingly close and accessible, there were standards of behaviour an honourable man never contravened.

  He cast her a sidelong glance.

  Her brow was slightly wrinkled. He saw her bite her lower lip and a pang went through him. He forced his eyes back to the road. Dio, her lips were so plump and rosy.

  Pia had the feeling his antennae were up and paying close attention to everything she said. She just hoped he didn’t ask too many prickly questions about her work. She so hated to lie. Lies always caught you out in the end, and who was to say she mightn’t run into him again after today, since they were both heading for the same town?

  If there was one thing she didn’t want to have to admit to anyone, it was how her meltdown had almost wiped her out.

  Losing Euan had been bad enough, but it was her career that had been the worst casualty. In a way, losing her ability to paint had been like losing her identity.

  The block had been terrifying, even worse than losing her desire, though it was that loss that had most concerned Euan. He’d thought he was the one suffering from deprivation. For her, failing to paint was like failing to breathe.

  Thank God the nightmare was in the past and her emotions had whooshed back in full force. It gave her hope that her creative flow was on the verge of recovery. She’d had glimmers lately, though so far none had carried through into any successful work. As for her desire…

  Irresistibly her gaze was drawn to linger on Valentino’s long, smooth fingers tightening around the gear lever, the powerful thigh muscles stretching the fabric of his jeans.

  That burning little question was now wide open.

  He turned his dark gaze on her. ‘Where does she live, your cousin?’

  ‘In the Via del Mare. She scored a fantastic contract with a television company, so she bought an apartment. Do you know the street?’

  His brows lifted. ‘Must have been a fantastic contract. I know it well. You and I could be neighbours. Convenient, wouldn’t you say?’ He cast her a gleaming glance that seeped into her tissues like absinthe. ‘Do you like to travel?’

  ‘I’m almost ashamed to confess this is my first time. Overseas, that is.’ She cast him a glance.

  ‘Your first?’ Both his hands lifted from the wheel. Briefly again, thank goodness. ‘Molto bene. You chose the best place to visit. Your first time needs to be—exceptional. Don’t you agree?’

  She looked quickly at him, met his gleaming glance, seduction in the smile lurking at the corners of his mouth, and her heart jolted. It had barely slotted back into place when he said, ‘What sort of work do you do?’

  ‘All sorts. Part-time mainly.’ She started to wonder if there was ever a stone he left unturned when he met someone for the first time. ‘Is—is this air conditioning working?’ She moistened her lips. She felt his dark questioning gaze turn her way and added quickly, ‘What’s your work, Valentino?’

  He reached to change the air setting, and his eyes were all at once screened by his luxuriant black lashes. ‘I work for a multi-national company. We do many things…communications, data collection and analysis… We liaise with local companies to help them maximise the success of their operations.’

  Whatever that meant. There was something smooth about the words, as if he’d said them exactly the same way a hundred times. Pia eyed him. He was so fit and athletic, he exuded the coiled energy of an action man rather than some desk jockey.

  ‘In an office, you mean?’

  His reply was immediate. ‘Sometimes. Mostly I’m required to travel.’

  ‘Where are you based?’

  ‘Lyon, though it changes. Milano, Roma, Athens. What did you say is the part-time work you do?’

  Back to that. He wasn’t just gorgeous, he was tenacious. And there she’d been, hoping he wouldn’t besiege her with questions. ‘Oh, you know. Office work, restaurants when I have the need for extra cash. You—you must spend a lot of time away from home. Don’t you miss Positano?’

  ‘Every day. I wish I could be there more. Though perhaps I enjoy it the more because I see so little of it.’ He glanced at her, his dark disturbing gaze caressing her face. ‘It is a pity to tire yourself of something you love, don’t you think?’

  She sighed. ‘That’s not how life works for me. I always throw myself into the things I love to the max.’ Overboard, some people had accused her of being. No doubt it was true. She always had to love things too much. People. Loving them. Trusting them. Believing they loved her. At least, that was how she used to be. Before the bank incident.

  ‘Usually, that is,’ she amended, not wanting to give a false impression of her current state.

  ‘Ah. The best kind of woman.’ His eyes met hers, sensual, teasing. ‘What are they, then? Your passions?’

  She took a moment to think, then counted them off on her fingers. ‘Beauty. Art. Music.’ She shrugged. ‘Friendship, of course.’

  He grinned. ‘Add food and wine to the list and you’ll be talking like an Italian.’

  She laughed, carried along by his good humour and with the sudden hopeful conviction that passion must still survive intact somewhere, in some part of her.

  ‘And you, Valentino? Tell me yours.’

  His thick lashes flickered and he inclined his head a little. ‘Beauty, certainly. Honesty. Integrity in public life. Ah, let me think. The sea.’

  ‘The sea?’

  ‘Sì.’ He gestured. ‘I was a carabiniere attached to the navy before…what I am doing now.’

  She glanced at him in surprise. ‘Isn’t the Carabinieri the police?’

  ‘It is and it isn’t. It is a—military service in its own right. Have you heard of the US marines?’

  She nodded. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Well, some carabinieri are a part of the military forces—similar to the marines. I was with the navy. At heart I am a sailor.’

  Wow. She could see why he was built like an athlete. In spite of her inclination to only admire gentle, more artistic men from now on she couldn’t help feeling impressed. The very name carabinieri had such a swashbuckling ring to it.

  ‘A simple sailor.’ She flashed him a smile.

  ‘Very simple.’ The glance he flashed back was anything but simple. Sophisticated, perhaps. Experienced. Steeped in the seductive arts, definitely. But simple? No.

  All at once she was finding it hard to breathe, but in a pleasant way. An exhilarated way. She reflected that pre-bank she’d always enjoyed a flirty conversation with a lovely guy. It was one of the pleasures of life, sussing out the romantic attitudes of the other species. But post-bank…

  It was as if that part of her had closed down, the flirty part that loved playing the game of advance and retreat in the war of the sexes. With a sudden surge of excitement she realised that today she was reacting quite like her old self. The old Pia Renfern was alive and well, though maybe a little dusty from disuse. Perhaps it just needed a certain kind of stimulus to activate it.

  The sort who kept the adrenaline charge in her bloodstream and made her toes curl up.

  The fantastic realisation she was back to normal, she was actually enj
oying a man’s company and feeling like a sexual being again at long, long last, might have gone to her head. She couldn’t deny feeling pleasantly dizzy and powerfully feminine. She wanted to stretch all her muscles and purr like a cat. How gorgeous was it to be a woman?

  ‘Are you so passionate, then, Pia?’ He didn’t look at her, his eyes were on the road, but the velvet challenge in his voice told her what their expression was likely to be.

  ‘When I truly want something.’ She half lowered her lashes. ‘And you?’

  ‘Very passionate,’ he said, his voice deepening while the hot gleam in his dark eyes melted her to her ankles. ‘Molto molto appassionato.’

  The music of his rich musical Italiano oozed down inside her like an aphrodisiac. Heat washed through her along with sudden thrilling visions of being wrapped in his powerful arms on some lamplit bed, his sleek bronzed body locked with hers, hot, hard and virile.

  In chaos she turned her face away, breathless, her heart thumping. She mustn’t get carried away. What if she inadvertently encouraged him to expect something?

  He said casually, ‘Do you have connections in Positano, apart from your cousin?’

  ‘Not really. Oh, there are some friends of Lauren’s who live on Capri who might look me up, if they remember. It would be lovely if they did. Capri.’ She gave a little shiver. To think she might meet actual residents of that fabled island. ‘Is it as lovely as they say?’

  He hesitated, and his brows lowered slightly. ‘It is—bella, certainly.’

  He didn’t sound overwhelmed, but then where in the world did people truly appreciate the treasures in their own back yard?

  Her glance fell on his olive-tanned hands, unsullied by any wedding band. ‘Do you have family in Positano besides your aunt and uncle?’

  He nodded, ‘My grandfather. He’s a sweet old guy.’ He smiled and gestured. ‘We are—simpatico.’

  His voice softened and she warmed to the honest affection in his tone. Family ties were important signals about a man. Obviously there was no woman keeping the home fires burning. Not in Positano anyway. Not that it had anything to do with her. But it couldn’t hurt to find out if he had one somewhere else.