The Italian Next Door...

by Anna Cleary

  Her stomach clenched with suspense. What could he possibly want now? More insults about her courage? More justifications for falling upon her like a ravenous wolf ?

  She checked her appearance in Lauren’s large oval mirror, conscious of the sudden dryness of her mouth. To her critical eye her clothes suited her well enough. While the skirt was short, it seemed right for her legs.

  At the door she hesitated, wondering if she should try to get away with pretending she was out. But then she’d never know what it was he wanted.

  Screwing herself up to it, she opened the door. ‘Yes?’

  Though she’d expected him, the sight of Valentino in the flesh when she’d just been brooding about him seared through her like a lightning bolt. He looked taller. Straighter, somehow, and grimmer than he’d been earlier. Though he’d clearly showered and changed into lighter clothes, including a tee shirt that stretched across his powerful chest and revealed the gorgeous muscles in his arms and shoulders, she could well imagine him in a stiff white naval uniform, striding the deck of some military vessel.

  His flaring dark gaze drank in the totality of her from head to toe, not missing the expanse of thigh enhanced by her skirt.

  Against all the odds her pulse ratcheted up into a tribal drum tattoo.

  He inclined his head and said formally, ‘I am sorry to disturb you.’ His eyes, shimmering with a thousand light points, captured hers and held her in mesmerised suspension. ‘I have come… There is something I…’ He gestured with both hands as if the words were costing him a great effort. For a guy with such athletic grace his movements seemed to acquire a surprising jerkiness. ‘I—wish to apologise.’

  She was stunned. ‘What?’

  His jaw hardened, and she noticed sinews tauten in his strong, bronzed neck. Then he said, ‘I have been—considering the things you said. I accept there was no excuse for me to kiss you. I was—wrong.’

  Hardly able to believe her ears in this brand new parallel universe where a man could admit a mistake, she waited for the crunch line. Surely there would be some shot at her modesty or her intelligence, courage or something.

  But he said nothing more, just waited, his gaze on her face in burning expectation.

  Called upon to respond, she dragged her brain into gear and said stiffly, ‘Oh. Oh, well, then. In that case I—accept your apology. I’ve no doubt you probably—regret your highly inappropriate action.’

  ‘Regret?’ One black brow elevated. A glint lit his eyes, and with his hands in accompaniment he delivered a smooth flow of musical, dark chocolate Italiano that sounded to her ears almost like a denial of any regret, though it thrilled the nerve endings along her spine like a lean, caressing fingertip.

  ‘Sorry?’ she said, breathlessly reminded of how she’d felt during the kiss. How stirred up and aroused. ‘I’m afraid my Italian is quite limited. What was that you said?’

  He made a gesture, and his heavy black lashes descended a little. ‘Only that—I regret if I caused you distress, Pia. I am not a carogna—a—a skunk. I am very well aware that just because a woman is beautiful and smells like a spring meadow this is not a good enough reason for a man to take her in his arms and kiss her.’

  ‘Oh.’ Shaken, while at the same time gratified that he could admit to seeing her point of view, she couldn’t deny the words were intensely warming. Her lips dried even further, if possible, as the initial moments of the kiss welled up in her memory. Resisting a desire to ask him to repeat the words in the original Italian, she confined herself to, ‘Fine. Good, then.’

  ‘Even if her mouth should taste like wine.’

  Those words speared through her like sparks from a meteor, but Valentino Silvestri didn’t wait for her scattered wits to assemble a reply.

  For an instant his dark gaze, smouldering and intense, singed her face, lingering on her lips, then he raised his hand in a curt farewell, strode down the steps and across the courtyard to the gate.

  She turned back inside in a giddy haze of relief, her heart madly thudding. Thank God for that. She could have danced at having the unpleasantness cancelled. Her spirits felt lighter, the way ahead easier. It would have been ghastly to start out in a strange town with an enemy as her neighbour. At least now she could nod to him in the street, or say hello.

  She grinned to think of his flowery assertion that her lips tasted like wine. The guy must have been one of those silver-tongued Neapolitans, though, strangely, the minute she articulated the thought it made her heart pang. She had no desire to laugh at him, not really.

  What surprised her, even moved her if the truth be told, was his sincerity. She had the feeling he’d been genuinely upset by her anger. She had to admit that for some reason, perhaps because he was so good-looking, she’d made the unfair assumption he was a heartless operator.

  She could overrule that idea now. The fact that he’d apologised showed he was a man of principle.

  She couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to really kiss him. Earnestly, soul to soul. To be loved by someone like him. At least she knew now there was absolutely no reason to fear him. That instant of panic she’d experienced at the lookout had been unnecessary, though she couldn’t have known it at the time.

  She was so glad she knew it now. If she was ever offered another chance, another bite at the cherry, so to speak, maybe she wouldn’t reject it out of hand. She might even embrace the moment.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  PIA took her omelette and salad to the balcony so she could enjoy the twilight. As the darkness gathered, the lights flickering on in the village around her brought a lump to her throat, it was so beautiful.

  People were strolling by on their way to dinner or entertainments. She could hear voices of passers-by in the lane, occasional laughter. Soon music floated on the breeze. Somewhere a band was playing.

  She wondered how Valentino was spending his evening. The villa below was lit like a birthday cake, as though in welcome of a beloved son. Would he have a bunch of old friends around to drink and carouse and watch football as Euan used to? Or would he have some special girlfriend, some lovely Italian woman who was only too glad to receive him back into her arms?

  Somehow she didn’t enjoy imagining it.

  After she finished clearing away her dinner dishes she was at a loose end. Despite her long, eventful day, she was too churned up to think of going to bed. Rather than diminishing, the noise and excitement in the streets only increased. With a sudden longing to be included in the excitement, she decided to walk down to the square to see what was happening. Lauren had described Positano as the safest town in the world, and, with so many tourists to choose from, how likely was a serial killer to fasten on Pia Renfern?

  She changed into her cornflower silk dress with the straps, wrapped a pashmina about her shoulders, took a torch from the kitchen shelf and walked through the gate. She’d only taken a couple of steps down when a throng of people joined in behind her. It was too late then to lose her nerve and turn tail for home. She had no choice but to allow herself to be swept along with them and continue down the steep narrow lanes towards the music.

  When she reached the square she felt as if she’d walked into a party. The piazza was brightly lit, thronging with people and pulsing with excitement. Across from the church, a stage had been set up and a Cuban band was performing, pounding out a big professional sound. In front of it an energetic crowd of young people danced to the compulsive rhythm. The music was so infectious, even at the end of her long day Pia felt the rhythm tug at her feet.

  She’d only been watching on the sidelines for a minute when a big blond Scandinavian man startled her by grabbing her arms and trying to draw her into the dance.

  ‘No, thanks,’ she said, attempting to pull away. But the guy only tightened his grip on her, inciting a blaze of anger in her.

  ‘No,’ she said fiercely, disentangling herself and glaring at him.

  The guy flicked back his hair and made some huffy remark, then strode o
ff, flexing his shoulders in offence.

  Shaken, her hackles still prickling, she glanced about for a refuge and spotted an empty table at a nearby café. Quickly she threaded a path through the patrons to seize it before someone else did. She was a little surprised to notice she was clenching the torch rather firmly in her fist. The guy was luckier than he knew.

  A waiter appeared and she ordered a gelato, then let her pashmina slide and sat on the edge of her chair, listening to the singer and watching the dancers. From time to time glitzy-looking couples strolled along the jetty from luxury yachts and cruisers bobbing at the pier, though she saw no movie stars or anyone she recognised as famous.

  The big Scandinavian had thrown himself into salsaing with another woman now, grinning hugely and looking happy. She congratulated herself for her robust self-defence. Even so, while she felt safe sitting there in the light with the crowd thronging around her, after the guy grabbing her like that she started to feel this ridiculous dread of climbing back up those stairs in the dark.

  It was insane, she knew, and she tried to reason herself out of it. Why would a murderer lurk on the steps when it would be much easier to break into her apartment and wait for her up there? Or better still, wait until later when everyone was asleep, and then break in?

  The gelato came. It was a glorious swirl of passionfruit and vanilla, and so delicious she might have swooned with every spoonful if she didn’t have that tiny lurking anxiety gnawing at her entrails.

  Suddenly she sensed someone watching her. She turned to look and her lungs caught. Valentino was leaning against the wall at the entrance to one of the alleys, scanning the action, his eyes flicking through the crowd with a brooding alertness, his athletic frame devastatingly clad in black jeans and tee shirt.

  He glanced across at her, then immediately looked away. That glance pierced her. Even from this distance she thought she’d seen the glint in his dark eyes. Was he pretending now he hadn’t seen her? She turned her face coolly away. He was hardly likely to come over to her, was he? He’d learned he had to tread warily with her or she’d explode in his face like a firecracker.

  The next time she glanced from the corner of her eye, he was gone.

  In spite of herself she felt a pang of disappointment. At least he was someone she knew. Someone she could have talked to. After he’d taken the trouble to apologise, she’d taken it for granted that next time they met they could perhaps start again. Converse like friends.

  Platonic friends, of course. He certainly wouldn’t want to risk kissing her again.

  * * *

  Valentino started for home. A war was raging inside him. His head told him to walk away and leave well alone, while another part, a primitive, visceral region composed mainly of lust, regret and temptation, made his feet leaden and unwilling.

  And there was something else. Either because of the warm evening, the excitement in the crowd or seeing her sitting there all alone like a peach ripe for the plucking, that brave little smile curling up her lips, his senses felt attuned to something elemental in the night air. It reminded him of the instant of his first sighting of her. His blood was astir, pricking as if he was on the brink of something dangerous. Dangerous, almost fateful, but…

  So infinitely desirable.

  The further he walked, the stronger the pull tugging him back.

  Discipline was what was needed here. There were plenty of young lovelies in the town open to the possibilities of adventure. The bars were doing a roaring trade. He wouldn’t have far to seek. Buy a woman a drink, say something friendly, suggest a dance…

  His feet slowed to a halt.

  * * *

  Pia pushed her gelato aside. There was nothing for her here. No one. She might as well go home and get some sleep. Up those cut-throat stairs. She was just steeling herself to brave the murderers lining up with their knives, when the chair opposite hers was drawn back.

  ‘Posso?’

  She turned quickly. Valentino was gazing appraisingly down at her, desire in his eyes, the hint of a smile on his mouth. A mouth she believed now could very well have been carved by angels, having tasted it.

  Her heart clocked fourteen on the Richter. ‘Sì. I mean, I mean yes. Yes, of course.’ Her own smile broke free before she could restrain it. ‘What—what are you doing here?’

  He combed the throng with his dark gaze, then glanced back at her, his eyes twinkling. ‘Studying the effects of starlight on the tourist population.’

  It seemed to her swirling imagination the starlight was trapped inside his eyes.

  ‘Oh, really?’ she managed to say. ‘What effects do you expect?’

  His sensational brows twitched. ‘I think there will be much—amore.’ He smiled and her insides plunged into chaos.

  She knew it was illogical to be so affected. It was no doubt that she felt thrilled and relieved to have someone to talk to in that crowd, someone she now believed she could trust. The fact that his black tee deepened his eyes to midnight satin and was filled with ravishing muscles in perfect proportion to his lean build was beside the point.

  And if something pulsed between them, a current, a tension, that magnified every nuance into significance, it was the natural outcome of the day’s events.

  He sat down and she felt her throat sustain a delicate burn as his appreciative gaze scorched down to the neckline of her dress. The aura of subdued energy emanated from him like a silent hum of electricity.

  ‘Am I forgiven?’ He put on a contrite expression.

  She lowered her lashes. ‘I might come round to it.’

  His eyes were amused, warm. ‘So stern.’

  ‘I can be sterner.’

  Though if he only knew, her insides were in a riotous turmoil. He watched her, his mouth grave, the candlelight lending golden glimmers to his eyes.

  ‘You are right to be severe. I was thoughtless. Can I buy you a glass of something? Wine? Espresso?’

  She hesitated. ‘Thank you. Wine would be nice.’

  ‘Va bene.’ He lifted an eyebrow and the waiter hastened over. After murmuring a few words to the boy, Valentino leaned back in his chair.

  ‘You didn’t care to dance with your Swedish admirer?’

  ‘I wasn’t in the mood.’

  ‘Ah, of course. You prefer to be consulted.’

  She risked a clash with the searing gaze caressing her face. ‘You’re learning.’

  The corners of his mouth edged up and his sensual glance drifted to her throat. He said softly, ‘In the case of learning, motivation is everything.’

  Her heart skipped. What motivation?

  He didn’t explain, and she felt her blood start to course. There was nothing platonic about this conversation. Nothing at all. Desire was infecting the air like a fever, and she wasn’t sure how far she wanted to be swept along with it.

  The wine was set before them and he raised his glass. ‘Chin chin.’

  As she prepared to clink he lifted an admonishing finger to forestall her. ‘Try again. When you say the words you must look into the eyes of the person. Deeply. Into the soul, now. Ready?’

  Into the soul wasn’t so easy. In fact, it was lethal. It could cut off someone’s oxygen supply. Held breathless in his dark disturbing gaze, she repeated the words. Some words, at least.

  ‘Chin chin chin chin chin,’ he said softly, his eyes warm, caressing. As the long glance continued a flame licked her insides. ‘You are bella in your sapphire dress.’

  Her cheeks grew warm. ‘Thank you. I hope you—remember what I said, though.’

  His black lashes swept down. ‘Sure. You don’t want me to kiss you. And you don’t want me to touch you.’ With his sensual gaze gently mocking her, the tiny smile tickling the corners of his mouth, she wasn’t so sure. Had she really said that? Had she meant it for all time? ‘Is it okay if I talk to you?’

  ‘Of course. Course it is.’

  ‘Ah. Grazie a Dio. Provo ricordarmi di non fare l’amore con te.’

  Mayb
e she should have stopped him from breaking into his seductive Italiano, but she couldn’t keep making all these rules for him to adhere to. It was hardly his fault everything he said affected her like a nuclear-charged aphrodisiac. But it was flattering to feel such electric attention concentrated on her.

  She risked meeting his gaze, though fleetingly. ‘What was that you said?’

  He spread his hands, a smile shimmering in his dark eyes. ‘I forget now. How can I remember when my heart races to look at you? Maybe I was asking is it okay if I dance with you.’

  His heart raced? Hers swelled so much it nearly exploded. If Euan had ever said anything like that…

  Melting to the high-voltage persuasion, she looked at the writhing crowd of enthusiastic dancers. Some of them were fast, slick and professional, though others were at about her own moderate standard. But it was clear they were all possessed by the music, grinding their flirty hips to that very sexy beat. Except for a few adventurous cases, the action was intimate, but not so much in the touching, as in the suggestion of the touching.

  Here was an invitation no woman could be expected to resist. Did she really want to cower on the sidelines of life for ever?

  Valentino reached across and took her hand, his dark eyes aglow. ‘Per favore.’

  She rose and allowed him to lead her to the dance, her heart thudding in her chest. In the midst of the crowd she faced him a breathless second. He took her hands in his strong warm grip and they began to move with tentative steps, then as their bodies grew accustomed and the hypnotic Havana beat charged her veins he pulled her closer, his hand on her ribs.

  Clearly he’d done this before. He guided her a little at first, then as she grew more confident the sensual suggestion in the action of his lean hips infected her, and she forgot her

  inhibitions and followed his sexy lead, swinging her own hips in

  invitation, her skirt swirling provocatively whenever he swung her around.

  Suddenly he swivelled her about and pulled her derriere hard against him, so their hips rocked in erotic unison to the seductive beat. It was so flagrantly sexual she could hardly believe it was happening. Then just when her blood was madly coursing to sensitive points north and south, he switched her around again with such effortless ease she didn’t miss a step. This time he thrust his hips against hers and danced her so they rocked as one.