The Italian Next Door...

by Anna Cleary

  Her confidence soared, as if once again the earth had

  solidified under her feet.

  Regardless of Valentino, Euan or any other man who happened to come or go in her life, she had this. Nothing could take it from her. Not permanently, she knew that now. Her gift was part of her, warp and weft. No one could cheat her of it, not even a guy in a ski mask.

  She was distracted by the sound of the doorbell. Her pulse escalating, she lay down her pencil and closed the sketchbook, slipping it into its protective sleeve.

  What now? Another apology? At least she hoped he’d have an explanation for storming off. She’d demand one, at the very least.

  In spite of her resolute attitude, her heart quaked a little as she smoothed down her skirt and strolled to the door. Her hand actually shook as she reached for the knob. After the astounding end to what had been shaping up to be a very sexy little encounter she needed to be cool, tone down her reception, and not give the impression of eagerness.

  ‘Yes?’ she enquired coldly, only to be taken aback to see a woman outside on the balcony. She was dark-haired and attractive, perhaps in her early to mid thirties. She wore heels and a slim blue dress with wrap-around skirt that fastened at the hip and gave her leanness a sinuous sort of sexiness.

  Her full red lips curved in a smile ‘You are Pia?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She extended her hand. ‘I’m Lola Fiorello, Lauren’s friend. I promised her I would drop by to welcome her little cousin.’ She beamed with such friendliness Pia disguised her wariness and greeted the woman as if she had no suspicion she was welcoming the Wicked Witch of the South.

  ‘Lola, of course. Hello. It’s great to meet you.’ Pia

  took her hand, but Lola went one better, hugging Pia and kissing her on both cheeks in the European style. Then she opened her capacious bag and produced a bottle of red wine and a fragrant package of coffee beans.

  Pleasantly flustered, Pia accepted the gifts with thanks and invited her in. She offered to open the wine, but Lola declined.

  ‘I always drink tea when I visit here,’ she explained.

  While Pia put the kettle on Lola swished about examining the books and pictures, bombarding Pia with questions about her trip and her impressions of the village.

  ‘Have you met anyone yet? Apart from tourists, of course.’

  ‘A couple of people,’ Pia said. ‘One of the neighbours and…Tony in the café up in the piazza. And a sweet old gentleman named Luigi.’

  ‘Ah, that would be Luigi Salvatore. Sì,sì,sì,sì,sì.’ She

  nodded in smiling confirmation. ‘He’s a nice old guy. Was he all dressed up in his church clothes?’

  ‘He was,’ Pia exclaimed. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘He needs to go to Mass every morning, so he wears them every day.’

  Pia laughed. ‘Well, he looked beautiful, anyway. Do you know everyone in the village? You must visit quite a lot.’

  Lola smiled. ‘I know all the locals because I grew up here.’

  ‘And you’re in the film industry?’

  ‘No, that’s Giancarlo. I’m an entrepreneur. I collect works of art. Pictures, sculpture for my little gallery at Anacapri. You must come over and see. This is how I’ve come to know Lauren. Lauren tells me you’re a very talented artist yourself. You’ve had some commissions?’

  ‘Well, yes, a few.’

  Pia set the tea things on the coffee table. She wasn’t especially keen to talk about her work, not while it was still in convalescence, so to speak.

  ‘I’m so glad you’ve called,’ she said, in a bid to change the subject. ‘There are so many things I need to ask someone.’ Like how the average macho Italian male thought.

  Lola sat on the sofa. ‘Black, please. Fantastic. Oh, I love these. That lemon filling is so…so…’ She took a tiny bite of the puff, and her blissful expression said the rest. ‘Now,’ she said, after swallowing and dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. ‘I want to invite you to lunch on the twenty-fourth. I will send Dominico to meet you at the pier at twelve. Here…’ She turned and plunged into her bag, bringing out a small notebook. She scribbled something. ‘Look for the Sirocco. And here’s the number you call in case we get lost. There.’ She tore off the page and handed it to Pia. ‘Oh, and bring your toothbrush. It will be a party, just a few little people from the industry, a little relaxation, some entertainment, and we need plenty of beautiful girls.’ She beamed.

  Pia blinked. ‘That’s very kind of you…’

  She was wearing a smile, but her risk sensors were madly signalling. A party at the home of a wealthy movie director on Capri was, of course, exciting. No doubt the most intriguing party invitation she’d ever received. But…

  Lunch was one thing, but a whole weekend? Stuck on an island with strangers?

  Her inner coward burst to the fore. Sure, she was supposed to avoid avoidance, but, despite Lola’s charm and the fact that it sounded like fun, was Pia Renfern really ready for fun to this degree? A concentrated burst of heavy socialising?

  She racked her brains for a credible excuse. Lola wasn’t the sort of woman who took no for an answer. The forceful woman was still chattering on, painting a vivid picture of the glittering revelry in store, when the doorbell rang again.

  Pia started and every one of her nerves galvanised. This time it could only be Valentino. She dropped her lemon cream puff and rose, parties on Capri pushed from the forefront of her mind.

  What would he say? Would he apologise? What would she say?

  She braced herself, her hands trembling, then opened the door, breathless. Valentino was leaning back against the balustrade, his thumb tucked into the pocket of his jeans, looking serious, and so darkly handsome her insides plunged at once into a dark yearning turmoil. But it was pure lust, she reminded herself. Not murk.

  He appraised her with a deep searing glance. ‘I’m not disturbing you?’

  As if her heart acted like that every day. ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Do you have some time to talk?’

  ‘Yes. Sure. Of course.’ Her brain coughed into life. For a moment she almost felt guilty when she remembered Lola, but for heaven’s sake. Did she have to apologise for her cousin’s choice of friends? ‘Though as a matter of fact, I have a visitor. It’s Lola,’ she added steadily.

  His face darkened and she said hurriedly, ‘But you’re welcome to come in and join us. Please. By all means.’ She opened the door wide.

  His eyes narrowed, then he straightened and followed her inside, pausing at the entrance to the sitting room.

  Pia attempted a gracious introduction. ‘Lola, do you know—Valentino? Er, Valentino…’

  Lola looked up from her sofa and her dark eyes widened infinitesimally. ‘Why, Tino,’ she exclaimed after a heartbeat. ‘This is a surprise. So you have come home at last. You are on vacation?’ She smiled, while her sharp assessing gaze flicked rapidly from Valentino to Pia and back again.

  Pia noticed that Valentino’s face hardened, though he accepted the winged chair she offered him with his usual cool grace. ‘You could call it that,’ he said in measured tones. ‘And you, Lola? Still doing—what you do?’ The edge in his voice drew Pia’s glance again, and with a slight shock she saw that despite his politeness his eyes were like black ice.

  Lola’s considerable lashes descended halfway. ‘Sì, Tino. My little gallery is doing quite well, thank you. And you… Are you still with the navy? Chasing pirates and catching all those naughty smugglers?’

  ‘Not any more. I am with a global company now.’ His white teeth flashed, though his smile held no warmth.

  There was a slight gap in the flow of conversation, more of a fissure, really, perhaps even a schism, then Lola enquired, ‘Your—grandfather is well?’

  Valentino said politely, ‘As well as can be expected of an old man who has suffered pain and the tragedy of public disgrace and dishonour.’

  Lola’s face stiffened, then she turned to Pia. ‘Are you working on an
ything at the moment, Pia? Lauren tells me you have had some success with portraits.’

  Pia felt acutely aware of Valentino’s glance shooting her way.

  ‘Some,’ she said, colouring. ‘Though I’m not restricted to portraiture. I’ve tried a bit of everything.’ She added lightly, ‘And, no, I’m not working at the moment.’

  Lola arched her brows and smiled cajolingly. ‘Ah, but I think you must while you are here. Wait until you come over to Capri. You’ll be inspired. It’s a perfect spot for painters. Don’t you agree, Tino?’

  Valentino held Lola’s eyes. ‘I don’t recommend it.’

  A dull flush stained Lola’s cheeks and she broke into a stream of impassioned Italian to which Valentino replied in kind in a cold, punishing tone. They spoke so quickly Pia couldn’t catch any meaning, though at one point Valentino said ‘ariana’ and the word appeared to anger Lola deeply, because she broke off, collected her bag and scarf, and abruptly rose to her feet.

  Dismayed by the strange conversation and Valentino’s astounding rudeness to someone who was, after all, her guest, Pia said, ‘What do you mean, Valentino? Why don’t you recommend it?’

  ‘Yes, Tino.’ Lola reverted to English, mockery in her smile. ‘Why not? Many artisti visit our villa. Artists have been inspired by Capri for thousands of years. Why shouldn’t Pia?’

  There was a challenge in her smile that Valentino ignored. Instead he turned to Pia. ‘You wouldn’t like it there.’

  ‘Why not?’

  He hesitated a second, then he said coolly, ‘Because you are afraid of high places. You will admit, Lola, your villa is precariously placed on that cliff edge.’

  Lola turned to Pia with a little cry. ‘Oh, is this true,

  darling?’

  The air felt punched from Pia’s lungs. She knew she’d turned scarlet. ‘No, n-no—Well, I…’ Her shiny, new, cool, confident self was blasted into fragments. She had a shaming vision of the whole painful gamut of her disorder getting out and being broadcast around the town, people knowing. Luckily, somehow pride rushed to her defences.

  She fired Valentino a glowering glance. ‘I can’t imagine where you got that idea from, Valentino. You could say this villa is precariously placed. This entire town.’ She turned to Lola. ‘I will come to the party. Thank you, Lola, I’d love to.’

  Valentino turned to her, his black brows bristling, but she ignored him.

  ‘That’s wonderful, darling,’ Lola said, flashing Valentino a sly triumphant glance. ‘I will so look forward to it.’ An amused smile played on her lips. ‘Valentino can stay over here and worry about you over there in the big bad villa.’ She gave a silvery laugh and moved to the door, trailing a farewell with a backwards waggle of her long nails. ‘Ciao. Don’t forget your pyjamas. If you wear them, of course,’ she added with another laugh.

  She cast a mischievous glance back at Valentino. ‘Our parties are famous, aren’t they, Tino? On second thoughts, why don’t you come too? Catch up with some old friends. You know you are always welcome at the Villa Fiorello.’ She winked.

  Valentino appeared not to notice Lola’s parting gibes, instead continuing to look at Pia.

  Pia evaded his curious gaze. Still numb with shock, she walked outside with her guest to the balcony and down the steps to the courtyard. Betrayal, that was what it had amounted to. What sort of man brought up a person’s private anxiety and shouted it to the world? Was he just another Euan, so set on his own agenda he failed to take into account that other people had feelings?

  All the way to the gate Lola chattered blithely about a dozen inconsequential things Pia failed to take in, then she stopped and placed her hand on Pia’s arm.

  ‘Be very careful of him, darling,’ Lola said softly. ‘He is a dangerous man. He can hurt you.’

  A pang cut through Pia. ‘In what way?’

  ‘In the usual way of men. If he wants something, if he goes after something, he is relentless. But he will never love you.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  PIA walked upstairs, fury gathering in her like a swarm of bees. She faced Valentino, shaking, barely able to see him through the red-hot mist of her anger.

  ‘How could you?’ Her low voice trembled with the depth of her emotion. ‘Why did you have to tell Lola that? Do you have any sensitivity at all?’

  His brows elevated and he threw up his hands. ‘Sensitivity? Sì, I have sensitivity. I’m very sensitive to the truth.’

  His lack of remorse only fuelled her wrath. ‘Why did you even have to bring it up? Just because I—I was tired after the flight when you were speeding along those narrow roads…’

  He stiffened. ‘I was not speeding. I never speed. I’m a responsible guy and I uphold the law at all times. I was driving you safely, and I think if you are honest you will admit that in the times when you weren’t flirting with me you were as nervous as a kitten.’

  ‘Flirting…?’ She spluttered the demeaning word. ‘That’s your imagination. As if I would flirt with a—a total stranger.’

  He took a step closer to her, his dark eyes glittering, forcing her to step back towards the wall. ‘Was it my imagination that as soon as you were out of the car you were kissing me as if there was no tomorrow until you had an attack of free-spirited conscience? And was it my imagination last night when you were too afraid to walk into your own apartment? Did I imagine that five minutes later you were melting in my arms like mozzarella? You’d have offered more than mere kisses to keep me here with you.’

  The wicked words only further lacerated her wounded sensibilities.

  ‘All right, mock if you like,’ she said, her throat thickening, shamed that even in this extremity she was almost unbearably aware of his long powerful thighs a handspan from her own. Another move and his hard body could have crushed her to the wall. Despite her angry pride, deep inside her, from some primitive recess, a hot vibration sizzled through her erotic zones like a shooting star. ‘I might have been a bit nervous. I thought you might understand that some people have feelings about such things. I was mistaken, obviously.’ Emotion made her voice unreasonably husky. ‘I’d started to think you might be different. Someone I could trust. I thought you were—nice.’

  An electric stillness came over him, like a leopard distracted from the carcass it was savaging by a more fascinating prey. Her heart started to thump. She became preternaturally aware of the five o’clock shadow on his lean jaw, the sensuousness of his sexy mouth. He was so close she could feel the heat from his big lean body.

  If he touched her, she was afraid she might combust.

  His voice deepened, and she noticed his accent seemed more pronounced. ‘And I thought you were nice,’ he said, his dark eyes shimmering with an intense and mesmerising light. ‘I still think you are—nice.’

  On his tongue the word acquired an almost sexual inflection.

  The air tautened, and she felt a warning tingle in her breasts and other intimate parts. His lean hands closed around her arms like circlets of fire. She could have shaken him off, but his touch seemed necessary to her enchanted flesh.

  He dragged her up against him and brought his mouth down on hers in a passionate possession that sucked all the breath from her body. Her pride lost its wish to fight the sexy onslaught and succumbed.

  The taste of his lips, his breath mingling with hers, his iron-hard frame in friction with her softness, and in an instant she was drunk with him and his devastating masculinity.

  She didn’t just surrender. With a deep growl in her throat she ravished him in return with her lips and hands, with her hungry writhing body, fastening him to her with all at her disposal.

  He broke the kiss, barely in the nick of time to save her from suffocation.

  ‘Now what?’ she gasped, her voice deep, almost guttural, after dragging in a couple of breaths. ‘Is this where you—?’ She was going to say ‘Walk out?’ but he didn’t wait for her to finish.

  He swept her up into his arms and carried her forcibly into the bed
room. Too shocked at first to react, Pia found the contact with his vibrant sexy body was over too soon. By the time she’d found some actual words he was holding her suspended over her bed.

  ‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’ Her voice was practically a moan, because deep inside her a tremor of the utmost wanton yearning was inflaming her flesh.

  He dropped her in the middle of the bed and started stripping off his shirt, his jeans, his underpants. She drank in the honed beauty of his wide powerful chest, his washboard abs and lean hips, her avid eyes widening further at every stage until she saw the majestic extent of his erection, its engorged thickness and commanding length. With a total lack of pretension he produced a foil packet from his jeans, tore it open with his teeth, and sat on the bed to sheathe himself.

  Her lips dried.

  Prepared for action, he flung himself on the bed and held her down. ‘This is what I am doing.’ Desire blazed in his dark eyes like fire. ‘I am testing to see if this bed is as bouncy and springy as the claims that have been made about it.’

  With smouldering purpose, he yanked the end of the laces securing her blouse and pulled the bodice apart. She had to assist him a little to unfasten her bra, but when it was all off and her breasts were free his enthusiasm was flattering, and thrilling.

  His voice was a groan. ‘La vostra bellezza…’

  ‘What? What does that mean?’ she breathed.

  ‘Can’t you guess? It means you are beautiful, you have beautiful breasts… They are so ripe, so sweet… Mio Dio, you make me so hot.’

  He kissed them, then with an expeditiousness she could only give him credit for, he pushed up her skirt and nipped her undies down to her ankles. Then he paused, his eyes ablaze, while she lay panting and exposed, her entire body in a fever, on the brink, the delicious yearning brink, and hopefully…

  His eyes glowed. ‘Now we will see how I can make you happy.’

  A tiny shade of doubt assailed her. Could he…? Could she…? With her history, shouldn’t she warn him, at least?