The Italian Next Door...

by Anna Cleary

  Softly he stroked her most delicate tissues, sending piquant little frissons of rapturous excitement through every vital nerve ending. She was so hot for him his every light touch incited a frenzy of fire in her burning flesh.

  So far, so good. But she still had a conscience. What if her passion deserted her at the last critical moment?

  She drew a deep breath. ‘There’s just one thing…’

  He scanned her face, his dark eyes tender. ‘You worry too much.’

  Then with supreme untrammelled confidence he positioned his lean powerful body over her, supporting himself on his arms, and with one smooth slick thrust buried himself inside her.

  She thrilled when she heard his groan of pleasure. The relief. Then he paused a moment to allow her to accustom herself, gazing down at her with amused enquiry.

  ‘Are we okay?’

  A quick examination of her symptoms told her only that she felt fine and voluptuously suspended. In fact, she felt filled to a languorous perfection, and smiled.

  He made a seductive little move. A tingling sweetness shot through her. Ah-h-h, delicious, but she craved more, more, MORE. He started to rock her, gently at first, then firmer, and faster, and with every magic stroke she felt a searing pleasure sizzle through her like a ray of violent light.

  ‘How nice am I now?’ he said.

  ‘Oh-h-h, you’re nice.’

  ‘You feel so good,’ he said thickly. ‘I’ve never been so hot for a woman.’

  His encouraging words incited multiple rays of the divine and searing pleasure, and she participated in the sexy rhythm, wrapping her legs around him in passionate cooperation.

  He plunged and plunged, stroking her inner walls, and her orgasm began to swell inside her, slowly at first, then like a storm, a wild and furious tempest in her senses, until at last she reached her glorious climax and shattered in an explosion of rapture.

  A heartbeat later Valentino shuddered into his climax in her arms with gratifying conviction.

  Afterwards they lay together in the soft twilight, her pale arms and legs entangled with his bronzed hairy limbs. He was more beautiful even than she’d dreamed, for this moment his chiselled profile, the planes and angles of his muscled body hers to trace and touch.

  Sometimes he kissed her shoulder, her breast. Wrapped in a golden bliss of happiness and the most profound relief, she savoured every precious nuance. Thank the Lord and the entire heavenly line-up her hex had been broken. There’d been no failure and she’d done no harm. She suffered no recriminations, only tenderness, affection, and a deep vibrant connection almost frightening in its pull.

  Valentino kept looking, needing to feast his eyes on her supple beauty. Her soft mouth, rosy with kissing, the sweet round swells of her breasts, the heavenly triangle of her pelvis and pale slender limbs. If he had any discomfort it was in his soul, or whatever part his conscience inhabited.

  He shouldn’t have, but, perdio, he was only human, wasn’t he?

  Still, he needed to evaluate his position.

  A woman with intolerable associations had come across his path and he’d succumbed. But only once. If Lola hadn’t appeared today, in the deceitful, treacherous flesh, he could have relied on his instincts and enjoyed Pia Renfern to the zenith of sensual delight. If only Pia had shown no interest in pursuing the poisonous association. He’d warned her, hadn’t he? He’d done his best.

  As it was…

  ‘What is it? Why are you looking so grim?’ She raised herself on one elbow to look down at him, and trailed her fingers through his chest hair. ‘Aren’t I giving you enough attention?’ Smiling, she bent to kiss his nipple, enticement in her blue eyes, her ripe lips.

  A tremor shivered through him and he felt his eager flesh make a fateful stir. Her lips trailed lower, down his abdomen towards his navel, where she paused and looked up at him, her eyes brimful of laughter and promise, and something else. Something he must not allow to exist there. ‘Aren’t you glad you stayed?’

  He felt his chest twinge at the same time as the stir threatened to become a full-on revival. Temptation warred with his conscience. Sacramento, what was he, an honourable man who used a woman he must withdraw from?

  There was still time to minimise the damage.

  With a superhuman effort of will, he raised himself and reached to touch her face. ‘Pia, tesoro…’

  She stared at him, startlement in her eyes, then he drew away from her, slung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his clothes.

  ‘Oh.’ The shock in her voice made him flinch. ‘You’re leaving?’

  He paused, half angled away from her, and avoided her eyes. ‘I would love to stay with you, tesoro, truly, I am broken-hearted to leave, but there is something I must do this evening.’

  The moment of charged silence told him how it must look to her. A quick hook-up before dinner, cold, casual and

  mechanical. He noticed her reach for the sheet and wrap it around her nakedness as though shamed.

  Quickly he put on his underwear, his jeans, his discomfort painful.

  She lifted her shoulders and said with careful casualness, ‘There’s no need to be broken-hearted. It was only sex, after all.’

  Guilt stabbed him and he paused in the act of pulling on his shirt to gaze at her. Her eyes met his, unreadable, swirling with feminine mystery. ‘Pia, you don’t think in those terms. I don’t believe even you feel like that.’

  She was holding the sheet tightly to her breasts as if to wipe out his having seen and enjoyed them. She lifted her chin a little. ‘Even me? How do you know what I think, Valentino? Feel.’ She made light of it, rolled her eyes, but he could hear the knowledge in her voice of how the joyous moment had been doused.

  He met her eyes. The truth had to be laid on the line before things went too far. ‘I have to be honest. I’m not in a position to offer a woman anything. I travel for my work and…I’m in town a few days only.’

  Her sparkling smile ripped through him. ‘Well, then, I guess I’ll put my order for the wedding invitations on hold.’ Despite her proud sarcasm, the huskiness in her voice grabbed him in a place he’d prefer not to have had his attention drawn to at that precise moment. She continued to pile on the pain, musing, ‘And there was I, thinking I’d trapped a live one.’

  He felt as if his bare ass were being hauled very gently across burning coals.

  He racked his brains for a graceful exit. ‘Please don’t think… You are not just any woman. You are—so beautiful… Charming, intelligent…’

  She flushed and he knew how clumsy his words were. What a despicable carogna.

  ‘Please don’t worry, Valentino. I’m fine. I came here as a tourist, didn’t I? Not to lose my heart to any of the natives. I’d never make that silly mistake. Go on your merry way, my man, and be happy. This is how we free spirits prefer it.’

  Despite her grin and her humorous tone the twinge pinched him again. For an instant he felt an almost unbearable urge to take her in his arms, but once he did that…

  ‘Go, please. Hurry.’ She waved him away, and he understood she was serious in her need to have him out of her sight. ‘You don’t want to be late.’

  He hesitated, then leaned across and kissed her averted cheek. ‘I’ll see you.’

  Then like the conflicted criminal he was, he escaped.

  CHAPTER NINE

  PIA brooded.

  How ungrateful was she anyway, to care that a man she felt madly attracted to could take her or leave her? Take her and leave her, that was. She hadn’t even been sure until that fantastic hour in his arms whether or not she was completely back to normal.

  Now she knew she was, she should be looking on the bright side. Should be. Instead, she was yearning. Yearning, regretting and reliving the moments. Going over in her mind every single thing he’d said to her. Speculating about the hostility that existed between him and Lola. Something had happened there. As for Lola’s warning…

  When had a warning ever worked?


  And who ever made such a warning anyway, except a woman with an agenda? She wished she’d had an opportunity to ask him to explain his extraordinary behaviour towards Lola. The only thing she could think of—well, it stood to reason, didn’t it?—was that they had once been lovers and had had a bitter parting.

  But Lola was married now. Surely old loves didn’t remain explosive for years. Take her own case. She might have become disillusioned with Euan and been in pain for some time after he walked out, but anger required too much energy to maintain for very long.

  Sure, Valentino seemed too hostile to the woman for comfort, but from Pia’s point of view Lola should stop fluttering her lashes at him. In fact, it struck her that if she hadn’t been a peace-loving animal she’d have quite liked to remove Lola’s lashes. One by one and with physical force, if necessary.

  She spent a day or two on her balcony creating a wistful little watercolour when it was obvious Positano demanded the bold sensuousness of oils, then realised she was sliding back into her old habit of avoidance. Trying to avoid life in all its miserable glory.

  Avoiding Valentino.

  The sad thing was it was hurting more not to see him than it would have been to see him and not be able to have him. At least, she thought so.

  But… Her glass was half full. He had at least fancied her for a few moments, even if he didn’t consider her a keeper. She might not be someone he’d choose to take to a desert island with him, but she was at least good enough for a quick toss before dinner. How many women could claim that?

  She pushed that disquieting door firmly shut.

  She made a strong and definite resolution to get over Valentino Silvestri and embrace life fully, starting the very next day.

  Looking on the bright side, taken all in all, murk notwithstanding, she wasn’t doing so badly in the recovery stakes.

  Desire was back with a vengeance, painting on its way. There were other menaces she could stare down as well to fully seal her confidence. Sailing would be conquered when she went to Capri, though she didn’t care to think too much about what other challenges lay in wait for her there. Cliffs were fairly well catered for on her daily walks.

  How about swimming?

  She was no world-class athlete, but the weather was warm and she’d always loved a plunge in the surf. She wouldn’t dream of risking making a fool of herself on the main beach where the tourists flocked, but she’d noticed a tiny little section of beach down at the bottom of the steps carved into the hillside between the villas. She could test herself there, just wade in up to her knees at first, maybe even her waist—anyway, as far as she could go without scaring herself to death.

  Luckily, in a burst of pre-flight optimism she’d thought to pack her one-piece with the cut-out sides. She dragged it out and draped it over a chair in hopeful readiness.

  Her resolve weakened a bit overnight, but after some

  vacillating she steeled herself to get up early before anyone was about. Shivering a little in the cool dawn air, she pulled on the swimsuit, then slathered on some sunscreen, donned shorts and a top and grabbed one of Lauren’s towels.

  It was still too early for most tourists except a few dedicated exercise freaks, and there was no sign of life at the Silvestri stronghold. Before she lost her nerve she whisked downstairs and across the courtyard to the side gate.

  The steps down to the shore between the houses were steep, with bits of wild creeper sticking up here and there to trip the unwary and dips in the middle worn smooth from centuries of feet.

  She crept past the black wrought iron gate to Valentino’s villa, hardly daring to breathe. Rounding the last curve and arriving at the bottom step, she stepped onto the tiny pebbled beach—in fact it was barely a beach, merely a break in the formidable base of the cliff—and her insides jolted into disarray.

  The space was occupied. Powerfully occupied, in fact. Valentino was on the pebbly sand, his arms resting on his bent knees, gazing out to sea to where the big yacht was riding at anchor.

  He glanced around, immobilising for one electric instant when he saw it was her. It was only an instant, but it jarred through her like a javelin.

  Her first impulse was to retreat back up the steps. Did she want him to think she was pursuing him like some pathetic groupie? But he pushed his sunglasses back onto his head as if intending to speak. Sheer good manners held her there for just that instant, and her window of opportunity to escape closed.

  As she advanced a pace the images of their shared passion seemed to dominate the space and suck out all the air. She had an overwhelming sense that he was thinking of it too. Her nudity. His.

  He was unshaven, and she couldn’t help noticing how his beard outlined the chiselled lines of his mouth. Sensuous.

  She moistened her lips. ‘Hi.’

  ‘Buongiorno.’ Their voices collided.

  He got up and bent casually to pick up his towel, reminding her of his athletic suppleness. She tried not to let her glance drift below the level of his chin, but she was glad the tee shirt was longish. She didn’t want to be reminded of pleasures past, never to be recaptured. There was no avoiding his gorgeous manly chest though, partly visible through wet patches in the shirt. The whorls of black hair she’d twisted around her fingers.

  The same black hair that had grazed her naked breasts.

  He didn’t grant her a similar courtesy of avoidance. His eyes flicked over her with frank sexual appreciation, as if her curves and feminine assets were her most significant attributes. Men.

  She reached for the first words she could find. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you said you were only staying a few days.’

  He shrugged. ‘How many is a few?’ After a second he added rather stiffly, ‘I didn’t notice you around yesterday. I wondered if you had gone somewhere.’

  ‘No.’ She looked down. ‘I—was working.’

  ‘Painting?’

  She nodded and pushed some pebbles around with the toe of her sandal.

  He studied her face, then moved a step nearer. ‘I noticed you drawing in the café. It must be wonderful to be an artist. To have such an ability.’ His beautiful hands imbued his every statement with sincerity.

  ‘Sometimes it’s wonderful,’ she acknowledged, angling her gaze towards the cliff. ‘Most of the time it’s—not.’

  Like life, she could have added. Or falling in love.

  ‘You didn’t say anything about being an artist when we were driving here.’ He looked keenly at her, and she lifted her shoulders carelessly.

  She wished his every nuance didn’t ache inside her, like his Italian vowels and the way his accent turned artist into ‘artista’. Or the way his long lashes screened his gaze when he didn’t want her to guess what he was thinking. As if she’d ever had a hope in hell of that.

  Perhaps she wasn’t seeming very friendly, perhaps even rather cold, but it was awkward knowing one was only a temporary fixture. An amuse bouche rather than a main, so to speak.

  He persevered, a smile on his sexy mouth. ‘Do you paint on your balcony? I thought I saw your blonde hair there the other morning, shining in the sun like Giulietta.’

  She lifted a brow. ‘Julietta who?’

  He gestured. ‘Giulietta—in Shakespeare.’

  ‘Oh, her.’ She made a tight grimace. ‘I hope not. She died young, you know.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said with an apologetic spreading of his hands. ‘She wasn’t a good example. Perhaps if your hair had been longer I could call you Rapunzel.’

  She gave him a long withering look. ‘Lucky for me I prefer my hair short.’

  A silence fell. He gazed out at the sea, and she sensed he was feeling the strain. All at once she felt sorry for him. What a mad, cruel, cold, psychotic bitch she was being. Her heart was actually paining in sympathy for the discomfort womanly pride and honour was forcing her to inflict, when he said, ‘Are you intending to swim now?’

  He glanced back at her, his sensual gaze flicking
all over her with maximum penetration. X-raying through her clothes to her swimsuit, no doubt. And through that to her bare flesh. Flesh he had enjoyed.

  ‘To swim? Well, yes, I mean, not necessarily to swim. I suppose I’m…intending—’

  He frowned, interrupting. ‘Sì? But would you say you are a competent swimmer, Pia?’

  She felt a jolt of surprise. What?

  She stared at him while he took the opportunity to make another flickering assessment, ostensibly measuring her muscle tone, floatability and the depth of her lungs, though more likely reacquainting himself with her breasts, hips and other parts deemed good enough for an hour’s entertainment.

  Another suspicion struck her then, that with her pale, washed-out appearance she might not look all that athletic. Possibly she didn’t, but her pride was piqued. Hadn’t she once won the Under Sixteens’ silver for treading water at the Year Eleven swimming carnival?

  ‘Certainly,’ she said, injecting some hauteur into her voice. ‘Though I’m not sure why you ask, Valentino.’

  ‘Just so you know, the sea here has some very strong currents.’

  It hadn’t escaped her notice that his hair was wet and droplets of water still glistened on his bronzed thighs, as if it wasn’t long since he’d been braving the currents himself. A surge of anger shot through her. The nerve. Obviously she was no daredevil, a publicly certified chicken in fact, but was he trying to rub her face in it?

  ‘Thank you for your concern,’ she said on a down-sweep of her lashes, adding with a cold laugh, ‘Though no doubt the sea has some very strong currents everywhere.’

  His lips pressed together, then he shrugged and made a gesture towards the sea as if it were within his personal gift. ‘By all means, then, if you have no fear.’

  ‘I have no fear,’ she retorted with an angry smile, heat flushing her cheeks.

  He threw up his hands in a gesture that said very clearly he’d tried his best but who could reason with a woman like her? Then he spread his towel and sat down again.