The Italian Next Door...

by Anna Cleary

  Six months ago, in another time and place, the true bohemian Pia Renfern might have risked it and sashayed forth free and nonchalant. But here in the Silvestri stronghold? With Valentino oozing testosterone from every gorgeous pore and strutting around his home territory like a sultan?

  A sharp knock came on the door and she heard his deep voice, questioning, curious, even a little suspicious. ‘Pia? Are you all right?’

  Starting, she called hurriedly, ‘Yes, yes. I’m fine. I won’t be long.’

  She dragged on her clothes fast, then made a search through the towel cupboard for some sort of nipple camouflage. Chewing her lip, she considered the feasibility of draping a towel around her shoulders like a cape. If she claimed she was cold… But she remembered how the male mind worked. She’d have to secure the cape in some way that didn’t draw his hawklike gaze to the very spot she was trying to minimise.

  A scrap of material hanging over the edge of the cupboard caught her eye, and she reached up and tweaked it down.

  It was a runner. The fabric was light, just a strip of some gauzy voile, but it was wide and, she discovered, long enough to arrange around her shoulders and tie in front in a single knot. So long as she kept her eye on the knot, it should work.

  She admired the effect in the mirror. It added an almost Regency-style grace to her shorts-and-top ensemble, and encouraged her to swish about with queenly poise like Emma Woodhouse. Pity she had no mascara.

  Finally, dry and dressed, her hair combed into place with her fingers, the threat of nipple exposure nullified, she found her way through to the long sitting room where her host awaited.

  He was standing with his back to her, looking out across his balcony through a colonnade of arches to the sea.

  He too looked freshly bathed, his lean sexy frame exuding clean masculinity in a polo shirt and blue jeans that fitted him to eye-pleasing perfection. A tension in his lean, powerful frame communicated itself to her own expectant nerves and made them tingle with suspense.

  Her pulse started to canter along like a nervous little pony.

  He swung around, slowly lowering an ice pack he’d been holding to his face, and swept an unsettling glance over her. Warmly unsettling. His eyes, including the one that was half-closed, smouldered with a high-voltage appreciation that made her quite giddy.

  ‘Ah, you look better.’ His deep voice was rich with approval. ‘Much better. Your lips are rosy again.’

  She chose to overlook the reference to her lips. It might have been purely clinical. Might.

  ‘What about your poor eye?’ she responded in kind. ‘Goodness, it looks quite sore.’

  He fired her a keenly searching glance from beneath his luxuriant lashes and mumbled, ‘Oh, that. It’s nothing.’ He crossed to her and steered her towards a capacious recliner. ‘Here. You shouldn’t be standing. Sit here and put your feet up.’

  ‘Thanks. Look, I’m sorry about before,’ she said, allowing herself to be gently enveloped in the deeply cushioned comfort. ‘I know I didn’t thank you properly for rescuing me. I’m very grateful.’

  He shrugged and strolled away from her, pensively rubbing his nape, then he spun about abruptly to rake her with a glance. ‘Why did you do it?’

  ‘What, go swimming, you mean?’

  ‘Swimming?’ He injected the word with so much contempt she started. ‘After I warned you,’ he exclaimed. ‘I told you of the dangers, so why did you risk your life like that? What is it with you? Why do you have to be so—reckless?’

  Reckless? Her?

  Strangely, though, she began to see the truth of that flattering suggestion. Of course she could be reckless. In fact, something about Valentino Silvestri was sending a burst of wild recklessness whooshing through her bloodstream at that very instant. But the accusation in his brilliant dark eyes forced her to a modest denial.

  ‘I wouldn’t say I was reckless, exactly. The thing was, I didn’t think I was risking my life.’

  The accusation in his gaze intensified. ‘But I warned you.’

  Guilt made her assume an airy sort of bravado. ‘Well, yes, but I wasn’t sure I could believe you.’

  ‘Cosa?’ He flung up his hands in incredulity. ‘Do I look like a liar?’

  ‘What a question.’ She gave a gentle tinkling laugh and fluttered her lashes. ‘No, no. You look… Well, you look…’ In fact, with his bruised eye he looked darkly, dangerously sexy. She sent him a glance from beneath her lashes. ‘How do I know how you look? I wasn’t intending to go in far. You should have warned me about the ledge.’ She stretched luxuriously and smiled, waggling her foot at him. ‘Do you have any more of that limoncello?’

  A veiled alertness had been registering in the tilt of his expressive brows, but at that last request they snapped into a frown. ‘Are you sure you can handle it? It is forty per cent proof.’

  ‘Of course I can. What a question. Don’t you think we have wine in Australia?’

  His good eye glinted. He hesitated, then after a moment strolled to a sideboard where the bottle was housed, poured her a less than minuscule drop of the magical stuff and brought it back.

  He handed it to her with a veiled expression. ‘Sip slowly now,’ he commanded in his velvet voice. ‘Piano, piano.’

  She held the glass level with her eye. ‘You’re very generous.’

  ‘It’s very strong,’ he said drily. ‘It should have been brandy, but I’ve been away so long and…’ He shrugged. ‘Nonno doesn’t keep much here for entertaining. Food is what you should be having now. First, though, I think we must patch your wound.’

  Pia savoured a drop on her tongue, and as Valentino Silvestri bore down on her with bandages, firm purpose in his battered face, all at once she felt the full vulnerable force of being naked under her clothes.

  Oh, Lord. Here she was again, on the trapeze without a safety net. She should get up right now and walk home. No. Run.

  ‘Now,’ he said, taking a bottle from a small kit and moistening a piece of cotton wool with its contents. ‘This might sting a little, but you’re brave, aren’t you, Pia?’

  Holding the cotton wool poised, he gave her a faintly mocking smile, but it was without malice. His bruised eye gave him a rakish appearance, like some Neapolitan villain. Blame the limoncello, or the aftermath of a traumatic experience, but her wanton flesh longed for him to touch her, even with antiseptic. Even the lightest, slightest brush of those supple fingers.

  She moistened her lips. ‘I think you know how brave I am.’

  He lowered his lashes, and she saw them silhouetted against his cheek. Long, thick and luxuriant. ‘I know you can be angry.’

  ‘Anger isn’t always such a bad thing, though, is it? It can be quite positive. And healthy, don’t you think?’

  He smiled to himself, and she watched him dab the graze with cotton wool. Each time he brushed her with his fingers her skin cells shivered with delight. ‘You are one healthy woman.’

  She allowed that to pass by to the keeper. Her doctor would have been over the moon to see the angry version of Pia Renfern. And Valentino was taking such care with her scrape, applying a bandage and neatly taping it, she was in no mood to quibble.

  ‘Where’s your grandfather today?’ she enquired breathlessly.

  ‘He went out with the fishermen on the early tide. He likes to see the catch.’ His mouth edged up at the corners in wry amusement. ‘He hasn’t discovered yet he’s an old man. They’re not likely to come back for hours.’

  He glanced up and met her mesmerised gaze.

  She felt the atmosphere tauten and her heart started to gallop. She had one of those moments when everything became crystal clear, images, sounds, the mingled scents of antiseptic, lemons and Valentino’s lean chiselled face.

  He stood up and replaced the cap on the bottle, and stood angled slightly away from her, a tension in his stance.

  ‘Before anything else, I feel I should apologise for referring to your—your difficulty with the Nastro Azzurro the other
day. That wasn’t very—honourable of me.’ He met her eyes. ‘I understand why you were angry.’

  Her heart glowed with a fierce rush of grateful warmth. ‘Oh. Fine. Thanks. Apology accepted.’ It was such a relief to have the opportunity to forgive him.

  For that, at least.

  The vibrations on the airwaves were exhilarating, but he said nothing more. Nothing that would encourage her to believe he might want to reopen negotiations in the romance department. Yet here she was, feeling so warm and positive towards him, so attracted, so practically aroused she was panting.

  She came to the reluctant conclusion that if he didn’t say something, she would have no option but to drag herself away. Otherwise she might start flirting again and behaving in a way she would later regret.

  It was a pity. Now her desire was back hot and strong, what a waste.

  She said huskily, ‘I—I should probably be going now. Thanks for the antiseptic and everything.’ She made a move to get up, but her head made a woozy little lurch and she sank back into the chair.

  Looking thunderous, Valentino flung up an autocratic hand. ‘Per carita. You aren’t going anywhere. After your ordeal, and all those limoncelli, you need to eat. And as well…’ His black lashes screened his eyes. ‘There are things you and I need to talk about. Important th—’ He glanced at her once, then again, his dark gaze suddenly scorching hot.

  She followed the direction of his eyes and her nerve jumped. Heavens. The voile was askew, her taut nipples clearly apparent through the fabric of her top. She made to snatch the runner into position but Valentino was there first.

  Swiftly he swooped and adjusted it to cover her. ‘There, now. See? You’re cold. Here…’

  He reached for a throw draped over a nearby sofa and tucked it around her, smiling to himself while a chaos of sensations went to war in her. She closed her eyes, intoxicated by his spicy masculine scent, her nerve endings aquiver where his fingers brushed her and his clean-shaven jaw almost grazed her cheek.

  ‘Now,’ he said, his dark cioccolato voice deepening to a purr. ‘We’ll see how we can warm you up.’ He straightened, and as he strode away ordered, ‘Don’t move from that spot.’

  What was she doing? She was no invalid. She should get up, walk home and make her own breakfast. He clearly wanted her to stay, and why? She wasn’t naive enough to think it was because he was concerned about the state of her health.

  But…

  It was lovely here with stripes of sunlight on the tiles and, anyway, he needed to talk to her. How churlish of her would it be to bite the very desirable hand extending the olive branch, so to speak?

  She’d stay just a little while. She wouldn’t allow herself to become too cosy. She’d firmly resist the fogging of her brain, and anyway, her limbs felt heavy and pleasant.

  The throw was soft and sensual on her skin. She dragged it up to her chin and surrendered to the warm fuzzy glow, wrapped in a delicious languour.

  * * *

  In the kitchen, Valentino pressed a frozen pack to his throbbing eye and leaned back against the bench while he waited for the coffee machine. He drew a long breath.

  Miss Pia Renfern fresh from a bath, stretching her lovely limbs like a cat, her cheek soft and fragrant, her hair silky clean, made his mouth water. Added to that was the stimulating knowledge that, however cleverly she might have tried to conceal it, underneath those clothes her slim, shapely body was completely without underwear.

  He felt himself harden.

  With a vision in his mind’s eye of rose-tipped nipples and soft blonde curls, he frothed some milk for the coffees, then piled bread and pastries from the bakery boy’s basket onto a tray with plates and tossed on a couple of napkins he found in a drawer.

  But… He must not be carried away. He was a professional guy. Steel when the occasion demanded. The Renfern case needed to be kept under control.

  * * *

  ‘Hungry?’

  Pia stirred from her little drift, stretched voluptuously under her blanket and smiled. Hungry? Call her ravenous.

  Valentino set the tray down on a coffee table, and she bestirred herself from her recliner and joined him on the sofa, her blanket wrapped around her and tucked in at her breast.

  She surveyed the small feast eagerly. There was bread, crusty white as well as olive flavoured, a little prosciutto, some cherry tomatoes, and croissants still warm from the oven. ‘This is lovely. I’m utterly famished.’ She accepted a frothy cappucino. ‘Do you always take such good care of people you fish out of the sea?’

  ‘If they’re bella. If they’re dolce.’ The corners of his mouth edged up, his gleaming gaze on her face, her throat.

  ‘Oh, bella,’ she scoffed, though she felt herself go slightly pink while her dizzy pulse quickened. ‘You need to get your eyes checked. And I’m not always sweet.’

  He looked grave. ‘The sweetness is only good when it is tempered with the tartness. Too much sweetness can be—molto troppo. This is why I like a woman who can be angry, who can be fierce, then in another minute she is appassionata, like a tempest, and still so—so soave in her touch.’

  She couldn’t help laughing. ‘Oh, you’re such a shameless flatterer. I think I know who is soave.’ She pulled a croissant open with her fingers and spread it with jam. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Marmellata di ciliegi.’

  ‘Is that cherry? Ah, yes, I love cherry.’ She spread her croissant and took a sumptuous bite, savouring it while he watched. In a couple more bites she finished it off, washed it down with coffee, then licked her fingers with voluptuous enjoyment.

  Smiling through her lashes, she met his hot, intent gaze. ‘Go on, then. Thrill me. Say it again.’

  He obliged with a stream of lilting Italiano, which she guessed by his lascivious expression had little to do with cherry jam, though she dared not ask what, then he picked up her napkin, leaned close and touched it to her upper lip. ‘You have a little froth just here.’

  ‘Oh.’ As she parted her lips to speak he took her face in his hands and kissed her. Her heart bounced in her chest, then settled into a thrilled racing while her lips, her nipples, the blood thundering through her veins all warmed to the fantastic friction of Valentino tasting each of her lips separately and sliding them through his teeth in a slow, erotic burn.

  Her insides melted into a puddle and her brain shut down due to foggy conditions.

  ‘I think we must remove this blanket,’ he murmured, unhooking it from her bodice, then he slipped his hands under it until it fell away.

  She didn’t mind. She was far too hot for it anyway. Especially when he untied her gauzy runner, revealing the points of her nipples in all their aroused glory, then tenderly teased them and stroked her breasts, sending amazing thrills tingling through every tiny nerve and making them swell with the intense and erotic pleasure.

  For some reason her flesh felt extra sensitive to touch this sunlit morning, and every caress sent electric ripples shooting through her skin like meteoric sparks. A few arousing minutes of his sexy, questing lips on her throat, his hands exploring under her clothes, and she was in passion’s grip, her entire being ablaze with desire.

  He drew away from her, a deeply sexual flame in the depths of his darkened eyes that aroused a hungry, breathless anticipation inside her.

  ‘Come,’ he said, rising and holding out his hand.

  She took the hand, willing to follow him anywhere at that moment, but, true to thrilling form, with a triumphant laugh he swiftly swept her up into his arms.

  While she might have teased him for his caveman instincts, in truth being rushed to his bed was a delicious excitement. And on this occasion she was utterly alive to being held against his lean angular body, the strong beat of his heart, the promise of his erection nudging her hip.

  He carried her up the stairs and into a white, sparsely furnished room with windows open to the sea, kicking the door shut behind him with his foot.

  He didn’t drop her quite as unc
eremoniously onto his wide bed as he had on hers. Rather he deposited her carefully, stripping away the covers first and ensuring her head landed gently on his pillow.

  Still, even if he was intending to take it more slowly this time, he didn’t waste a second in stripping off, and she had an uninterrupted view of his big powerful body, the wide chest, lean waist and hips, long bronzed thighs that so thrilled her. The sight of his jutting penis sent a pang of raw, trembling excitement sizzling through her nerve fibres.

  ‘Oh,’ she exclaimed, moistening her dry lips. ‘Hurry.’

  ‘Hurry?’ He sat on the bed, assessing the nature of her arousal with a quizzical examination of her face. ‘Are you sure? You’ve been through a physical ordeal.’

  ‘I’m going through a physical ordeal right now,’ she said throatily and ran her finger down his arm, into the underside of his forearm where sinews stretched with devastating masculine appeal. She sensed the tremor of response under his satin skin, saw the flare in his eyes.

  ‘I’ll do what I can,’ he growled.

  She sat up and removed her top, then surrendered herself while his smooth, lean hands unbuttoned her shorts, drew down the zip, then slipped them down and off.

  His hot, hungry gaze devoured her nakedness. ‘Bella,’ he said, his voice deep, trembling a little, roughened by desire. ‘You are bellissima. You are all I think about. At night, in the morning, when I am waking, when I am sleeping.’

  A thrill galvanised her heart. ‘And you are all I think about,’ she said shakily.

  His dark eyes were fiercely tender. ‘I can’t let you be hurt again. Never again.’

  She blinked. For a wild minute the bank incident flashed through her mind, though of course that had nothing to do with anything here. Another life, another country.

  ‘Well, I’ll try not to be,’ she said, trembling to her excited core.

  Lying alongside her, he gripped her arms, his eyes so burningly aroused her insides thrilled. ‘Now, tesoro. Tell me what it is you like.’

  Unused to such a request, she actually flushed. ‘Well…I like being stroked—softly, and, you know—warmly, all over.’ As she warmed to the theme her lashes wanted to fall halfway, and her voice grew sultry as if she were taken over by some languid temptress. She drawled her words with voluptuous sensuality. ‘I like you to touch me. My face, my hair, my ears, my chest, my—back, my legs, and here…’ She indicated her pelvic region. ‘And—and what I really like,’ she placed a hand on his bicep and said huskily, ‘is the feel of you inside me.’