Praise For Anna Cleary

‘Simply outstanding! Liberally spiced with wonderful

characterisation, wicked repartee, spicy love scenes,

brilliant dialogue and a believable conflict.’

—www.cataromance.com on

At the Boss’s Beck and Call

‘Ms Cleary has created characters

who give tons of emotion and a story as mysterious

and compelling as watching a romantic movie.

Thoroughly enjoyable and highly entertaining.’

—www.cataromance.com on

Untamed Billionaire, Undressed Virgin

About the Author

About Anna Cleary

As a child, ANNA CLEARY loved reading so much that during the midnight hours she was forced to read with a torch under the bedcovers, to lull the suspicions of her sleep-obsessed parents. From an early age she dreamed of writing her own books. She saw herself in a stone cottage by the sea, wearing a velvet smoking jacket and sipping sherry, like Somerset Maugham.

In real life she became a schoolteacher, where her greatest pleasure was teaching children to write beautiful stories.

A little while ago, she and one of her friends made a pact to each write the first chapter of a romance novel in their holidays. From writing her very first line Anna was hooked, and she gave up teaching to become a full-time writer. She now lives in Queensland, with a deeply sensitive and intelligent cat. She prefers champagne to sherry, and loves music, books, four-legged people, trees, movies and restaurants.

Also by Anna Cleary

Do Not Disturb

Wedding Night with a Stranger

At the Boss’s Beck and Call

Untamed Billionaire, Undressed Virgin

Taken by the Maverick Millionaire

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Italian Next Door

Anna Cleary

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Bess, Jan and Liz, three of the dearest sisters on the planet.

Also, I extend the most grateful thanks to Maria Elisabetta Forrest for her kind and generous assistance with my Italian grammar.

CHAPTER ONE

PASSION was the last thing on Pia Renfern’s mind when she approached the row of car-hire booths at Rome’s Fiumicino airport preparing to take a massive risk and drive on the wrong side of the road. But sometimes, in a foreign land, things happened beyond the control of the most careful people.

Da Vinci Auto looked the most likely of the hire places. Parking her baggage trolley by the counter, Pia assumed a bright, breezy smile for the clerk. ‘Mi scusi, signora, can you tell me the cost of hiring a car for the day?’

The woman’s shrewd gaze appraised Pia right through to her tender Australian conscience, which had only known the left hand side of any road it had ever travelled.

‘For one day, signorina?’

‘Yes, I only need it for the one. Just to get me to Positano.’ The clerk’s eyebrows arched high, and Pia felt obliged to explain. ‘You see, my flight was late and I’ve missed the bus I was booked on. I’d have caught a train, but with the train strike …’ She made a rueful gesture. She tried a smile, but after the stresses of a twenty-four-hour flight, it was a little wobbly. ‘I’ve tried taxis but none of the drivers will agree to take me that far.’

The woman examined all five feet four of Pia from her blonde short cut, down to her blue suede jacket, travel-weary jeans and ankle boots.

‘May I see your passport, signorina? And your driving authority?’

Pia sensed a presence loom up behind her like a brooding shadow. As she handed over her documents she noticed the clerk’s glance flit to somewhere above and beyond her head. For the first time the woman’s face burst into beaming smiles. ‘Ah, signore. Saro con Lei fra poco.’

Pia glanced behind. An Italian man was standing there, leaning negligently on the towing handle of his suitcase. He was at least six feet tall, probably seven, with thick brows and intelligent dark eyes that connected at once with hers and gleamed with a disturbing boldness that zinged through her like a chemical infusion.

Pia turned sharply back to the woman. She shouldn’t have looked. If there was one thing she wasn’t ready for, it was big, lean and hungry and packed with testosterone, however handsome it might appear.

Valentino Silvestri, on the other hand, just flown in from Tunis after co-ordinating Interpol’s latest gruelling assault on the narcotics trade, felt a strange frisson prickle the nape of his neck and shiver down his spine.

He willed the pretty blonde to turn around again for another glimpse of her arresting blue eyes. Deprived of the face, he allowed his appreciative gaze to wander further.

Below the hem of her jacket, her blue jeans cupped a luscious little behind as sweetly rounded as an apricot. His mouth watered. Dio, how he yearned for a woman.

Pia held her breath while the clerk perused the passport with a frown while at the same time assaulting her keyboard with swift staccato fingers.

The woman glanced up. ‘Were you hoping for a large car, signorina, or small?’

Relieved the woman was unconcerned about sides of roads, Pia ignored the dark eyes burning through the back of her neck. ‘Oh, small. Small will be fine. Grazie.’

Her optimism rose. With a bit of luck she could reach her safe haven well before nightfall. Things were starting to look promising, though she had to admit to a few qualms about actually taking the car on the roads once she had it in her possession. Lucky she’d had the forethought to obtain an international licence before she left home just in case of emergencies like this, though her mother had pleaded with her never to use it.

But she was no longer the bundle of nerves she’d been a few months ago when she’d had the post-traumatic stress disorder. If there was one affliction Pia Renfern was now officially free and clear of, it was PTSD in all its insidious, debilitating, creepy manifestations. She was over it, and courage was now her middle name. Just let anyone try to contradict her.

Anyway, driving on the other side of the road couldn’t be so hard. Other people did it. Lauren, her cousin, drove all over Italy without mishap. Pia was certain she could manage it if she avoided the super highways and used less popular byways.

Her driving record was pretty good, apart from a few minor parking violations. There was that time she’d had her licence suspended for frequent and incorrigible speeding, but that was ages ago when she’d just passed her test. Lucky the international licence showed nothing of her reckless past.

The woman looked up. ‘Where are you wishing to return the car, Miss Renfern?’

‘Do you have an office in Positano?’

‘No, signorina.’ The woman’s face grew serious. ‘Positano has very few spaces for cars. You may perhaps drive to our office in Sorrento then take the bus. Are you familiar with the area?’

‘Not exactly. Won’t the car have sat nav?’

There was a sudden movement behind her. ‘Scusi, signorina.’

Pia glanced around in surprise. ‘Sorry?’

The man stepped forward, his dark eyes glinting with an intent light. Pia’s throat dried and a fluttery sensation inhabited her chest. He really was handsome, with cheekbones and shadow on his firm, chiselled jaw. His eyebrows bristled with purpose. They were the most stirring she’d ever laid eyes on, while the casual elegance of his black leather jacket, white open-necked shirt and jeans did nothing to diminish the pleasing athleticism of his lean, powerful build.

He was at least a millimetre too close, bearing down on her and sending all her alarm sensors into total chaos. She took a step backwards from those compelling dark eyes and found herself pressed up against the counter.

‘I couldn’t help overhearing, signorina. You are travelling to Positano?’ His voice was deep and appealingly accented, despite the seriousness of his tone.

‘Yes?’

‘Are you aware that the roads near Sorrento are very narrow and built on the edges of cliffs?’ His dark eyes scanned her face like a searchlight.

‘Well, yes, I suppose. So …?’ She could feel her resistance rising to this intrusion. So the roads were narrow. Was he suggesting she wasn’t capable? She felt her neck grow hot, conscious of the car-hire woman listening to every word with close attention. A stillness seemed to fall on the neighbouring booths, as if their staff, their customers, the entire airport had all paused to listen.

In an effort to dampen the guy’s damned cheek, Pia zapped him with a cool smile. ‘What’s your point, signore?’

‘The traffic along those roads is heavy and dangerous. Even very experienced drivers from the locality find it so.’ His intelligent dark eyes were serious, his hands eloquent. ‘Permit me, signorina, but I notice that you speak like an Australian. Have you ever before driven a car in a right-hand-traffic situation?’

Guilt crept up Pia’s spine. Her entire body warmed, then blazed with it as she felt the car-hire woman’s eyes drill a hole through the side of her head. If only she could have lied, but she’d never been good at it, not even to save her life.

‘Well, no, maybe I haven’t,’ she blustered. ‘But I know I can, and I’m not sure what it has to do with you.’

He shook his head in stern disapproval. ‘This is not good. You mustn’t try to drive on these roads, especially with the traffic as it will be today with the trains not running. This is what I think would be best. I will—’

Before he could go on with his astonishing impertinence, the car-hire woman interjected. ‘Scusi, Miss Renfern. Our apologies, but Da Vinci Auto find we do not have a car for you today.’

‘What?’ Pia spun about and stared at the woman in outrage. ‘Oh, but that’s so unfair. You’ve seen my licence … I’m a qualified driver. This man is a stranger. Don’t listen to him. What is he to do with me?’

‘I am sorry, signorina.’ Briskly, the woman handed back Pia’s credentials. ‘Perhaps another car company will help you. However, Da Vinci Auto says no.’

‘But—’

‘No, and no and no.’ The woman folded her arms and sealed her lips with implacable firmness.

Simmering, Pia replaced her documents and gathered her baggage, pausing to cast a glowering glance at the man before she moved off. ‘Thanks a lot, signore.’ She did her best to lace the word with purest strychnine.

His eyes gleamed. ‘Prego. Your safety is important to every Italian.’

She rarely argued with men these days, especially strangers, but some men needed to be argued with. ‘I would be much safer if I could hire a car.’

Her indignation seemed to amuse the guy. He leaned back against the counter, allowing his thick black lashes to flicker down while his sensual gaze drifted over her with frank appreciation. ‘So, so soft … and yet so fierce.’ His lean hands demonstrated her softness in the air. She had little doubt it had more to do with her breasts than anything. ‘It is a pity,’ he continued with phoney sympathy, ‘but the signora here has made the decision, no doubt for her own reasons.’ He shrugged and spread his hands as if he were absolutely innocent in the matter.

This distortion of reality was too much for Pia, confused as it was with messages from his hot smiling eyes, sexy mouth and tanned, elegant hands that were anything but innocent. Soft, was she?

She said hotly, ‘She made the decision because you sowed seeds of doubt in her mind.’

‘You think?’ His gorgeous brows lifted quizzically. ‘She may have been influenced by some weird desire to save lives. But as it happens I’m driving to Positano. I might be able to fit you in. I’m guessing you won’t take too much room.’ His beautiful hands illustrated just how much room she might take, this time managing to encompass the shape of her hips with what felt to Pia almost like a tangible caress.

She could imagine what he had in mind. He wanted to get her alone in a confined space and run those hard, lean hands all over her body.

If only his voice didn’t seep into her veins like a dark intoxicant. At the same time there was that smile in his eyes inviting her to acknowledge an undertow, a distinctly sexual vibration tugging at her like the moon to the tide.

In spite of herself Pia felt a dangerous stir in her blood, then her heart skittered. Whoa there, girl. Don’t be sucked in by midnight eyes and a lazy smile.

Regrouping her feminine forces, she cast him a crushing look. ‘You wish.’

She strode coolly away, as coolly as it was possible to pushing a trolley laden with a suitcase and a heavy canvas bag stuffed with easels and painting supplies while feeling his scorching-hot gaze follow her every step of the way.

She walked past the other car-hire booths without wasting her time humbling herself before them. Her reputation was shot with them all now, and there was no way she’d give the guy the satisfaction of watching her being turned away yet again.

The nerve of him. He had to be one of the most intrusive, irritating, interfering, annoying people she’d ever met. Just because he knew he was attractive … Of course he knew. A man that sophisticated always knew.

She was seething all over. He should never have looked at her like that, making her feel so—female. In fact, it was amazing he’d triggered those responses. She’d been numb in that department for so long she couldn’t quite believe the sensations were real. It must have been as the doctor had warned. Now that her emotions had come back in full force, every sensation was bound to be stronger, sharper. Sweeter, though she squashed that thought. Nothing she felt about him was sweet.

Just before she turned the corner into the next mall though, she couldn’t resist sneaking a glance back. He was still there, but to her surprise no longer alone. A middle-aged couple with a teenager had joined him and were exclaiming over him, reaching up to kiss and embrace him like long-lost relatives. She saw him bend to kiss the woman on both cheeks. Whew. How must that feel?

Resigned to abandoning his interest in the blonde woman for the moment, Valentino pocketed his car keys and braced himself to field a volley of probing queries about his personal life.

As always his uncle and aunt wanted to know too much. Still embarrassed by his divorced status even after all this time, they were forever on the lookout for signs he was about to risk the marital treadmill again.

As if.

He sometimes had the suspicion that his aunt had dreams of him taking up with Ariana again to wipe away the family shame, as though the bitterness had never happened. As though the divorce had no validity.

No use to explain that the twenty-first century had dawned some time back. In his aunt’s mind his singularity made him a dangerous loose gun who needed to be nailed down and rigidly secured. His uncle’s view appeared slightly different. Possibly tinged with awe, even a little envy.

The old boy winked at him. ‘Still playing the field, eh, Tino?’

‘That’s enough,’ his aunt snapped. ‘When are you coming home to settle down, Tino?’

They didn’t hazard any enquiries about his work. His job as a Criminal Intelligence Officer with Interpol was not an occupation to warm the hearts of family members. They preferred to gloss over it, always slightly on their guards with him for fear he’d be listening to their every word with a view to collecting evidence.

They needn’t have worried. He’d run checks on them all and they were depressingly upright and moral.

His aunt began to regale him with the latest on her eldest daughter. Maria was a shining family example. Decently married, blessedly pregnant, in fact on the very verge of delivering them another grandchild as every good son and daughter should. While the couple argued over all the minor details of Maria’s health, their youngest son scowled and tried to act as if he didn’t belong to them.

Valentino exchanged a sympathetic grin with the boy, musing that, while listening was his speciality, there were times when tuning out was of even more strategic importance.

He was overwhelmed with a sudden longing to escape the grim realities of his life. For a second he allowed himself to imagine how it might have been zooming along the autostrada with the pretty blonde to rest his eyes on, a slim knee to fondle.

His fingers curved into his palm in regret for the silky knee they would never know.

How long had it been since he’d caressed a woman? There must be some left in the world who weren’t set on dragging a man to the altar.

Those serious blue eyes, rosy lips and delicate cheekbones in intriguing contradiction to the sprinkling of freckles across her quite charming nose had potential to enchant a man, for a few days at least. There’d been a chemistry, he felt sure. The trip would have been a perfect opportunity to lay the groundwork for a little vacation romance.

He frowned. No doubt she’d receive other offers before the end of the day, though he hoped she wouldn’t accept any of them. For her sake he hoped she’d choose the bus. With the degrees of human inventiveness for evil he’d witnessed over the years he began to doubt if any woman should travel alone, anywhere.

He scanned the suspects coming and going around him. How many of these innocent-looking pillars of society were engaged in criminal activity?

It weighed a man down, this constant policing. Lately, wherever he looked he saw corruption. Sometimes he wished he could shrug it all off like an unwanted skin. Forget about crime and rid his mind of terrorism threats, narcotics, human trafficking, credit-card fraud and the constant thievery of national treasures. Just relax and enjoy a vacation like anyone else. Enjoy a pretty woman and take her at face value.

And what a face. He sighed.

Waking suddenly to his surroundings, Valentino noticed that the car-hire queue had swelled in number, while even more people were flocking to the neighbouring booths. He tapped his uncle’s elbow to alert him to the rush, but by the time the old boy inserted himself into the line it was too late.

Da Vinci Auto was all out of cars. ‘Per carita,’ his uncle wailed, slapping his forehead. ‘Now it’s a bus strike. First the trains, now the buses. What’s the country coming to? What are we to do?’

At once Valentino’s thoughts switched to the Australiana. What would she do? He felt a twinge of remorse about his intervention, though he’d only acted for the best. It was his duty as a citizen to uphold public safety, surely.

Though if she was stranded he couldn’t help feeling some responsibility. He weighed his car keys in his hand.

Pia received the news like a blow.

The drivers were meeting, the harassed attendant explained earnestly to the small angry crowd before the bus link counter. Everything was on hold.

Exactly what Pia didn’t want to hear. On hold was what her life had been for more than half a year, and she’d come all this way across the world, determined to break out of her security cocoon, plunge back into sweet lovely life and wring from it every last ounce of pleasure and excitement.

None of it could happen until she escaped from the numbing blandness of airport world.

Groaning about what could be a wait of potential days, she collapsed onto a chair and closed her eyes. As usual there was a man at the root of her troubles. She should have been cruising along the Amalfi coastline by now. If only she hadn’t engaged in conversation with the guy. She should have ignored his eyebrows, never even made eye contact.

Maybe it was an omen and she’d made a terrible mistake agreeing to house-sit for Lauren. Then she chided herself for that backsliding thought.

Concentrate on the positive. She’d come a long way from that timid mouse who’d cowered inside her terrace in Balmain day and night, padlocks on the doors and all the lights turned on. Every night the same predictable curry in the microwave. Every night, her lonely bed all to herself.

She’d made great strides since that first conscious decision to grasp life in both hands and plunge in again with a hopeful heart and positive attitude. Her spirits, her confidence had lifted a thousandfold. How else could she have walked onto the plane? She’d even come round to thinking it was time to chance her luck again with the other species, though she’d be more careful this time.

Where she’d gone wrong had been in allowing herself to fall in love and trust the love to last into the future ad infinitum. Big mistake.

It was time for a brand-new paradigm. Love was a madness that ended in tears. Much better to be fond of someone, love them while they were fun, leave them on a high note. And no more of these slick, fast-talking, sport-obsessed guys who loved a woman when she was well and whole, as long as she looked good enough to flash around at friends’ parties.

She’d ensure her next man had a vestige of sensitivity. So he might not be a tall, blond sex-god with rippling muscles. She was prepared, quite prepared, to look for someone less athletic. Big strong men were too domineering, anyway.

Yeah. The more she considered the subject, the more she felt ready for some sweet, gentle guy with a slighter build who didn’t much care for sport. Who needed handsome? Handsome men were only too likely to be arrogant, egotistical narcissists who saw women as prey. Fine for the occasional fling, perhaps, the odd wild weekend of passion, but in the long term on a day-to-day basis she’d be much better off with someone who could understand her. Perhaps someone from the arts who shared the creative temperament. A sculptor. Maybe even a musician.

She picked up a newspaper someone had left on the seat and tried to fathom one of the front-page stories with the remnants of her high-school Italian. From what she could make out, some enterprising thief had stolen another little-known painting from a museum in Cairo. A Monet, this time. There was a photo of the picture, which couldn’t have done it justice. From its grainy quality she could just make out some reeds and a couple of water lilies.

Her sparse Italian wasn’t up to interpreting the finer details, so after a minute she cast the paper aside and lifted her feet to stretch out along the seats with her head on her arm. Closing her eyes, she made herself concentrate on the future.

Beautiful Positano, where no one knew that eleven months ago in the Balmain branch of the Unity Bank a man in a ski mask had shoved a gun into the side of her head and made her believe she was going to die.

Thank heavens for this opportunity to escape to a place where no one would ever dream how for a time that little drama had changed her entire life. What a wimp she’d been for months. One minute there she’d been, swanning through her reckless life with total disregard for what was around the corner, taking pleasure in her man, her friends, her blossoming work, her growing reputation, while the next minute …

Until then she’d never known a thing about stress. It had come as a complete shock to her when, after the incident at the bank, all her mild little anxieties and cautions, the same ones everyone needed to keep themselves alive and well, had crept out of the woodwork and morphed into monstrous great phobias.

Who’d ever have guessed it could happen to a cool sassy femme like herself? Unbelievably, she’d lost her renowned chutzpah and become scared of falling, drowning, crossing the road, being poisoned by unwashed lettuce, eaten by dogs and dying young. And, of course, big strong men in ski masks.

Imagine her, Pia Renfern, up-and-coming landscape painter and portraitist, accepted as a bona fide exhibiting member of the Society, giving into fear. But to be struck by the worst tragedy of all and lose her ability to paint.

As always when she thought of it, her stomach churned into a knot. But with a determined effort she fought the nauseous feeling. She needed to be positive and see the glass as half full. The horrible time was past. She was strong again and most of her anxieties had retreated back to their lairs. Only occasionally did one still leap out and surprise her.

Now she only had her painting block to contend with, and, thanks to Lauren, Positano would give her the kick-start she needed. Once there, faced with all that beauty, she felt sure she’d be inspired to paint again.

She’d barely managed five dozy minutes of concentrating on the positive before she felt a looming presence.

She knew who it was. Even before she looked her pulse started an erratic gallop.

She opened her eyes, then had to narrow them to shut out as much of the view as possible. How could black hair, strong brows and deep, dark, glowing eyes be so dazzling?

Her wild pulse registered his mouth. Michelangelo might well have taken pride in having chiselled those meltingly stern, masculine lines. For a second her resolution to only consider slighter, more sensitive men wavered.

Until she remembered. She frowned, then sat up with graceful unconcern. ‘Oh, it’s you. The man who interferes.’

He inclined his head. ‘Valentino Silvestri.’

His eyes were serious now, cool, and though he curled his tongue around the r with devastating charm, his manner was brisk. A charged purposeful energy buzzed in the air around him.

‘I’m about to leave for Positano.’ He glanced at his watch. A telling movement, because it required him to push up the sleeve of his shirt and reveal his bronzed sinewy wrist. ‘Depending on the traffic, I expect to arrive there soon after midday.’

There were black curly hairs on the wrist, and more poking from beneath his cuff. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to imagine there might be more on his chest.

With an effort she dragged her glance away. ‘Why are you telling me?’

‘You need the transportation. I am Italian, and it is the desire of our nation to welcome visitors and make them happy. So …?’

‘I doubt if you could make me happy.’

He relaxed and laughed, a low sexy laugh, his white teeth contrasting with his olive tan. ‘Ah, signorina. You so encourage me to try.’ He produced a set of car keys from his jeans pocket and dangled them in front of her. ‘At least allow me to make some amends for spoiling your chances to hire the car.’

Ah, now that was better. She started to feel slightly more forgiving. Still, though her body was giving her chaotic signals and her travel options were nil, her response was immediate.

‘No, thanks.’

‘No? You’re sure? Fast car, good driver, safe trip?’

She shook her head.

He was silent a moment, frowning, then a gleam shone in his eyes. ‘Did I mention that my uncle, aunt and cousin will be coming along?’ With a gesture he directed her gaze to the family group she’d seen hugging him a few minutes earlier. They stood several metres away by the escalator with a pile of luggage, looking her way with avid curiosity. Even the sullen boy seemed halfway interested.

‘Oh, them?’ Pia appraised them, doubtfully at first, then with her heart leaping up in sudden hope. ‘Really?’

A few months ago being crammed into a car with a bunch of strangers, forced to make small talk, would have been her idea of hell, but today … The family looked to be the essence of safe, solid respectability. Was this her chance to escape from the airport and break out into the world of grass, sky and fresh air?

She eyed Valentino, awaiting her response with apparent patience. What was his motive? Remorse? Something else? ‘I don’t know … Though I guess … Are you sure—it wouldn’t be an intrusion?’

He made an amused grimace. ‘It would be a relief.’

‘They won’t mind?’

‘They’ll be fascinated.’

‘I wouldn’t want to impede your conversation with your family, or … or your—your privacy in any way.’

‘You couldn’t if you tried.’

‘Oh, well, then. Thanks.’ She stood up, smoothed down her clothes, picked up her bag. ‘Thanks very much. Though you—you do know this is just a lift, er—Valentino. Nothing more than that.’

His brows lifted. ‘Scusi, signorina? What else would it be?’ He tilted his head with an expression of polite inquiry, and she felt a pang. Had she been crass to spell it out?

‘I was just—ensuring that you—understand …’

His expression grew grave and quite dignified, as if she was insulting his honour, his reputation, his very heart and soul. She nearly had to pinch herself. Wasn’t this the same bold devil who’d been flirting with her only half an hour since?

‘Look, I—I just need to be clear you know that … this is not a pick-up.’

Looking totally mystified, he drew his black brows together. ‘A pick-up. What is this pick-up? Is it an Australian thing?’

She flushed and shook her head. ‘No, no. It’s. Look, it’s when …’

It homed in on her at last that despite his beautiful accent up until now he had really quite excellent English. She stared suspiciously at his solemn, intent face, noting the sly glint in his brilliant dark eyes. ‘You know exactly what I mean, don’t you?’

He grinned in acknowledgement, then broke into a laugh, his eyes lighting with amusement at her chagrin.

‘I might know, signorina.’

‘Fine.’ She let out an exasperated breath. ‘Well. So long as you understand I’m accepting this lift purely as a—a—an emergency and I have no intention of being taken for a ride. And it’s Pia.’

He shot her a keen glance, then his luxuriant black lashes swept smilingly down.

‘Pia,’ he echoed. ‘Bella. I am charmed.’

He was charmed. Well, she might have been a little that way herself, although at the same time she was churned up, confused and irritated. Did he think a woman’s concern for her personal safety was a joke?

She took the hand he offered her, but briefly. As soon as his hard palm brushed hers her over-reactive skin cells leaped like flying fish on ecstasy. And her hand continued to tingle as she trundled her baggage beside him to where the family waited by the escalator.

He said, ‘So long as you understand that I will be doing the driving.’ His eyes gleamed, but there was a definiteness in his tone that brooked no argument.

‘What a surprise.’ She rolled her eyes, while inside her giddy pulse was rushing like storm water.

CHAPTER TWO

VALENTINO SILVESTRI drove fast, switching from lane to lane and cutting a path into tiny impossible crevices amongst the traffic with blithe disregard for the nerves of his passengers. Pia clung to her seat belt, enduring the aunt’s penetrating voice and trying not to dwell on the possibilities of dying young.

The aunt had directed the seating arrangement, guarding her menfolk by steering her husband into the front passenger seat and planting her solid self in the back between Pia and the sulky boy. Pia envied the boy his earphones, but resisted retreating to her own for fear of causing offence.

During a rare lull in the conversation Valentino’s deep dark eyes sought Pia’s briefly in the rear vision mirror and he said in his ravishingly accented voice, ‘So, Pia, why have you abandoned Australia for Italy?’

‘I’m here to house-sit for my cousin.’ Pia had to raise her voice a little to be heard. ‘Lauren’s a photographer. She’s gone to Nepal with a film crew to shoot a snow leopard. Maybe you know her. Lauren Renfern?’

Valentino shook his head. ‘Is she a recent arrival? I haven’t been in Positano for some time.’

‘She’s lived there just over a year.’

‘There are so many newcomers now we don’t know our own town,’ the aunt chimed in. ‘But you will be very happy. Of course, you will go to Pompeii. Herculaneum is another very fine site. And you must join the climb to Vesuvius, shouldn’t she, amore? Vesuvius is a marvellous experience.’

‘And Capri,’ her husband added, turning to encourage Pia. ‘All the turisti go to Capri. You will love it.’

‘Shh,’ the aunt hissed, poking her husband and nodding towards Valentino with a frown. In a murmur she added, ‘Have you no respect?’

Pia glanced at Valentino in surprise. Why shouldn’t Capri be mentioned, or was it the fact of her being a tourist that was the trouble? She saw his sensuous mouth tighten a little in the mirror, but that was the only sign he gave of having heard the aunt’s murmur. A moment later Pia’s gaze accidentally collided with his, and his dark eyes were so compelling, so sensual she forgot everything except the sudden mad rushing in her veins.

That was why it was such a shock when, just as the first glimpses of the Bay of Napoli hoved into view, the aunt received a call on her cell phone and startled everyone with the announcement that her beloved Maria had started in labour. It was an emergency, the agitated woman declared. She was sorry, but there was no help for it. The journey must be halted and they must speed to her daughter’s side at once.

There was no option but to alter the itinerary, so at the first available exit they diverted from the autostrada and drove into Napoli, where Valentino deposited the family with all their baggage in the entrance to Maria’s apartment building.

With their departure a blissful silence descended over the car. While Valentino said his farewells, Pia stayed in her seat, staring out at the busy, ancient, narrow street, craning up at the tall buildings, a sudden tension in her nerves. An anticipation.

What now? Now she would be alone with him?

She saw his tall frame turn to stroll back and a shiver thrilled down her spine.

Valentino paused with his hand on the door handle. A curious sensation charged his blood. His passenger hadn’t moved from her corner. Was she so wary of him?

With measured calm he got in, reached for the ignition, then turned to examine her.

Her blue eyes met his frankly, a little defiantly. He felt his blood quicken. He had no wish to make her feel vulnerable, but she was so pretty. He’d hardly be human not to feel excited by the situation.

Pia sensed the air tauten. Suddenly she felt as if she were hanging over the edge of a cliff.

He lifted his brows. ‘So … are you staying over there?’ His eyes were coolly amused, questioning, then he pointed at the seat next to his.

On a surge of adrenaline, Pia overruled the sudden tension in her limbs. She reasoned that men were probably like horses and dogs. The last thing a woman should do was to give out some crazy vibe of being nervous. As soon as she acknowledged the threat, the threat would become real.

What was there to be nervous about, anyway? Just because he’d looked at her once or twice as if she were a strawberry tartlet didn’t mean he was planning to speed her to the nearest lonely bush track to have his ruthless way with her. He’d hardly engineered the current situation. It was fate who had gone to such great trouble to arrange it, bringing on babies and all.

So long as fate didn’t get carried away. So long as he didn’t.

As she slid into the seat next to his and he reached across to assist her in finding the seat buckle her heightened senses caught the faintest tang of clean, spicy masculinity. She secured the seat belt, taking care not to brush his fingers. Smoothly, casually.

‘Bene.’

Valentino’s eyes were drawn to a tiny flickering pulse disturbing the smooth skin of her temple. His fingers twitched with a sudden urge to reach out and stroke her, but he restrained the impulse.

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 come 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 enjoying 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.

She’d always enjoyed delving into a life, glimpsing the man behind the face she sought to portray. Her father had always said it was the most important part of a portraitist’s arsenal. But Valentino Silvestri didn’t give her the chance to dig far. He kept turning the spotlight neatly around to her.

‘Tell me about you, Pia. Who is in your life? A beautiful girl like you?’

Beautiful, was he kidding? If she was beautiful, then beauty didn’t count for a row of beans. It was coolness, calm and strength that mattered or people walked away. Well, that was her experience.

‘For instance,’ he said smoothly, ‘have you ever been married?’

Pia glanced at him in some surprise. ‘How old do you think I am? Ask me that in thirty years’ time. I’ll start to think about it then.’

A smile touched his sexy mouth and lingered there. ‘And in the meantime …?’

As she drank in the strong, chiselled bones of his face it came to her with a thrill of excitement that if she’d had some charcoal handy she could have taken down those bones in a flash. Almost unconsciously she angled her body more his way.

‘You know what I think, Valentino?’

‘What do you think?’ The corners of his mouth edged up further. He sent her a warm, piercing glance and the air grew heady.

‘You’re a very nosy guy.’

His eyes were amused, sensual. ‘Too curious?’

‘Way too curious. But since you’re interested, I take life as I find it. And for your information I come from an ordinary background of wonderful people. I have a mother, a brother and a sister. Uncles, aunts, cousins, the whole thing.’

‘No boyfriend? Fiancé?’

‘Tsk, tsk.’ She shook her head. ‘Haven’t you noticed?’ She waved her ringless left hand at him. ‘What sort of a detective are you?’

He laughed. ‘Clearly not very good. So you might as well tell me everything. Let me think. Start with the month and year of your birth.’

Pia stared incredulously at him. ‘Honestly. You are relentless. All right, I’m a Virgo and I’m twenty-six. Satisfied? On the shelf, you might say.’ She smiled. ‘And I’m guessing you’re a much older man of the world than that. Molto.’

‘Molto,’ he agreed, smiling. ‘A whole thirty-five.’ She waited for him to expand on his partner status, but he said nothing. A few more moments ticked by while she racked her brains for a way to ask without sounding madly interested, then he shot her a teasing, sensual glance. ‘You aren’t interested to know if I am on the shelf?’

‘Should I be?’

‘Then you’re not.’ He made it sound like a statement, though his voice was silken.

‘Well, I am now.’ She let her lashes flutter down. ‘But only because you brought it up.’

He laughed. ‘Ah, it’s so sexy talking to a clever woman.’ He hesitated a second, then said, ‘Grazie a Dio at this moment in time I’m a single man and my conscience is clear.’

She glowed inside. Though truly, feeling so fantastically exhilarated by a little conversational skirmish with a man she’d just met who was dripping with sexual possibilities probably meant her conscience should be anything but clear.

But it felt lovely to be admired, to receive hot slumberous glances more intense than the norm, which sometimes included her mouth as well as her eyes, or slid to her throat. It sparked up her blood and made her feel like a desirable woman again, and maybe she flirted a little. Once or twice.

The vegetation had changed. There were fig trees, olive groves and steep hillsides terraced with orchards of lemon and peach, while the warm spring air was scented with the fragrances of wild verbena and basil. The road became increasingly narrow, and soon there were high cliffs on one side and glimpses of sea on the other. So Valentino hadn’t exaggerated the danger, after all. The traffic was constant, interpersed with tourist buses and heavy lorries.

She began to feel deeply thankful not to be driving. Truly, she could have kissed that car-hire woman. While most of her fears had long since retreated, she still wasn’t so good with heights.

‘The road gets even narrower on the other side of Sorrento,’ he said. ‘We call it the Nastro Azzurro, what you would call the Blue Ribbon. You’ll know why when you see it.’ He growled an exclamation. ‘Some of these guys should be locked up. Where are the traffic cops when you need them?’ He took his hands from the wheel to gesticulate at a car pelting towards them, replacing them barely in time to swerve the car to safety. ‘Look.’ He gestured. ‘Vesuvius again.’

‘Fantastic,’ she gasped, her heart all at once in her throat, not daring to look at the views. ‘Does this car have airbags?’

‘I believe so. Though one can never be sure they will work until the moment of impact.’ He smiled and she forced herself to manufacture one for him.

She must try to stop talking to him. It was too dangerous. On every level.

Sorrento was beautiful, the old picturesque town spilling over cliff walls. Every vista was a thrill to Pia’s eye, and she wished they could have lingered there and explored those pretty streets and looked behind the bougainvilleaed walls.

Conversation trickled off once they were out of the town. The road reduced to a narrow ribbon of continuous sharp curves and switchbacks, a mere ledge along a cliff face, and surely not wide enough for two small cars to pass, let alone the tourist buses and trucks lumbering along, though Valentino negotiated the blind hairpins with confidence.

Through Pia’s window the sea called with breathtaking views across the bay, though she was too conscious of the cliff edge and its lack of a reassuring barrier to enjoy it. She could barely permit herself to look.

Admit it, she was scared, but not panicking. She hadn’t panicked for months, and she wouldn’t panic now in front of Valentino Silvestri.

As they passed through tiny villages clinging to the cliff face she sat taut, hands clenched, and concentrated on breathing. ‘… Pia?’

She came to herself with a shock, realising he’d been speaking to her. For how long? She felt a stab of dismay. How much of herself had she betrayed? He glanced at her again, a crease between his brows.

‘Sorry?’ she said. ‘What—what did you say?’

His frown intensified. ‘I was asking if you feel okay?’

‘Oh, I do. Sure. Fine.’ It was just that her breathing often grew shallow when suspended over a couple of thousand feet of cliff in the presence of a sexy man.

Not long afterwards, a bend in the road revealed a lay-by. Valentino swung the car in under some trees and parked. There was a small sharp silence, then he said gently, ‘You can stop clutching the seat now. Come. You need some fresh air. Let me show you the view.’

CHAPTER THREE

HER legs might have been unwilling, but Pia would have made them work even if all their bones had been broken. She dragged herself from the car and walked with Valentino across the leafy grass, barely even faltering when they approached the lookout.

The air was dry, hot in the sun, and aromatic with rosemary and other wild scents.

She gripped the stone balustrade with gratitude, though her throat was dry. The view was indeed spectacular, and when the solidity of cement and earth under her hands and feet had worked to settle her vertigo stole the breath from her lungs. Rugged cliff faces and blue, blue sea, misting into infinite sky. Deeper, more intense blue than the human mind could fathom. Indigo into cobalt, aquamarine and turquoise at the edges.

She could do this, she reasoned with herself. Even though they were up so high at least her feet were on solid ground and she had a big strong man beside her who wasn’t wearing a ski mask.

Oh, God, why think of that now?

She concentrated on breathing in the blue, allowing its healing qualities into her soul until her heart slowed its irrational racing and she felt herself start to relax. Valentino was leaning on the balustrade, his white shirt-opening cutting a bronzed V, his sleeves rolled up a little, forearms naked to the sun, the image of cool, sexy masculinity.

Cool, but if she could have painted him, the colours would have seared the page.

‘You see those little isles out there?’ She followed his gaze to where jagged fingers pointed from the sea, piercing the blue haze. ‘Remember Ulysses and the sirens who lured the sailors?’

‘That’s the place?’ She cleared the croakiness from her throat.

‘Yes. And just poking out from that corner of the cliff you see Capri.’

‘Oh,’ she exclaimed, her voice back to natural. ‘It’s beautiful.’ And she truly meant it. It was beyond beautiful. It was heaven.

He angled himself to gaze at her and the sun found gold and amber glimmers in the depths of his eyes. ‘Better now?’ There was concern in his voice, and the lines of his chiselled, sensuous mouth were grave.

‘I’m fine, truly. I don’t know what happened. You shouldn’t have worried.’ She hardly dared look at him for fear of seeing the curl of contempt she’d once surprised on Euan’s mouth when she’d revealed her nervousness. ‘You were white.’

She shrugged it off. ‘Oh, well, I’m probably overtired. I have been travelling for thirty-six hours. It’s only natural I should be a bit pale.’

His eyes flickered to her mouth. ‘Not that pale. But you’ve improved a little. Now your lips are pink.’ He moved closer, touched them with his knuckle. ‘Like cherries.’

Her heart made a deep lurch in her chest, and he bent and touched her lips with his, a gentle, exploratory friction. It took her by surprise, in truth. Her mad, pounding pulse took off, and she would have stopped the tingling kiss, she really would, except that her lips fell into a sort of divine enchantment. He pulled her close and her hands reached for his shoulders, his ribs, his thick black hair.

Oh, the bliss of being held gently by a hard man. His peppery spice filled her head, and the taste of him, so masculine yet in some way unique, ignited her senses until she was drunk, and for seconds she came close to abandoning herself to his possession.

He gathered her close to his lean solid body and kissed her with a sizzling, sexy, melting heat, titillating the insides of her mouth with his tongue, drugging her brain with the sexual narcotic and razing her to the ground.

She sank into him, stroking him, her body thrilling to his arousing touch.

His smooth hands slid to her breasts and a wild flame of desire flared up in her. Instantly she felt conscious of losing control. At the same time awareness of the implacable power of his big, steel-hard physique sent a choking panic jackknifing through her insides.

She shoved at his powerful chest and broke free from his arms.

‘No, don’t,’ she said hoarsely, panting. ‘Not this.’

‘Cosa?’

He was staring at her with a strange expression, as though seeing something unexpected in her face. It was infuriating, and she hastened to cover up whatever it had been.

‘I—I don’t want to be kissed, do you understand?’ She was breathing fast. Anger and arousal seethed with equal potency in her bloodstream. For God’s sake, what was she doing? Here she was with a perfect stranger on a hellish road in the middle of what looked and smelled like heaven on earth, and for a moment she’d actually come close to getting carried away and letting herself go.

She must have lost her senses.

Blinking as though stunned, he stared at her with eyes that blazed molten. ‘I did not—’ His voice was thicker and deeper than a Gulf Oil gusher. ‘I did not intend … This was just … I wanted to comfort you.’

‘Oh, to comfort me. Please.’

A flush touched his lean cheeks. He said something intense in flowing Italian accompanied by a proud gesture that made it clear he felt stung by her accusation. The trouble was, even in her anger, those lilting, lyrical words, so eloquent of denial, expressed in his deep voice seeped into her bloodstream and threatened to undermine her.

She hardened herself against them and said in a low voice, ‘I don’t need comforting. Anyway, this was not what I’d call comfort. This was a man taking advantage of a woman.’

His head jerked back.

The ferocity of her words surprised even herself. Since the bank incident, she’d taken care to avoid riling members of the opposite sex. As soon as her bold words escaped from her mouth her cowardly heart jumped into her throat and cringed.

He stared at her, frowning, his eyes glittering. ‘I am not the sort of man who takes advantage of a woman.’ All at once his accent was very pronounced. ‘Holding you, kissing you even, seemed like a—a—natural response to your distress. I was intending merely to—soothe you.’

The flush on his sculpted cheekbones deepened on those last words, as if he realised himself how lame they sounded.

‘Oh, that’s what they all say.’

His eyes flashed. ‘Mio Dio, what sort of guy do you think I am?’ He made a small move in her direction, and despite her bravado an involuntary lurch in her guts drove her back a step.

Shock smote his tense, handsome face and he held up his hands. ‘Pia … You have no need to feel afraid. I am a civilised man, perdio. I do not assault women. Far from it.’

‘I’m not afraid,’ she said sharply, though in fact her blood was thundering in her ears and she was trembling like an aspen. ‘Just—disappointed, that’s all. I have had a long, long trip. You’re a total stranger and I’m not in any mood to be kissing anyone.’ Her voice wobbled on the last word, to her utter shame.

But his assurances on the assault issue began to sink in. She started to feel less severely threatened, and as her confidence rose the strength of her anger intensified, and her need to express it.

‘You shouldn’t have assumed I wanted to kiss you.’

‘Okay, okay …’ He threw up his hands, muttering in melodic Italiano then switching to English. ‘You don’t need to explain.’

‘I’m not explaining.’ And she wasn’t, not really. It was just that she felt all wound up and needed to vent her feelings. ‘I’m—mortified that you think I’m the sort of woman who would encourage such … such … free and easy.’ She made a wordless gesture.

‘Kissing.’

‘As if any time a man finds a woman on a lonely road he should seize the opportunity. As if this is what I was cut out for. To be kissed by a man. Any man who feels like it, any old tick of the clock. All right, Pia, I like the look of you so I’ll kiss you. As if I should enjoy …’

He’d been listening with close attention, but at that his black lashes swept down to conceal a sudden gleam in his eyes. ‘And yet for a few moments there I had the distinct impression you did enjoy. You were so very, very responsive. When I held you in my arms I could feel the thrill rippling through your vibrant body. I can feel it still, in my arms, all through my body, all the way to my bones.’

It was her turn to flush. Her conscience pricked, and to make matters worse the very nature of the words he’d used were in some way arousing.

‘Oh, rubbish.’ She gave a cool, angry laugh and turned away to hide her burning cheeks. ‘There was no thrill. The only thing rippling through me was anger.’

She started to walk across the clearing towards the car. She felt all raw inside, as if she were in the wrong somehow and had treated him unfairly, when all the time he was the one who had kissed her. She supposed if the case made it to court he’d accuse her of flirting with him on the journey.

But what was flirting, after all? A binding contract?

He caught up with her and said stiffly, ‘I’m sorry to have distressed you, Pia. If I had realised when you were moaning in my arms—’

‘Oh, what, moaning? I was not.’ Blushing furiously, she turned away.

‘Sì, sì, I heard you moan.’ His voice thickened. ‘When you did that it made me so hot for you. Molto molto caldo.’

The words affected her against her will, coursing through her like a hot tingling aphrodisiac, and with a spurt of sudden anger she spun around to face him. ‘Stop this, Valentino. Please. There’s no use talking about it.’ Gazing at his gorgeous face, so dark and intense, so focused on her, all at once she felt breathless, furious, ready to strike. ‘Don’t say another word.’

He threw up his hands. ‘Okay, okay. Don’t be upset. I am not one of these guys who argue and force themselves upon women. You have said no more and no more is how it shall be. Nothing more. Niente.’

She strode on, wishing she weren’t so conscious of him behind her.

‘And don’t think you can arouse me by using Italian words, either,’ she tossed over her shoulder. She turned to reinforce the command with a glare and noticed a dark gleam in his eyes, but it might have been a trick of the sunlight.

With chillingly elaborate courtesy he opened the car door for her. Before she got in, in a last—ditch effort to calm things down, she paused. She drew a long deep breath.

‘Look, Valentino …’

His eyes glinted. ‘Sì?’

‘If for some reason you mistakenly thought …’

‘I thought nothing. You have every right to say no.’ There was a pride and dignity in his bearing that touched her, and she was so relieved to find him civilised and accepting of her rejection, she almost felt a rush of warmth towards him.

‘Oh, look. Thank you for being so …’ Her words dried up and she gestured instead.

He shrugged. ‘Forget it. Una bella ragazza ha il diritto cambiare pensiero.’

She had no idea what that meant, only that it slid down her spine like honey. But she could hardly beg him to stop breaking into his own language, especially in an emotional situation where it was only natural that it should spring first to his tongue.

The journey into Positano was short, thank the Lord, with Valentino grimly polite. That didn’t succeed in alleviating the undercurrents smouldering between them. With almost punishing kindness he pointed out things to her as they drove the single road that snaked back and forth in its descent through the town to the sea. He showed her the main square, the market and the shops crammed along intriguing little alleyways, in the most courteous voice imaginable, while, confusingly, his accent deepened and became even more appealing to the ear.

It was torture.

Even worse than the aftermath of the kiss, if possible, was her awareness of the exhibition she’d made of herself during the journey, freezing with fear like that in the car. Her delight in her first sight of the amazing old village cascading down the cliff, the terraces and villas built seemingly on top of one another, was all but ruined.

He drove her almost down as far as the sea, drawing up in a small square before the small church. Taking her bags from the car, he carried them up through a maze of narrow alleyways that here and there turned into steep stairs hewn from the rock face. Eventually he pushed open a gate that led into a terrace with a little courtyard.

There were several apartments of pale pink stucco in the row, each with a balcony under an arcaded roof. Pia followed the apartment numbers with her eye and found Lauren’s at the end. She hoisted the canvas bag onto her shoulder while Valentino hefted her suitcase upstairs to the balcony.

‘Do you have a key?’ he said, pausing.

‘Above the mantel, Lauren said.’ Constraint made her voice sound unnatural even to her own ears. She reached up to the beam but he was there before her, his cool hand colliding with hers on the ledge.

She drew hers sharply away.

He gave her the key and she unlocked and stood aside for him to carry in her things. She barely noticed the apartment’s interior, she was so intensely aware of Valentino and the brooding vibrations.

When her stuff was inside and he was outside on the balcony, ready to depart, she racked her brains for something to say to ease the strained atmosphere.

‘Where did you say you live?’ she enquired, in too much dismay to give the miraculous houses, apartment blocks and tiny terraced gardens crammed on the hillside above and adjacent to Lauren’s terrace more than a cursory glance.

‘There.’ He pointed below.

Her eyes jolted wide open. The dwelling he indicated was nearby, all right. It was on the next level down, an elegant white villa with a broad terrace at the rear and a small, cultivated garden, with grape vines, peach and lemon trees. Set into the terrace, an irregularly shaped pool sparkled in the midday sun like a jewel, and beyond the villa was the sea.