style="font-size:15px;"> ‘You make for the car, Agent Linardi, and I’ll cover you,’ she told him in a terrible attempt at an American accent, ruining her efforts by giggling.
Rico’s answering chuckle warmed her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, as did the delighted appreciation in his eyes that she was playing along. ‘Good thinking, Agent Baxter. When I give the signal, make a run for it,’ he instructed, adopting an even worse accent than hers.
A moment later Rico waved to her and she hurried across to join him. They were both laughing as he opened the rear door of the taxi and bundled her inside. She slid along the backseat, feeling wonderfully light-hearted as he climbed in beside her, then he leaned forward to greet the driver and give him the address of the restaurant. Not for the first time that day she wondered how this man could make her feel cherished one moment and as if her whole ordered existence was threatened the next.
Rico also made her feel valued. When he had told her how impressed he was with her quick study and her natural abilities, Ruth had been flattered and warmed by his praise. His words had meant more to her than he, or anyone else, would ever know. People saw her as cool, self-confident, even emotionless, but she was none of those things. That image was a façade, a shield she had cultivated in order to function and to hide the doubts and rejections, the disappointments and lack of self-worth that she had experienced for as long as she could remember.
She may not like it, but she recognised that her craving for acceptance, her need to please and to belong, stemmed back to her childhood. And, deep inside, a part of her still yearned for approval, still struggled to be good enough. Her patients were appreciative, her few friends supportive, but it was Rico who had demonstrated the kind of belief in her that she had once longed, forlornly, to receive from her hyper-critical parents.
Rico had accepted her intelligence and had encouraged her to push herself, challenging her over the past month with the questions he had posed in his emails. She had been fascinated and had spent any spare time studying the topics he had raised—much to the despair of Gina and Holly, who had literally dragged her out with them on several occasions, claiming she would burn out if she didn’t have some fun time. What they couldn’t understand was that she thrived on learning and stretching her mind. Rico’s emails had invigorated her. In person he was so much more.
As the taxi driver engaged Rico in conversation, Ruth leaned back and reviewed the way the day had unfolded after the morning coffee break. It was hard to believe that she had only met this man in person ten hours ago. She still knew little about him, and yet she felt as if she had known him forever.
When the morning session of talks had ended, Rico had rejoined her, staying close and making sure to sit next to her at lunch. He had introduced her to the people at their table, and to many others during the afternoon, especially those whose work he thought would interest her.
Rico’s workshop had been incredible, and although he had often singled her out with testing questions, she hadn’t felt awkward, and his obvious approval when she had got things right had made her feel good. As he’d walked around the room, talking, questioning, presenting examples, his brief but frequent touches as he passed her—a hand resting on her shoulder or her head—had seemed to be instinctive, unconscious gestures, and always discreet, out of sight of the other people present. They increased her awareness of him but also gave her the novel feeling of being special and cared for. It had been a heady experience and she feared it would be all too easy to lose her head over this man.
He was very protective and whilst he made her feel incredibly safe, she also knew the very real danger he posed. Aside from his stunning looks, his presence and his masculinity, she was drawn to his intelligence and his humour. And his voice had a crazy effect on her. It couldn’t just be his accent, Ruth mused. There were two Italian doctors living and working in or around Strathlochan—Gina’s fiancé, who worked with her at the drop-in centre, and Nic di Angelis, a GP from the practice in Lochanrig, one of the neighbouring villages. Both were handsome and charming men, and Ruth was comfortable with them, but neither affected her in the slightest. Not that way. No man ever had. Except Rico.
Ruth was roused from her reverie when the man in question rested one hand on her knee. The touch was light and yet it burned her like a brand, sparking a fresh wave of desire, flames of it flaring through her whole body. The magnetic pull was too strong to resist and she looked at him, feeling the now-familiar jolt as their gazes connected. A slow smile curved his mouth, tightening the ache deep inside her.
‘You are all right, carissima?’
Ruth wasn’t at all sure she was, but she managed a shaky smile in return. ‘I’m fine.’
‘We are here,’ Rico told her, and she realised she had been so engrossed in her thoughts that she had not noticed that the taxi had stopped.
Rico opened the door and climbed out, taking her hand again when she joined him on the pavement. Having thanked and paid the taxi driver, they walked a few yards along the seafront, enjoying the early evening sun glinting off the expanse of the bay.
‘Were we followed, Agent Linardi?’ she murmured, pretending to look around and continuing their charade.
A sexy smile curved Rico’s mouth. ‘I think we have given them the slip for now, Agent Baxter. We can discuss our secret mission while we eat.’
Inside, the restaurant was inviting and warm, with muted lighting, soft background music and a welcoming ambiance. Ruth appreciated Rico’s innate good manners as he helped her off with her coat before removing his jacket. He rested a hand on her hip, keeping her close to him. So close she felt his body heat and was aware of and aroused by his heady, masculine scent.
‘One of the hotel staff recommended this place,’ Rico told her when they had been shown to an alarmingly intimate and secluded table in a quiet corner at the back of the restaurant.
Ruth manufactured a scandalised expression. ‘You compromised our mission?’
‘Do not worry.’ Rico leaned closer, his voice dropping. ‘My informant will not give us away.’
The return of the waiter with menus and a basket of bread sticks curtailed further silliness, and Ruth sat back to assess the selection of dishes available.
‘If the food is not to your taste, we can go somewhere else,’ Rico offered, reverting to his normal voice.
Ruth shook her head. ‘No, this is lovely,’ she assured him, her mouth watering as she made her choice from the menu.
She liked the fact that Rico asked her opinion. Even when she had asked him not to, Adam had always arrogantly ordered for them both when they had gone out, and she had hated that. Not only had she been perfectly able to make decisions for herself, but he had invariably picked things she did not enjoy and had then had the effrontery to take umbrage if she had not liked something or had asked to change it. Rico, by contrast, treated her with respect, and as an equal,
They sat at the small, attractively set table, out of sight of the other diners in the restaurant. Rico was at right angles to her and so close that his leg brushed against hers. His hand toyed with her fingers or rested on the back of her chair, touching her shoulder, her neck, stroking her hair, and the attention was flattering but overwhelming, keeping her on a knife-edge.
After discussing the food and wine, and discovering that they had similar tastes, they gave their orders to the waiter. Ruth felt relaxed and able to talk to Rico about anything. And he made her laugh as no other man had done. He showed no sign that he found her brains intimidating, something she had encountered so
