intrigued. Those immaculately pressed pants weren’t from a thrift shop. Her curiosity soared as questions of who, why and what skated around her brain.
Under her fascinated gaze, the discreet cream knees bent and the leather-clad heels propelled the body out a little more. Now they could all see that the guy had been lying on a proper mechanic’s trolley. The mystery deepened. A trolley wasn’t the kind of thing a rich man kept handy.
“I think he’s Italian,” stated Lisa, “despite the blond hair. Wait till you see his pecs!”
“Pecs? I’ve seen pecs,” said Tina mildly, but she stayed nevertheless, dying to know why a blond Italian would throw coins….
She took a step back in shock. Her small hand went to her brightly painted mouth. A blond Italian. Italian car. Italian shoes.
Oh, God!
Her skin paled beneath its tan, washed with gray from head to toe, her huge, dark-lashed eyes suddenly great sinking navy pools in her horrified face. Suddenly she didn’t want to stay around the dime-tossing stranger any longer. Just in case. Her heart stopped beating for a brief moment as the ground seemed to heave beneath her feet and she tried to steady herself.
It could well be Giovanni.
Hazily she focused on the feet, the legs, the dancer-slim hips. It couldn’t be. No, some other guy. Why had she thought of Gio? Her intuition had gone crazy. He could never afford to rent a Lamborghini, let alone buy one. Surely… She swallowed. No man in his position would want to come back. The shame, the accusing stares, the stony silence from everyone would be unbearable for him.
Yet there was the familiar thud in her chest that came when Giovanni was close, the melting of her body into a molten heap, ready to erupt when he touched her, spoke, fixed her with his brooding, heavy-lidded eyes.
Since his departure so long ago, nothing had changed the way she felt deep inside. A crowd of guys had dated her; a few had kissed her. She scowled, firmly pushing back the inevitable thought that none of them had taken her all the way to heaven the way Giovanni had.
Perhaps it was just as well. The lush red of her lips parted in a grimace of pain. Never again in her entire life did she want to feel that she was dying inside because of a man’s rejection and his casual betrayal. Or to realize that the man she’d loved was without honor or backbone. No wonder Gio’s adoring parents had disowned him!
She inhaled sharply, slamming the door on a pain ten years old. That was how you dealt with tragedy; when it was too huge, too hurtful to cope with, you eliminated it from your mind and threw yourself into work one hundred percent and made some kind of a life for yourself.
Her mouth trembled. Every now and then, a word, a gesture, the angle of a jaw or a word spoken on the television, caused her to learn the cruel lesson that her love for Giovanni had never faded; it was merely suppressed. Which made her a mindless fool, because only a mindless fool carried a torch for a cheat and a liar.
Men like Gio were virtually programmed to build up a woman’s hopes, to deceive and disappoint—then to vanish. He was a coward. No, worse than that, she thought unhappily. Much worse. As bad as a man could be.
She pressed a trembling hand against the cerulean blue of her T-shirt. Beneath her soft breath, her heart beat in an alarmingly erratic rhythm.
“Miss Murphy? You okay?”
“I…oh, too many waffles for breakfast,” she told Brad, taking a quick gulp of oxygen to fill her crushed lungs. “I’ll give the pecs a miss. They’re a dime a dozen now that everyone works out,” she continued hurriedly. “Ask him if they do Countachs in a ragtop!” Her attempt to sound casual began to fall apart. The feet and legs had edged forward ultraslowly, and the beefy torso was being revealed in all its masculine glory. Giovanni, her brain told her. “Have fun, you guys! Gotta go!” She whirled around, striding fast as a whippet toward the street.
To her acutely tuned ears came the rasping sound of trolley wheels on the clamshells. She hastily flung open the drunken gate and strode onto the sidewalk. “There’s no earthly reason that it should be him!” she muttered to herself. “None at all—”
“Teeenaaa!”
“Ohhhh!” she gasped.
Quickening her pace, she pretended she didn’t recognize the rich, rolling, elaborately drawn-out extension of the syllables of her name. But no one in the world except Giovanni had the ability to caress even the most ordinary word. Those lilting cadences, a rough edge and an Italian’s way with women had given him advantages over other men, and the easily won adoration had flawed him fatally. Women came willingly to his arms, she thought, sick at heart.
“Teeenaaa!”
Grim faced, she faked deafness and forged on till a painfully remembered musical whistle stopped her as dead as if she’d hit a brick wall. Their call!
Their secret call, when they’d needed one another. How could he? How could he? Emotions coursed through her in destructive waves. Love. Regret. Shame. Anger. And contempt by the bucket. Too much to cope with. Tina got her leaden feet working again, her mind still in turmoil. Giovanni! Not in a million years had she expected to see him again—or ever wanted to!
Why had he come? Her dazed mind whirled, seeking an explanation for his hiring an ostentatious car when it was unlikely he could afford such extravagances. He’d never made it to college, and there’d been that period in… Tina’s white teeth savaged her lower lip as she fought to keep her emotions under control. Jail. She’d said it. Jail had taken up two years of his life. Not much opportunity to make money with that track record.
Reluctantly she faced the truth she’d been avoiding. He’d sworn he’d return one day—and make everyone sit up and take notice.
An image burned itself in her mind. She closed her eyes briefly in anguish, but the image was even clearer, and when she snapped them open again he was still there—in court, just after the sentence had been read, his eyes flickering in malediction between her and her once-dear friend Beth, because they’d provided the evidence that had damned him.
“I’ll be back!” he’d yelled across the courtroom, her heart breaking at the way he’d struggled with the restraining officer. The hurt racked through her now and then; Gio had protested his innocence to the last and never admitted his guilt. “I swear to God you’ll all know when I’ve hit town!”
Ashen faced, Tina stepped up her pace, driving her wobbling legs toward the café a few hundred yards down the street. She wished it wasn’t Saturday, because only a handful of people were stirring—mainly students and those like herself who’d become accustomed to getting up for school at seven-thirty. She wanted crowds. The safety of numbers and friendly faces because that day in court was one she wanted to forget forever. And suddenly it was here and now, and she couldn’t bear it.
The whistle sounded again, louder, more imperious, as though she’d turn and run to him like some obedient dog. Her heart tripped a beat. He’d called her a bitch of the first order, his eyes glittering with hatred, the promise of retribution in every inch of his powerful body.
Sicilian vengeance. Cold, calculated, final.
And now he was here. Giovanni, having been brought up a Sicilian half his life, would be nursing a grudge he would take to the grave if it wasn’t satisfied. The past swept relentlessly into the present: everything
