him? Just like that? Jeez, Eve!’
‘I know, I know. It was stupid,’ snapped Eve, wedging the phone against her ear as she handed money to the supermodel waitress. ‘But at the time I was—I don’t know—powerless to resist. You don’t know what he’s like, Lou…There’s a sort of strength about him…’
‘There was a “sort of strength” about Adolf Hitler too, but it hardly made him the ideal partner. Look, Eve, I don’t like the sound of this. What happened last night was nothing to do with destiny, or love at first sight, or whatever fluffy notions you’ve got. It’s far more likely that he remembers Ellie and recognised you, and intends to keep you quiet. It’s not safe. I think you should come home.’
‘No.’ It came out more forcefully than she had intended, and the waitress gave Eve an odd look as she handed her the paper bag containing the croissant. Tucking it under her chin while she waited for her change, Eve continued in an urgent whisper, ‘I’m not giving up now. For two miserable years I’ve waited to find out something, anything, that would bring me closer to understanding what happened to Ellie, and now I’m here and I’ve finally managed to put a face to the name on that bloody scrap of paper. And suddenly none of it seems to fit, and I don’t know what I believe any more, but one thing is certain…’ Her voice was rising as her resolve increased and, snatching up her hot chocolate, she swept away from the counter. ‘I’m not coming home until I find some answers, whatever that takes. Either I’m going to expose di Lazaro as a sleazy drug pusher, or—’
She paused for a second to take a tentative sip of the froth on the top of her chocolate, closing her eyes in pleasure at the rich, sweet aroma. The next moment she had collided with something hard and unyielding.
A tidal wave of hot chocolate spilled over her hand, and made five small splashes on the front of the white shirt three inches from her nose.
The creased, obviously expensive, instantly recognisable white shirt three inches from her nose.
She gave a tiny whimper of distress.
‘What? Eve? Eve?’
In one swift movement Raphael Di Lazaro had relieved her of the dripping paper cup and extracted her mobile phone from between her ear and her shoulder. His face was dangerously calm as he spoke into it, but his eyes glittered with anger.
‘I’m afraid your friend seems to be momentarily lost for words, but let me reassure you that she’s perfectly all right.’
Eve’s cheek burned where his fingertips had brushed it, and she felt dizzy as she caught a brief hint of the scent of his skin. Vaguely, from the depths of her despair, she could make out the alarm in Lou’s voice at the other end of the phone.
‘Thank goodness for that. What happened?’
‘It’s nothing. Just a little accident with some hot chocolate. Tell me, is she always this clumsy?’
Eve heard Lou laugh, relaxing in the warmth of that low, impossibly sexy voice. Traitor. She wouldn’t be so amused if she knew who she was talking to.
‘Is she wearing her glasses?’
Raphael’s chilly gaze flickered over Eve’s face. ‘No.’
‘Oh, she’s hopeless. Really, she shouldn’t be allowed out on her own.’
‘I couldn’t agree more, signorina.’
Furious, Eve snatched the phone back. ‘OK, Lou—lovely to talk to you. But you’d better go and sleep it off now. And remember—no more vodka at breakfast time.’
Snapping the phone shut with grim satisfaction before Lou could protest, Eve steeled herself to look up at Raphael. Even though he still wore that careful, guarded, blank expression, there was no mistaking the hostility it masked.
‘So, Signorina Middlemiss…’ He paused, enunciating each word very carefully, as if trying not to lose control of his temper. ‘Perhaps you’d like to tell me exactly what you think you’re doing?’
Her chin shot up in defiance. ‘It was an accident—hardly anything to make a fuss about. I’m sure it’ll wash out—’
His voice cut through her like the lash of a whip. ‘Don’t be childish. You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. What were the words you used? Sleazy drug pusher? I hardly think that’s the sort of thing the readers of Glitterati want to hear about.’
The searing contempt in his tone was like acid on an open wound. But even more painful was the realisation that Lou’s theory might be right.
‘So you do know who I am? Surprise, surprise. I might have known that men like you have spies everywhere.’
He raised a hand. For a crazy, delicious, dizzying split second she thought he was going to pull her into his arms and kiss her, as he had done last night. She was horrified at the disappointment that sliced into her as his fingers merely brushed the press ID badge clipped to the front of her scoop-necked T-shirt.
‘“Eve Middlemiss. Fashion Assistant. Glitterati”,’ he read softly, his beautiful mouth curving into a cruel half-smile. ‘One hardly has to have a sophisticated intelligence network to find these things out. Five minutes ago I knew almost nothing about you, signorina, but a picture is rapidly emerging.’
‘Oh, yes? What picture?’
Damn. Only a complete simpleton would walk into that one. She could smell the sandalwood maleness of him, and it was having a catastrophic effect on her ability to think rationally.
‘That of a silly, inexperienced journalist on a low-rent publication who is getting involved in things that are completely over her pretty blonde head.’
Well, she had asked.
He took a step back, making Eve suddenly aware of how close together they had been standing, and how the sheer nearness of him had held her spellbound. With space to breathe, the impact of his words suddenly hit her with all the force of a prizefighter’s punch.
‘You patronising male chauvinist pig! How dare you pass judgement on me?’
He had taken something out of his pocket and was leaning on one of the pavement tables, writing.
‘Do you really want me to answer that?’ he drawled, without looking up. ‘Even your friend is of the opinion that you shouldn’t be out on your own.’
‘My friend was joking,’ Eve hissed though gritted teeth. ‘To understand that you need something called a sense of humour.’
Straightening up, Raphael leaned his elegant slim-hipped frame against the table and looked at her for a moment through narrowed eyes. Then, folding his arms in an attitude of complete ease, he began to talk in a swift stream of Italian. His voice was husky and low, almost caressing in its intimacy, and the words flowed over her like warm rain, making her skin tingle and the hairs stand up on the nape of her neck. For a blissful moment she felt an echo of the drenching pleasure that she’d experienced last night in his arms.
And then she realised he’d stopped speaking and was looking at her questioningly. ‘So?’
Bewildered, mesmerised, she faltered and shook her head confusedly. ‘I…Sorry,
