‘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
