by Lucy King
‘Where should I meet you?’
‘La Piccola Osteria.’
‘Hmm. I don’t think I know it,’ she said, and he could hear the frown in her tone. ‘What’s the address?’
‘Calle dell’Olio. Venice.’
There was a stunned silence, and then a breathy, ‘Venice?’
‘I’m on my way home.’
‘Already?’
‘One of the many advantages of having a private plane,’ he said, shifting in his seat to ease the ache and tension in his groin that her soft gasps had generated. ‘So if you want to have dinner with me, tesoro, you’ll need to come to Venice. Tonight. After which my invitation expires. It’s your call.’
* * *
On the other end of the line, Carla stood in the cool hall of Finn and Georgie’s home, every cell of her body abuzz. The effect of Rico’s deep, masculine tones in her ear had been unexpectedly electrifying, sending shivers rippling up and down her spine while heating her blood, but that was nothing compared to the shock that was reeling through her now.
So much for the blithe assumption of an easy acceptance of his earlier invitation, she thought, her heart hammering wildly while her head spun. This was an entirely different prospect.
Dinner in Venice?
Tonight?
It was impossible. She’d never make it. She was knackered. The last thing she needed was another dash to another airport for another flight. The whole idea of haring halfway across a continent with next to no planning to meet a man she barely knew smacked of recklessness, something she abhorred and had taken great care to avoid after what had happened to her when she was young. She’d have to be mad to even consider it, as Georgie would no doubt tell her if she knew what Rico had just proposed.
On the other hand, when would there be another opportunity to at least try and fix the mistakes she’d made? If she didn’t accept his challenge, how would she be able to change his mind or keep the lines of communication open?
She couldn’t wimp out now. She had to give it a shot. The situation could hardly get worse and she could catch up on sleep any time. In fact, she might even request the next week off. And yes, she loathed the idea of giving in to any man’s demands, but ultimately whether or not she went to Venice would be her decision. Rico wasn’t forcing her to do anything. No one was. She was in total control of her choices, which was crucially important to her, and that was where she’d stay. And even if she weren’t, for her best friend she’d make that sacrifice.
The fluttering in her stomach and the racing of her pulse had nothing to do with nerves. Or excitement. Or anticipation. Everything going on inside her was purely down to the crushing weight of responsibility she felt. Finn was worried that Rico could vanish into the ether for good and, because it was her fault he’d left in the first place, it was up to her to prevent that whatever it took.
‘What time?’
* * *
At half-past ten Italian time, thirty minutes after she and Rico had been due to meet, Carla grabbed her suitcase and stepped off the water taxi she’d caught at the airport.
She was still barely able to believe she’d actually made it, she thought dazedly, heading for the restaurant he’d named. None of this felt real. Not the racing from Oxfordshire to her flat to the airport. Not the packed two-hour flight for which she’d been on standby and which she’d caught by the skin of her teeth. Not even the buzzing energy and the anticipation and excitement that were crashing around inside her.
The energy was a relief, but she had no business feeling excited about anything, least of all seeing Rico again. Wary? Definitely. Determined to find out why he’d run and then complete her mission? Absolutely. Anything else? Out of the question. Because this wasn’t a date. Or a minibreak in a romantic city she’d never visited before. This was going to be a conversation, a retrieval of information, possibly a negotiation, nothing more, which she simply could not forget.
With her suitcase stowed in the cloakroom, Carla took a deep, steadying breath and followed the waiter out onto the terrace, channelling cool, calm control and reminding herself of the goal with every step, but no amount of preparation could have braced her for the impact of seeing Rico again.
He was lounging at a table in a far, shadowy corner of the terrace, impossibly handsome and insanely sexy in the candlelight, and when his gaze collided with hers it was as if the world suddenly skidded to a halt. Her surroundings disappeared, the twinkling fairy lights winding over and around the pergola, the clink of cutlery, the chatter of the clientele and the dashing around of the waiters gone in a heartbeat. All she could hear was the thundering of her blood in her head. All she could feel was the heavy drum of desire. All she could do was weave between tables covered with red cloths and flickering candles, as if tied to the end of a rope he was slowly hauling in.
She tried to convince herself that the flipping of her stomach was down to hunger or stress or relief that he hadn’t given up on her and gone home, but she had the unsettling feeling that it was entirely down to the darkly compelling man now slowly unfolding himself and getting to his feet without taking his eyes off her for even a second.
When she reached his table, he leaned forwards, dizzying her with his spicy, masculine scent, and for one ground-tilting, heart-stopping moment she thought he was going to put his hand on her arm and drop a kiss on her cheek. In a daze, she went hot, her heart gave a great crash against her ribs and her gaze automatically went to his lips. How would they feel on her skin? Hard or soft? Would they make her burn or shiver or both?
But with a quick frown and a minute clench of his jaw he straightened at the last minute, and the searing disappointment that spun through her nearly knocked her off her feet. Her response contained none of the relief she should have felt at the fact that he hadn’t kissed her, and the realisation hit her like a bucket of icy water.
God, she had to be careful here. She was miles out of her comfort zone and on his territory. It would be so easy to lose control and herself in the highly inconvenient and deeply unwanted desire she felt for him. One slip and everything she’d worked so hard to achieve could be destroyed. One slip and she’d have more than a mistake to rectify.
She had to focus on why she was here and keep it at the forefront of her mind at all times. She had to get a grip on her reaction to him and remain composed, no matter how powerful the attraction, which surely had to lessen with familiarity.
‘Buonasera,’ she said, her voice thankfully bearing no hint of the struggle going on inside her.
‘You’re late,’ he said with a smile so easy it made her wonder if she’d imagined his discomposure a moment ago.
‘The traffic was terrible.’
‘The canals can get busy at this time on a Saturday night. How was your journey?’
‘Tight,’ she said with a thank-you to the waiter who whipped out the chair opposite him so she could sit down. ‘As you knew it would be when you told me it was Venice or nothing.’
Rico lowered himself into his own seat and sat back, the smile curving his mouth deepening. ‘Yet here you are.’
‘Here I am,’ she agreed, hanging her bag on the back of her chair before making herself comfortable and then fixing him with an arch look. ‘As are you, which is a surprise.’
‘Why would you say that?’
‘You don’t do waiting, do you?’
He frowned for a moment, as if he had no idea to what she was referring, and then the frown disappeared and the smile returned. ‘I decided to make an exception for you.’
‘I’m flattered.’
‘Drink?’
God, yes. ‘That would be lovely.’
‘What would you like?’
‘Whisky, per favore. Could you make it a double?’
‘Certo.ʼ
‘Grazie.ʼ
* * *
With a minute
lift of his head, Rico summoned the waiter while contemplating bypassing the request for two double whiskies and simply ordering the bottle.
God knew he could do with the fortification. He was still reeling from Carla’s appearance at the door of his favourite restaurant. He’d been sitting at his usual table, frowning at his watch and feeling oddly on edge, when his skin had started prickling and his pulse had leapt, a crackle of electricity suddenly charging the air around him. He’d glanced up and there she’d been, standing at the edge of the terrace, scanning the diners for him.
She’d changed from the red dress she’d been wearing earlier into tight white jeans and a silky-looking pink top over which she wore a dark jacket, but the effect she’d had on him was just as intense as it had been when he’d met her beneath the tree. The bolt of desire that had punched him in the gut was equally as powerful. The whoosh of air from his lungs had been none the less acute.
Time had slowed right down as she’d walked towards him, her gaze not leaving his for even a millisecond, and he’d been so mesmerised that instinct had taken over. Out of habit he’d got to his feet and he’d been this close to kissing her cheek when a great neon light had started flashing in his head, an intense sense of self-preservation pulling him back at the last minute.
For one thing, if he touched her he might not be able to stop, and for another, it hadn’t looked as if any sort of physical contact would be welcome. Carla’s expression as she’d approached him had been severe, her gaze unwaveringly cool and her mouth once again a firm, uncompromising line, which was...unexpected.
Disappointingly, she neither sounded nor looked like someone keen on exploring the searing attraction that had arced between them, but the night was young, by Italian standards, and, at the very least, the last three months had taught him patience.
Nevertheless he was going to need his wits about him if he was going to maintain control while convincing her that taking ownership of the attraction they shared and acting on it was a good idea, which was why he decided against ordering the bottle.
When their drinks arrived a few moments later, he watched Carla pick hers up, tip back half of it and sigh with appreciation.
‘Long day?’ he asked, noting the faint smudges of tiredness beneath her eyes and briefly thinking about all the other ways in which he’d make her sigh once she’d come round to his way of thinking.
‘Long week,’ she corrected. ‘I was in Hong Kong until ten o’clock last night their time.’
‘Work?’
‘Yes. I went straight from the airport to my flat to the christening, then did the whole journey in reverse, only ending up here instead of there.’
‘And now I’m flattered.’
She set her glass down and arched her eyebrow. ‘I wouldn’t be.’
‘What made you reassess my invitation?’ he said, rolling his own glass between his fingers, her spiky attitude once again only intensifying his interest. ‘I was under the impression that it would be a cold day in hell before you would have dinner with me.’
Her gaze dropped to his fingers for one oddly heart-stopping moment before slowly lifting back to his. ‘Toast and smashed avocado lost its appeal.’
‘Really?’
‘No,’ she said drily. ‘Of course not. Your visit was brief but devastating. You departed in a hurry and left chaos in your wake. I’d like to rectify that.’
‘Why?’
‘Finn is upset and Georgie’s my best friend. If he’s upset, she’s upset, and that upsets me.’
‘Enough to accept an impromptu invitation to dinner in Venice?’ He couldn’t even begin to imagine a relationship that deep.
‘Evidently so.’
‘That’s some loyalty,’ he said, although who was he to judge when he’d done a similar thing, compelled by an intuition he didn’t even understand?
‘It goes both ways.’
Not always. In his experience, loyalty was a fickle, one-sided thing that could destroy and traumatise. Life, he’d come to discover, went a lot more smoothly if you expected nothing from anyone and no one expected anything from you. Not that now was the moment to be thinking about the gang he’d joined as a youth and the mistaken belief he’d found a place to belong and a bunch of people who’d turn into family.
‘So you’re here to change my mind about meeting Finn,’ he said, ruthlessly suppressing the harrowing memories before they could force their way into his head and focusing on Carla instead.
‘Yes.’
‘And there was me thinking you were interested in my charm, my wit and my devastatingly good looks.’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘What a waste of a journey,’ he said, ignoring the tiny dent to his ego, since he had no doubt he’d be able to change her mind. He’d caught the flicker of heat in her shimmering green gaze when she’d looked at his hand a moment ago. He’d heard the barely-there hitch of her breath. Just as when they’d been talking by the tree earlier today, she wasn’t as uninterested in him as she was trying to make out.
‘Not at all,’ she said pleasantly. ‘If I can’t change your mind, I will find out as much as I can about you and report back.’
‘Good luck with that.’
‘Oh, I won’t need luck,’ she said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘I do a similar thing on a daily basis for work.’
‘I’m not one of your clients.’
‘You looked me up?’
He gave a brief nod. ‘I did. After leaving school at eighteen you went straight into an internship at the top PR firm in London at the time. Six years with them then you moved to your current company. You specialise in corporate damage limitation and crisis management. Your clients span the globe. Your reputation is stellar.’
‘You’ve done your research.’
‘I can’t be manipulated.’ Not any more.
‘Everyone can be manipulated,’ she said with a slight lift of her chin. ‘The trick is subtlety. To make them unaware of it. I’m very good at my job.’
‘So I understand,’ he said easily, knowing that no one would ever be good enough to prise out his secrets.
‘But I wouldn’t take you on as a client anyway,’ she said with a shrug and a sip of her drink.
‘Why not?’
‘In my line of work transparency is key and you’re too...’ she thought for a moment ‘...shady.’
His eyebrows lifted. ‘Shady?’
‘You’re not the only one who decided to do some research, Rico. There’s virtually no information about you online and that’s strange. Normally there’s something—however minor—about everyone. But apart from the one article I found that briefly described you as one of Italy’s most successful but least-known hedge fund managers, your digital footprint is practically non-existent.’
Yes, well, he took care to stay out of the public eye. He didn’t want anyone poking around his less than salubrious background. He’d better check out that article and have it removed. ‘I value my privacy.’
‘What do you have to hide? I wonder.’
What didn’t he have to hide? Nothing he’d done as an adult had broken the law, but some of the things he’d done between the ages of twelve and sixteen as a member of the gang had. Those things were intensely personal and had caused him excruciating pain, disillusionment and shame before he’d cut off all emotion by shutting himself down. He had no intention of ever unlocking that door, so the last thing he wanted was Carla’s curiosity aroused.
‘What would you like to know?’ he said expansively, feigning the transparency she was apparently so keen on in an attempt to detract her from rooting around in his psyche any further. ‘Ask me anything. To you, I’m an open book.’
The look she gave him was sceptical. ‘I doubt that very much.’
‘Try me.’
‘All right,’ she sai
d with a nod. ‘Why did you turn up at Finn’s house today?’
Rico inwardly tensed and fought the urge to respond to the jolt of discomfort that slammed through him. Was this her idea of subtlety? It wasn’t his. But, given her reputation, perhaps he should have expected a direct hit.
‘To confirm a suspicion,’ he replied as casually as if she’d asked him what his favourite colour was.
‘Yet you didn’t stick around to do so.’
‘I didn’t need to. You did it for me the second we met.’ The image of her standing in front of him, her green eyes wide, the pulse at the base of her neck fluttering, shot into his head and predictably sent all his blood to his groin. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen shock quite like it.’
‘You were unexpected.’
‘Evidently.’
‘How did you find out about him?’
‘I saw a photo of him in the press,’ he said, remembering the earth-shattering moment he’d wondered firstly exactly how much morphine was in his system and secondly how the hell a picture of himself had made it into the papers. ‘At the launch of his hotel in Paris.’
Carla sat back and frowned, lost in thought for a moment. ‘That was taken back in March.’
He gave a brief nod. ‘Correct.’
‘What took you so long?’
‘I’ve been recovering from an accident.’
‘What kind of accident?’
‘A bad one,’ he said, lifting his glass to his mouth and knocking back a third of its contents. ‘A BASE jump in the Alps went wrong.’
‘A BASE jump?’
‘It stands for buildings, antennae, spans and earth. Four categories of fixed objects you can jump off. Spans are bridges and earth includes mountains. Mont Blanc on this occasion. I landed badly.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Esattamente,’ he agreed, although ‘ouch’ was something of an understatement. Having crashed into a tree and plummeted to the ground, he’d lain on the rocky terrain battered and broken, the physical pain unlike anything he’d felt before.
‘I haven’t been fit to travel,’ he added, putting the accident from his mind, since it was in the past and he’d be done with it just as soon as the aches and twinges disappeared.
