The Italian's Passionate Revenge. Lucy Gordon

before she could brace herself. She even found herself smiling, which made her really cross with him.

      ‘Every time I see you,’ he observed, ‘you seem to be disposing of some enemy with an efficiency that makes me nervous. Last time it was that woman; this time it was—?’

      ‘My boss’s fiancé.’

      ‘It’s nearly six o’clock,’ he added. ‘Will you soon be finished for the day?’

      ‘Yes, I’m just closing the shop.’

      ‘Then let’s go for a coffee.’

      She fetched her coat, locked up and led him down the street, which was inexpensive and functional, rather than elegant. They found a cheap coffee house.

      ‘Not your normal style, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘Is this a chance meeting?’

      ‘I never leave anything to chance,’ he said simply. ‘I got your address from the hotel, who had it for sending on your mail. I went to your home first.’

      ‘Really!’ she said wryly, trying to picture him looking at the shabby little hotel. ‘What did you think of it?’

      ‘I can’t imagine what you’re doing there.’

      ‘It’s all I can afford. I keep getting bills that Ben should have settled, and I have to work to pay them.’

      ‘You need to escape.’

      ‘So I will when I’ve sold the apartment.’

      ‘How is that going?’

      She eyed him cynically, her lips twitching.

      ‘This is the man who just told me he never leaves anything to chance. It would be easy for you to find out that it’s still on the market.’

      ‘You’re right. I really meant—why is it still for sale?’

      She sighed. ‘You tell me. Everyone says it’s in a desirable location, but either people don’t offer, or they do but it falls through.’

      ‘Well, you know my advice. Come and sell it yourself. Make it look like a home.’

      ‘That’s what the agent said.’

      ‘And he knows his business. You should heed him.’

      ‘Maybe I should,’ she said with a brief laugh. ‘I’m probably out of a job.’

      He grinned. ‘Good. We leave tomorrow.’

      ‘Not so fast—’

      ‘What’s to keep you here?’

      Vincente’s words brought the truth home to her starkly. There was nothing for her here any longer.

      ‘All right,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll come.’

      ‘Excellent. Where shall we dine tonight?’

      ‘I’m staying at home. I have loose ends to tie up. I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow morning.’

      He gave her a curious look.

      ‘Will you? Or will I arrive to find that you’ve slipped away like a phantom?’

      But it was he who’d slipped away like a phantom last time; she nearly said so, but checked herself. That would be admitting that she minded, conceding a point, which her instincts warned her not to do. He was handsome, charming and more dangerous than ever.

      ‘If I say I’ll be there, I’ll be there.’

      She spoke in a cool tone that set him at a distance. She felt safer that way, especially now that she knew she was doing what he had always meant her to do. Just as everyone did.

      He walked back to the hotel with her, where they were met by Elise’s boss, who’d been sitting there in a fury.

      ‘Ivor told me how you’ve been throwing yourself at him,’ she seethed. ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’

      ‘Well, “goodbye” is a nice word,’ Elise said. ‘Especially if you say it to Ivor. Here’s the key of the shop. But give him the boot, Jane. You can do better than Ivor. In fact, anybody can do better than Ivor.’

      Jane scowled and walked out.

      ‘Splendid!’ Vincente said. ‘That’s the last of your old life.’

      ‘Until I come back and start a new one,’ she reminded him. ‘Goodnight, I’ll see you tomorrow. What about the flights?’

      ‘I’ll take care of them.’

      ‘Well, what time is take-off?’

      ‘Just be ready.’

      

      Vincente was there the next morning at nine o’clock, to find the desk manned by a bored-looking lad.

      ‘Please inform Mrs Carlton that I’m here,’ Vincente said.

      The lad lifted the phone, called the room and said, ‘Hello, Vi. Is Mrs Carlton there….? It’s a bit early for her to have left, isn’t it? Oh, checked out last night. OK.’

      ‘Where is she?’ Vincente demanded sharply as the boy replaced the receiver.

      ‘Gone. That was the cleaner, getting the place ready for the next person.’

      Vincente’s face was dark. ‘But where has she gone?’

      ‘Dunno. I’ve only just come on duty. She must have been in a rush to get away though, to have left so early.’

      With a sense of shock, Vincente realised that the worst had happened. He’d made the foolish mistake of trusting her and she’d given him the slip. As he turned towards the door his face was very ugly.

      ‘Ah, here you are!’

      Lost in his furious thoughts, he almost didn’t hear the words or see the young woman who had just come in from the street. Then the black haze cleared and he grasped her wrist.

      ‘Where the devil have you been?’ he snapped.

      ‘I beg your pardon?’

      Her outrage startled him and he let his hand fall.

      ‘Don’t ever speak to me like that again,’ she said softly. ‘I’m not accountable to you for my movements.’

      ‘They said you’d checked out.’

      ‘I did. I paid my bill last night to speed things up this morning. Today I cleared out of the room and put my bags in the downstairs cloakroom. I just slipped out for half an hour to say goodbye to someone.’

      Too late it dawned on him that she was talking about her father. He wanted to ask her about him, but controlled himself. Everything must wait until he’d got her to Italy. Then, and only then, could he be sure of arranging matters to suit himself.

      And she wouldn’t be able to stop him. On that he was determined. He had waited too long for this to weaken now.

      ‘I thought you’d gone,’ he said harshly.

      ‘I told you I’d be here, and I’m here. Why are you acting as though it was the end of the world?’

      He forced a smile. ‘If it seems that way I apologise. I have a strict sense of time.’

      ‘Then let’s stop wasting it and go,’ she said lightly.

      Vincente’s chauffeur fetched her bags from the cloakroom and put them in the boot of the waiting car.

      ‘Only two bags?’ Vincente queried as they headed for the airport. ‘I thought you’d have more.’

      ‘You mean what about my wardrobes full of fancy clothes? I sold them for whatever I could get.’

      ‘Money has really been as tight as that?’

      ‘Yes,