A Shadow of Guilt. Эбби Грин

horrific week and the spectacular implosion of her career—anger is what had impelled her here because one Corretti had ruined her but only another Corretti could save her—but what if he was telling his assistant that he didn’t want to see her?

      Just then she heard a sound like the door handle jiggling and she flinched and stood up, her heart thumping at the thought of seeing Gio again. What had she been thinking? She couldn’t do this. She was in the act of turning to leave when she heard a calm mellifluous voice announce, ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms Ferranti, he’ll see you now.’

      Gio’s body was locked tight as he waited for Valentina to appear in the doorway and when she did, in jeans and a T-shirt, with her hair loose over her shoulders in chestnut waves, a whole new tension came into his body.

      Her T-shirt was moulded over the firm globes of her breasts. Gio felt like he couldn’t breathe and dragged his gaze back up to those feline amber eyes. The same eyes that had been haunting him all week.

      He put out a hand and said stiffly, ‘Please, won’t you sit down?’

      Valentina hovered uncertainly just inside the door, which Agata had closed behind her on her way out. She shook her head. ‘No, I’d prefer to stand.’

      Gio inclined his head and stayed behind his desk, as if that could offer some protection.

      Valentina crossed her arms then, inadvertently pushing her breasts together and up, and Gio nearly groaned out loud. He cursed himself—he was acting like a hormonal teenager.

      More tersely than he intended, he rapped out, ‘You’ll have to forgive me for being a little surprised to see you. After all, it was hardly your intention the last time we met.’

      Valentina found herself floundering, badly. Seeing Gio again last week, her response then had been visceral and a reflex to years-old grief and anger. After all, she hadn’t seen him since the funeral. But now that raw emotion was stripped away somewhat and left in its place was something much more ambiguous. And a physical awareness of the man which was very disturbing.

      A huge window behind him looked out over the racing ground and stands, the sea beyond. But Valentina could only see him in a dark polo shirt which was stretched across a hard muscled chest, and long, long legs clad in lovingly worn jeans. Without even looking properly she could imagine his thighs—like powerful columns of sheer muscle.

      When he and Mario had been on horseback they’d been a sight to behold, but Gio even more so. He’d moved with such fluid grace that it had been hard to tell where he ended and the horse began. Her brother hadn’t had such an innate ability…. Valentina gulped. She couldn’t think of that now.

      She struggled to recall his words, something about her not wanting to see him again. Her throat felt scratchy. ‘No … it wasn’t my intention.’

      One of Gio’s black brows arched. ‘And it is now?’

      Valentina cursed herself for ever thinking of this as a plan of action and tried desperately to articulate herself. ‘Yes. Well, it’s just that … things have happened in the past week.’

      Gio came around his desk then and perched on the corner, legs outstretched before him. His scent tantalised Valentina’s nostrils and just like that she was flung back in time to when she’d turned seventeen, weeks before Mario’s death. She’d taken her moped to Gio’s castello to look for Mario for their father, who’d needed him to do chores. In those days Valentina hadn’t needed any excuse to go to Gio’s castello or the track.

      She’d gone to the stables looking for Mario and had seen no one, aware that she was disappointed not to see Gio either. And then a horse had appeared out of nowhere behind her. A huge beast. Valentina had jumped back, startled, ashamed of how intimidated she was around horses.

      Someone had come up behind her and before she knew what was happening she’d been lifted effortlessly onto the horse’s bare back, and Gio had been swinging himself up behind her, an arm snug around her waist, thighs hard around hers. She’d been so shocked to find herself that high off the ground and with Gio in such close proximity that she’d struggled for breath as terror and excitement had constricted her lungs.

      He’d said in her ear, ‘You’ll never get comfortable with horses if you don’t get used to riding them.’

      He’d put the reins in her hands with his hands over hers and for about half an hour they’d walked around his sandy gallops with Gio murmuring words of encouragement and tuition in her ears. Terror had turned to exhilaration as she’d allowed herself to relax into Gio’s protective embrace and when her brother had still failed to materialise Gio had told her that he’d left before she’d arrived, borrowing one of Gio’s collection of motorbikes to get home.

      Valentina had all but slithered off the horse and on very shaky legs had fled home herself. Mortified to think they’d been entirely alone for all that time. She’d been unable to look at Gio for weeks afterwards without blushing, achingly aware of how her whole body had tingled next to his, and how hot she’d felt between her legs.

      ‘What things?’

      Valentina looked blankly at Gio now, her mind still dazed from the memory.

      ‘You said things have happened?’

      Valentina came crashing back to earth. Why on earth was she remembering such traitorous memories when only one was important? The memory of when she and her parents had rushed into that hospital in Palermo only to be stopped by a doctor and told that their son was dead.

      Valentina focused on that now and crossed her arms even tighter across her chest. This man owed her. Owed her parents. Owed her brother. ‘Your aunt refused to pay me for the catering at the wedding.’

      Gio frowned. ‘Did you tell her you wouldn’t accept non-payment?’

      Valentina flushed. She’d been so angry and emotional after seeing Gio that when she’d come face to face with Carmela Corretti and the woman had still refused to pay her even though people were sitting down to the six-course meal, despite the shambles of the wedding, that she’d threatened legal action.

      Even now Valentina could almost laugh at the folly of her naivety! As if a mere mortal like her could take on a Corretti. Carmela had looked at her and her face had gone white and then red with anger at this impudence.

      ‘You dare to threaten me with legal action.’

      Hands on hips, gone too far to back down now, Valentina had fumed. ‘Yes, I do. You don’t scare me, you know.’

      Carmela had just smiled and said as if she were remarking on the weather, ‘You can consider yourself not only not paid, Ms Ferranti, you can also consider yourself blacklisted from every catering job on this island. I did warn you, did I not?’

      Valentina had gasped at the unfairness of this attack. ‘But there’s nothing wrong with the menu or the catering service.’

      ‘No,’ agreed Carmela almost cheerfully. ‘But, there is everything wrong with you and your attitude, young lady.’

      That had been too much for Valentina, to be spoken to so patronisingly by a Corretti. She’d seen an ice bucket nearby full of water and her hands had itched to pour it over the woman’s head. But she’d been saved from that impetuous action when the abandoned groom had reappeared and suddenly Carmela had pushed Valentina out of the way to go to him.

      Gio said nothing for a long moment and then, ‘I think I would have paid to see my aunt with a full ice bucket over her head.’

      Valentina snuck a look at Gio’s expression. And then as she watched, his eyes sparkled and his mouth twitched. It was so unexpected to see this, that to her horror, Valentina could feel a lightness bubbling up inside herself too. No! her brain screamed. Do not let him close, do not let him charm you.

      Fighting the lightness down with an iron will Valentina suddenly realised that she’d been totally and utterly wrong to come here. Had she come because seeing Gio last week had precipitated