The Italian Next Door. Anna Cleary

He was a man, wasn’t he?

      ‘No, I’m not,’ she said, pouring iced water on any attempt to flirt. ‘Not at all.’

      ‘No?’ He lifted his thick black brows. ‘That’s not what I would have thought.’ A smile flickered at the corners of his sexy mouth. A meditative, sophisticated smile.

      What did that mean? Pia wondered. Had he somehow divined the old courageous, indestructible Pia she used to be? Were elements of her former carefree self peeping out like a tart’s petticoat, or was this merely a seduction technique?

      ‘You have travelled across the world all by yourself. I would think that took some courage.’ His dark eyes were all at once surprisingly kind and sincere, and Pia realised she’d misinterpreted his intention. ‘No?’

      She allowed him a cautious smile and his eyes lit with a warmth that made her breath catch.

      ‘Oh, well … I guess.’

      She gave a breezy shrug as though her journey had been nothing much, though the truth was she’d been a nervous wreck for the first three thousand miles. Lucky they’d flown into darkness and the plane’s blinds had been drawn.

      ‘It’s as well to be fit in Positano,’ he went on, ‘but you don’t need to be too adventurous to enjoy hiking the mountain trails or exploring the grottoes. You must find yourself a guide. If you go to the tourist office they will help you.’

      Pia felt ashamed of her low suspicions.

      It just went to show she should get over herself. She was far too jumpy and ready to think the worst of every man she met. Clearly, it was time to let go of her angst and start to take people as she found them. Men, as she found them. They couldn’t all be thinking of sex and violence all the time.

      She sat back and allowed some of her tension to slacken a little. Here was a guy who’d been kind enough to come to her rescue, and all she could do was search for signs he was keen to jump her bones.

      And not just any old plain guy, as it happened. The more she saw of him, the more convinced she was of his drop-dead gorgeousness. She stole another glance. He looked so relaxed, his long limbs comfortably disposed in the sleek auto. He’d rolled his shirt sleeves back a little and his arms were as lean and tanned as she’d imagined. Sinewy. His collar opening revealed more of his olive-toned skin, the strong bronzed column of his neck.

      From an artistic viewpoint, the composition was fine. In fact, it was hard to take her eyes off him. The chiselled lines of his profile ravished her more with every slight movement of his head. Not, she reminded herself, that she was especially looking for chiselled. Or even looking.

      Valentino felt her gaze flicker over him and his blood hummed with a buoyant little charge. The chemistry was fizzing. And Grazie a Dio for that smile. A smile on a mouth so luscious was almost as good as a kiss, though a kiss would be highly desirable. Suddenly he felt glad to be alive and free and a mere mortal man.

      For the first time in ages his office at the bureau, the meetings with his team, the constant policing demands from forces around the world seemed a million miles away.

      Added to that, the sun was shining, the car handling well, he was flying down the autostrada with a blonde and the thaw was under way.

      If he could tempt her into that smile again, in no time at all the conversation would segue into some light and flirty repartee and Miss Pia Renfern would be ready for some real adventure.

      ‘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