Vettori's Damsel in Distress. Liz Fielding

told is a very handsome plant.’ And she smiled back. ‘You may be more familiar with its crystallised stem. The British use it to decorate the cakes and trifles that they inflict on small children at birthday parties.’

      His laugh was rich and warm, creating a fan of creases around his eyes, emphasising those amazing cheekbones, widening his mouth and drawing attention to a lower lip that she wanted to lick...

       Make that burnt toast...

      In an attempt to regain control of her vital organs, Geli picked up her espresso and downed it in a single swallow, Italian style. It was hotter than she expected, shocking her out of the lusty mist.

      ‘I had intended to take a taxi—’ Her vocal cords were still screaming from the hot coffee and the words came out as little more than a squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘Unfortunately, there were none at the Porta Garibaldi and on the apartment details it said that Via Pepone was only a ten-minute walk.’

      ‘Taxis are always in short supply when the weather’s bad,’ the barista said, as Dante, frowning now, turned the details over to look at the picture of the pretty pink house where she’d be living for the next year. ‘Welcome to Isola, Geli. Lisa Vettori—I’m from the Australian branch of the family. Dante’s my cousin and, although you wouldn’t know it from the way he’s lounging around on the wrong side of the counter, Café Rosa is his bar.’

      ‘I pay you handsomely so that I can stay on this side of the bar,’ he reminded her, without looking up.

      ‘Make the most of it, mate. I have a fitting for a bridesmaid dress in Melbourne on Tuesday. Unless you get your backside in gear and find a temp to take my place, come Sunday you’ll be the one getting up close and personal with the Gaggia.’ She took a swipe at the marble counter top with a cloth to remove an invisible mark. ‘Have you got a job lined up, Geli?’ she asked.

      ‘A job?’

      ‘You said you were here to work. Have you ever worked in a bar? Only there’s a temporary—’

      ‘If you’ve been travelling all day you must be hungry,’ Dante said, cutting his cousin off in mid-sentence. ‘We’ll have the risotto, Lisa.’ And, holding onto the details of her apartment and, more importantly, the map, he headed for a table for two that was tucked away in a quiet corner.

       CHAPTER TWO

       ‘There’s nothing more cheering than a good friend when you’re in trouble—except a good friend with ice cream.’

      —from Rosie’s Little Book of Ice Cream

      TOO SURPRISED TO REACT, Geli didn’t move. Okay, so there had been some fairly heavy-duty flirting going on, but that was a bit arrogant—

      Dante pulled out a chair and waited for her to join him.

      Make that quite a lot arrogant. Did he really think she would simply follow him?

      ‘Angelica?’

      No one used her full name, but he said it with a ‘g’ so soft that it felt like chocolate melting on her tongue and while her head was still saying, Oh, please...her body went to him as if he’d tugged a chain.

      ‘Give me your coat,’ he said, ‘and I’ll hang it up to dry.’

      She swallowed.

      It was late. She should be on her way but for that she needed directions, which was a good, practical reason to do as he said. Then again, nothing that had happened since she’d walked through the door of Café Rosa had been about the practicalities and, letting her tote slide from her shoulder onto the chair, she dropped her glove on the table and began to tug at its pair.

      Warm now, the fine leather clung to her skin and as she removed her glove, one finger at a time, Geli discovered that there was more than one way of being in control.

      A chain had two ends and now Dante was the one being hauled in as she slowly revealed her hand with each unintentionally provocative tug.

      She dropped the glove beside its pair and everything—the heartbeat pounding in her ears, her breathing—slowed right down as, never taking her eyes off his, she lowered her hand and, one by one, began to slip the small jet buttons that nipped her coat into her waist.

      There were a dozen of them and, taking her time, she started at the bottom. One, two, three... His gaze never wavered for a second until the bias cut swathes of velvet, cashmere and butter-soft suede—flaring out in layers that curved from just below her knees at the front to her heels at the back—fell open to reveal the black scoop-necked mini-dress that stopped four inches above her knees.

      She waited a heartbeat and then turned and let the coat slip from her shoulders, leaving him to catch it.

      An arch got you lift of an eyebrow as she thanked him should leave him in no doubt that the next move was up to him and she was more than ready for anything he had to offer, but as she glanced over her shoulder, fell into the velvet softness of his eyes, she forgot the plot.

      He was so close. His breath was warm on her cheek, his mouth was inches away and her eyebrow stayed put as she imagined closing the gap and taking his delicious lower lip between hers.

      Make that burned to a crisp toast. Toast about to burst into flames...

      She blinked as a clatter of cutlery shattered the moment and Dante looked down at her coat as if wondering where it had come from.

      ‘I’ll hang this by the heater to dry,’ he said.

      ‘Are you mad?’ Lisa, the table swiftly laid, took it from him. ‘You don’t hang something like this over a radiator as if it’s any old chain store raincoat. This kind of quality costs a fortune and it needs tender loving care.’ She checked the label. ‘Dark Angel.’ She looked up. ‘Angel?’ she repeated and then, with a look of open admiration, ‘Is that you, Geli?’

      ‘What? Oh, yes,’ she said, grateful for the distraction. Falling into bed for fun with a man was one thing. Falling into anything else was definitely off the agenda... ‘Dark Angel is my label.’

      ‘You’re a fashion designer?’

      ‘Not exactly. I make one-off pieces. I studied art but I’ve been making clothes all my life and somehow I’ve ended up combining the two.’

      ‘Clothes as art?’ She grinned. ‘I like it.’

      ‘Let’s hope you’re not the only one.’

      ‘Not a chance. This is absolutely lush. Did you make the choker, too?’ she asked. ‘Or is that an original?’

      ‘If only...’ Geli touched the ornate Victorian-style lace and jet band at her throat. ‘It’s recycled from stuff in my odds and ends box. I cut my dress from something I found on the “worn once” rack at the church jumble sale and—’ if she kept talking she wouldn’t grab Dante Vettori ‘—my coat was made from stuff I’ve collected over the years.’

      ‘Well...wow. You are so going to fit in here. Upcycling is really big in Isola.’

      ‘It’s one of the reasons I’m here. I want to work with people who are doing the same kind of thing.’

      ‘And I suggested you might want a job behind the bar.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘If you’ve got something you want to exhibit I’m sure Dan will find space for it.’ She glanced at him, but he offered no encouragement. ‘Right, well, I’ll go and find a hanger for this,’ she said, holding the coat up so that it didn’t touch the floor. She’d only gone a couple of steps when she stopped. ‘Geli, there’s something moving... Omigod!’ She screamed and, forgetting all about its lushness, dropped the coat and leapt back. ‘It’s a rat!’

      The musicians stopped playing mid-note. The patrons of the café, who had resumed chatting, laughing, eating, turned as one.

      Then