The Italian Next Door. Anna Cleary

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      In spite of herself Pia felt a dangerous stir in her blood, then her heart skittered. Whoa there, girl. Don’t be sucked in by midnight eyes and a lazy smile.

      Regrouping her feminine forces, she cast him a crushing look. ‘You wish.’

      She strode coolly away, as coolly as it was possible to pushing a trolley laden with a suitcase and a heavy canvas bag stuffed with easels and painting supplies while feeling his scorching-hot gaze follow her every step of the way.

      She walked past the other car-hire booths without wasting her time humbling herself before them. Her reputation was shot with them all now, and there was no way she’d give the guy the satisfaction of watching her being turned away yet again.

      The nerve of him. He had to be one of the most intrusive, irritating, interfering, annoying people she’d ever met. Just because he knew he was attractive … Of course he knew. A man that sophisticated always knew.

      She was seething all over. He should never have looked at her like that, making her feel so—female. In fact, it was amazing he’d triggered those responses. She’d been numb in that department for so long she couldn’t quite believe the sensations were real. It must have been as the doctor had warned. Now that her emotions had come back in full force, every sensation was bound to be stronger, sharper. Sweeter, though she squashed that thought. Nothing she felt about him was sweet.

      Just before she turned the corner into the next mall though, she couldn’t resist sneaking a glance back. He was still there, but to her surprise no longer alone. A middle-aged couple with a teenager had joined him and were exclaiming over him, reaching up to kiss and embrace him like long-lost relatives. She saw him bend to kiss the woman on both cheeks. Whew. How must that feel?

      Resigned to abandoning his interest in the blonde woman for the moment, Valentino pocketed his car keys and braced himself to field a volley of probing queries about his personal life.

      As always his uncle and aunt wanted to know too much. Still embarrassed by his divorced status even after all this time, they were forever on the lookout for signs he was about to risk the marital treadmill again.

      As if.

      He sometimes had the suspicion that his aunt had dreams of him taking up with Ariana again to wipe away the family shame, as though the bitterness had never happened. As though the divorce had no validity.

      No use to explain that the twenty-first century had dawned some time back. In his aunt’s mind his singularity made him a dangerous loose gun who needed to be nailed down and rigidly secured. His uncle’s view appeared slightly different. Possibly tinged with awe, even a little envy.

      The old boy winked at him. ‘Still playing the field, eh, Tino?’

      ‘That’s enough,’ his aunt snapped. ‘When are you coming home to settle down, Tino?’

      They didn’t hazard any enquiries about his work. His job as a Criminal Intelligence Officer with Interpol was not an occupation to warm the hearts of family members. They preferred to gloss over it, always slightly on their guards with him for fear he’d be listening to their every word with a view to collecting evidence.

      They needn’t have worried. He’d run checks on them all and they were depressingly upright and moral.

      His aunt began to regale him with the latest on her eldest daughter. Maria was a shining family example. Decently married, blessedly pregnant, in fact on the very verge of delivering them another grandchild as every good son and daughter should. While the couple argued over all the minor details of Maria’s health, their youngest son scowled and tried to act as if he didn’t belong to them.

      Valentino exchanged a sympathetic grin with the boy, musing that, while listening was his speciality, there were times when tuning out was of even more strategic importance.

      He was overwhelmed with a sudden longing to escape the grim realities of his life. For a second he allowed himself to imagine how it might have been zooming along the autostrada with the pretty blonde to rest his eyes on, a slim knee to fondle.

      His fingers curved into his palm in regret for the silky knee they would never know.

      How long had it been since he’d caressed a woman? There must be some left in the world who weren’t set on dragging a man to the altar.

      Those serious blue eyes, rosy lips and delicate cheekbones in intriguing contradiction to the sprinkling of freckles across her quite charming nose had potential to enchant a man, for a few days at least. There’d been a chemistry, he felt sure. The trip would have been a perfect opportunity to lay the groundwork for a little vacation romance.

      He frowned. No doubt she’d receive other offers before the end of the day, though he hoped she wouldn’t accept any of them. For her sake he hoped she’d choose the bus. With the degrees of human inventiveness for evil he’d witnessed over the years he began to doubt if any woman should travel alone, anywhere.

      He scanned the suspects coming and going around him. How many of these innocent-looking pillars of society were engaged in criminal activity?

      It weighed a man down, this constant policing. Lately, wherever he looked he saw corruption. Sometimes he wished he could shrug it all off like an unwanted skin. Forget about crime and rid his mind of terrorism threats, narcotics, human trafficking, credit-card fraud and the constant thievery of national treasures. Just relax and enjoy a vacation like anyone else. Enjoy a pretty woman and take her at face value.

      And what a face. He sighed.

      Waking suddenly to his surroundings, Valentino noticed that the car-hire queue had swelled in number, while even more people were flocking to the neighbouring booths. He tapped his uncle’s elbow to alert him to the rush, but by the time the old boy inserted himself into the line it was too late.

      Da Vinci Auto was all out of cars. ‘Per carita,’ his uncle wailed, slapping his forehead. ‘Now it’s a bus strike. First the trains, now the buses. What’s the country coming to? What are we to do?’

      At once Valentino’s thoughts switched to the Australiana. What would she do? He felt a twinge of remorse about his intervention, though he’d only acted for the best. It was his duty as a citizen to uphold public safety, surely.

      Though if she was stranded he couldn’t help feeling some responsibility. He weighed his car keys in his hand.

      Pia received the news like a blow.

      The drivers were meeting, the harassed attendant explained earnestly to the small angry crowd before the bus link counter. Everything was on hold.

      Exactly what Pia didn’t want to hear. On hold was what her life had been for more than half a year, and she’d come all this way across the world, determined to break out of her security cocoon, plunge back into sweet lovely life and wring from it every last ounce of pleasure and excitement.

      None of it could happen until she escaped from the numbing blandness of airport world.

      Groaning about what could be a wait of potential days, she collapsed onto a chair and closed her eyes. As usual there was a man at the root of her troubles. She should have been cruising along the Amalfi coastline by now. If only she hadn’t engaged in conversation with the guy. She should have ignored his eyebrows, never even made eye contact.

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