A Dangerous Solace

‘Si?’

‘This isn’t the first time we’ve met.’

‘Is that so?’

‘I don’t seem...familiar to you?’

He shrugged.

Ava knew right then that any chance of her making a little joke of it, or him being enchanted or curious, or even maybe a little regretful had evaporated.

‘I meet many people. Forgive me if I don’t recall your face.’

His tone was reasonable, his words polite—too polite. But the sentiments...they stung...

I don’t recall your face. I don’t remember lying in the grass on Palatine Hill, cradling you in my arms. I don’t remember a single one of the personal confessions you made because, really, it meant nothing to me.

‘You really don’t remember?’ she persevered.

A look of irritation flashed across those hooded eyes.

‘No doubt you will tell me.’

Ava knew it was irrational. She knew she had no right to expect something so fleeting, so long ago, to have stayed with him as it had with her. She hadn’t realised until that moment how deep she’d been into this fantasy. She really had to stop it now—unless she was keen on full shake-down humiliation.

She stared blindly at the dark window, wishing she hadn’t locked herself in such a confined space with him.

‘I’m waiting,’ he said coldly.

Her gaze was dragged back to his. Why was he looking at her like that? Was she about to break some sort of rule against mentioning illicit encounters in Roman parks? It wasn’t as if she’d been stalking him for seven years. She hadn’t made a pest of herself. Good grief, she’d done everything possible to avoid thinking about him!

‘It’s not important,’ she said, sounding stiff when what she felt was awkward. ‘Let’s just forget it.’

He spread those big hands expressively, as if he was actually encouraging her to put him straight. But she wasn’t fooled. She had negotiated with sharks before in her professional life.

‘Have I read this wrong? You stalk me, pursue me across a public square, and now you hit me with this little confession. What’s the angle here, signorina?’

The angle? For a moment she struggled to make the connection. She understood the tone. But why was he speaking to her like this?

Ava could feel perspiration prickling along the nape of her neck. She hadn’t expected him to be this...intimidating. Where was the sensitive, caring boy she’d found under the swaggering, oh-so-sure-of-himself exterior she’d initially been drawn to? She might have only spent a night with him, but they had talked—really talked. She’d said things to him she’d never told another living soul, and at the time it had felt mutual. How had he evolved into this hardened, suspicious man, ready to believe the worst of her at the drop of a hat?

What had happened to him?

‘I did not stalk you,’ she said woodenly, determined not to show how truly dismayed she was. ‘I did not pursue you. Those are not the facts.’

‘Come on.’ He sat back, looking her over. ‘You come to Rico’s, dressed like this—’

He gestured at her beautiful frock as if her clothing was an incitement, instead of a fraught choice she had made that afternoon in front of a mirror in a boutique. If the lady assisting hadn’t been so genuinely helpful she’d probably be sitting here in a trouser suit.

She was tempted to tell him that far from being a femme fatale she was so inept at rolling on stockings she’d ruined two pairs before she’d finished getting ready tonight, and those stockings weren’t cheap...

‘—on the strength of a flimsy invitation a woman with any common sense and self-esteem would ignore.’

Ava was so busy thinking about the four pieces of cobweb silk she’d left strewn on the bed and the wastage they entailed that she almost missed the impact of the rest of his statement.

The sentiment found its home.

She didn’t know where to look. She’d been spot-on back in the bar, when it had occurred to her that he hadn’t been serious at all...but she’d taken him very seriously—too seriously—and now it was too late to avoid disaster. She’d mistaken the kiss as proof of something. Oh, what was wrong with her? She always got social interaction between men and women wrong. Every time.

This was why she’d stuck with Bernard for so long, terrified of what would happen to her out there on the singles scene. She’d been out there once before...when she came back from Rome seven years ago, looking for something approaching what she’d found that night with this man. What she’d got was a guy called Patrick whose sports car and good looks had been her fledgling attempt to put herself out there, to run in the fast lane, and his dating her had been an attempt to slow himself down. She’d discovered a few months into the relationship that he hadn’t slowed down at all.

Right now she just wanted out of this car. She needed to run and hide and make sense of this—and then kick herself for being such a fool.

‘I didn’t issue that invitation. If it was flimsy that’s down to you,’ she mumbled. ‘And you don’t need to question my common sense. Right now I’m doing enough of that for the both of us!’

She saw his eyes narrow on her, as if something about this wasn’t playing out as he’d expected it to.

When he did speak again it was in a low, silky tone. ‘So, where have I gone wrong, signorina?’

Just about everywhere! She should be able to laugh about this, but the joke fell flat because it was on her. Right now she knew she was in serious danger of losing it in a major way if she didn’t stick to the facts. Cold, hard logic had always been her anchor, her guiding light, and she grasped it now.

‘Flimsy invitation or not—’ she kept her voice steady ‘—you invited me!’ When he didn’t react she repeated stubbornly, ‘You invited me.’

He took out his phone and she watched his thumb move idly over the keypad. He looked so relaxed, as if this entire argument were nothing, and yet his words had been wielded with scalpel-like precision as he took her apart.

‘Did you set up the paparazzo?’ He didn’t even look up.

Ava snorted—she couldn’t help it—and his eyes lifted from his phone as if no woman should make such a sound in his vicinity.

Good. She didn’t want to be his kind of woman anyhow. ‘Do you know what you are? A bully, and a—a playboy, and none of this is fair.’

‘Is that so?’ His attention had returned to the phone.

‘Right now all I’m thinking about is the hours I spent getting ready for tonight,’ she admitted, wondering why she was even bothering to tell him this—he was much more interested in his phone. ‘And I don’t have a clue why I did it.’

‘To impress me,’ he said, as if it were obvious.

Ava’s jaw dropped. ‘Your ego is astounding!’ A blast of anger that demanded she call in a little justice fired up her temper. ‘Just you put down that phone and listen to me.’

He lifted his eyes slowly and Ava wished he hadn’t. She swallowed—hard—but she’d come a long way in life and she didn’t let anyone intimidate her any more.

‘I’m not one of those floozies climbing all over you at that bar. Let me give you some facts. Last month I was listed in the top fifty women in business in Australia. It may not mean much to you, Prince Benedetti, but it does mean I don’t bar-crawl, I don’t milk men for profit, and I certainly have no idea how you contact a paparazzo.’

‘And you are giving me this fascinating glimpse into your life...why?’

With that a great deal of the fight went out of her.

What was she doing? She had a single memory of something wonderful and it was falling apart in front of her eyes. She couldn’t even really blame him, because although this man had ripped her blinders off seven years ago the truth was she had sent herself off to live a life devoid of colour, of passion, of sex.