The Italian Next Door. Anna Cleary

      He nodded, ‘My grandfather. He’s a sweet old guy.’ He smiled and gestured. ‘We are—simpatico.’

      His voice softened and she warmed to the honest affection in his tone. Family ties were important signals about a man. Obviously there was no woman keeping the home fires burning. Not in Positano anyway. Not that it had anything to do with her. But it couldn’t hurt to find out if he had one somewhere else.

      She’d always enjoyed delving into a life, glimpsing the man behind the face she sought to portray. Her father had always said it was the most important part of a portraitist’s arsenal. But Valentino Silvestri didn’t give her the chance to dig far. He kept turning the spotlight neatly around to her.

      ‘Tell me about you, Pia. Who is in your life? A beautiful girl like you?’

      Beautiful, was he kidding? If she was beautiful, then beauty didn’t count for a row of beans. It was coolness, calm and strength that mattered or people walked away. Well, that was her experience.

      ‘For instance,’ he said smoothly, ‘have you ever been married?’

      Pia glanced at him in some surprise. ‘How old do you think I am? Ask me that in thirty years’ time. I’ll start to think about it then.’

      A smile touched his sexy mouth and lingered there. ‘And in the meantime …?’

      As she drank in the strong, chiselled bones of his face it came to her with a thrill of excitement that if she’d had some charcoal handy she could have taken down those bones in a flash. Almost unconsciously she angled her body more his way.

      ‘You know what I think, Valentino?’

      ‘What do you think?’ The corners of his mouth edged up further. He sent her a warm, piercing glance and the air grew heady.

      ‘You’re a very nosy guy.’

      His eyes were amused, sensual. ‘Too curious?’

      ‘Way too curious. But since you’re interested, I take life as I find it. And for your information I come from an ordinary background of wonderful people. I have a mother, a brother and a sister. Uncles, aunts, cousins, the whole thing.’

      ‘No boyfriend? Fiancé?’

      ‘Tsk, tsk.’ She shook her head. ‘Haven’t you noticed?’ She waved her ringless left hand at him. ‘What sort of a detective are you?’

      He laughed. ‘Clearly not very good. So you might as well tell me everything. Let me think. Start with the month and year of your birth.’

      Pia stared incredulously at him. ‘Honestly. You are relentless. All right, I’m a Virgo and I’m twenty-six. Satisfied? On the shelf, you might say.’ She smiled. ‘And I’m guessing you’re a much older man of the world than that. Molto.’

      ‘Molto,’ he agreed, smiling. ‘A whole thirty-five.’ She waited for him to expand on his partner status, but he said nothing. A few more moments ticked by while she racked her brains for a way to ask without sounding madly interested, then he shot her a teasing, sensual glance. ‘You aren’t interested to know if I am on the shelf?’

      ‘Should I be?’

      ‘Then you’re not.’ He made it sound like a statement, though his voice was silken.

      ‘Well, I am now.’ She let her lashes flutter down. ‘But only because you brought it up.’

      He laughed. ‘Ah, it’s so sexy talking to a clever woman.’ He hesitated a second, then said, ‘Grazie a Dio at this moment in time I’m a single man and my conscience is clear.’

      She glowed inside. Though truly, feeling so fantastically exhilarated by a little conversational skirmish with a man she’d just met who was dripping with sexual possibilities probably meant her conscience should be anything but clear.

      But it felt lovely to be admired, to receive hot slumberous glances more intense than the norm, which sometimes included her mouth as well as her eyes, or slid to her throat. It sparked up her blood and made her feel like a desirable woman again, and maybe she flirted a little. Once or twice.

      The vegetation had changed. There were fig trees, olive groves and steep hillsides terraced with orchards of lemon and peach, while the warm spring air was scented with the fragrances of wild verbena and basil. The road became increasingly narrow, and soon there were high cliffs on one side and glimpses of sea on the other. So Valentino hadn’t exaggerated the danger, after all. The traffic was constant, interpersed with tourist buses and heavy lorries.

      She began to feel deeply thankful not to be driving. Truly, she could have kissed that car-hire woman. While most of her fears had long since retreated, she still wasn’t so good with heights.

      ‘The road gets even narrower on the other side of Sorrento,’ he said. ‘We call it the Nastro Azzurro, what you would call the Blue Ribbon. You’ll know why when you see it.’ He growled an exclamation. ‘Some of these guys should be locked up. Where are the traffic cops when you need them?’ He took his hands from the wheel to gesticulate at a car pelting towards them, replacing them barely in time to swerve the car to safety. ‘Look.’ He gestured. ‘Vesuvius again.’

      ‘Fantastic,’ she gasped, her heart all at once in her throat, not daring to look at the views. ‘Does this car have airbags?’

      ‘I believe so. Though one can never be sure they will work until the moment of impact.’ He smiled and she forced herself to manufacture one for him.

      She must try to stop talking to him. It was too dangerous. On every level.

      Sorrento was beautiful, the old picturesque town spilling over cliff walls. Every vista was a thrill to Pia’s eye, and she wished they could have lingered there and explored those pretty streets and looked behind the bougainvilleaed walls.

      Conversation trickled off once they were out of the town. The road reduced to a narrow ribbon of continuous sharp curves and switchbacks, a mere ledge along a cliff face, and surely not wide enough for two small cars to pass, let alone the tourist buses and trucks lumbering along, though Valentino negotiated the blind hairpins with confidence.

      Through Pia’s window the sea called with breathtaking views across the bay, though she was too conscious of the cliff edge and its lack of a reassuring barrier to enjoy it. She could barely permit herself to look.

      Admit it, she was scared, but not panicking. She hadn’t panicked for months, and she wouldn’t panic now in front of Valentino Silvestri.

      As they passed through tiny villages clinging to the cliff face she sat taut, hands clenched, and concentrated on breathing. ‘… Pia?’

      She came to herself with a shock, realising he’d been speaking to her. For how long? She felt a stab of dismay. How much of herself had she betrayed? He glanced at her again, a crease between his brows.

      ‘Sorry?’ she said. ‘What—what did you say?’

      His frown intensified. ‘I was asking if you feel okay?’

      ‘Oh, I do. Sure. Fine.’ It was just that her breathing often grew shallow when suspended over a couple of thousand feet of cliff in the presence of a sexy man.

      Not long afterwards, a bend in the road revealed a lay-by. Valentino swung the car in under some trees and parked. There was a small sharp silence, then he said gently, ‘You can stop clutching the seat now. Come. You need some fresh air. Let me show you the view.’