Italian Escape with the CEO

‘That doesn’t matter. My dad wasn’t perfect either—he made some pretty bad choices in his life, but that doesn’t alter his love for me or mine for him or how much I grieved for him. You loved your dad and he loved you—your grief is real and valid.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And whilst I do have issues with his choices, I do know they aren’t your fault. From now on I’ll act like that. Let’s try and put the past behind us.’

‘I’d like that.’ A smile illuminated her face, though sadness still flecked her eyes. ‘I really would.’ Simultaneously they both seemed to realise that her hand still covered his and for a moment all he wanted was to increase that contact, to move round the table and hold her.

The desire caused a warning bell to klaxon in his brain. Bad idea. The knowledge hit him like an iced bucket of water on the head. Ava was grieving, was as vulnerable as he had been in the aftermath of his father’s death. That meant her perspective would be skewed just as his had been. In his case he had ended up believing himself in love, had ended up in a marriage that had been a mistake. Guilt touched him. Maybe he should never have asked Ava to be part of this charade, perhaps in itself that had been taking advantage. But it was too late to change that now. All he could do was ensure he acted honourably and with sensitivity. That meant keeping their latent attraction in check and that in turn meant keeping their physical contact to a minimum. It would be all too easy for a hug to morph into something more. This he knew.

But perhaps he could try to make the sadness recede from her eyes—there could be no harm in that. ‘Dessert?’ he suggested. ‘And then I suggest we should test each other on our fact cards.’

‘Sure.’

‘But let’s make it a little more fun than a straightforward test.’

Now curiosity surfaced and sparked her eyes. ‘How?’

‘I’ll get the dessert and I’ll tell you.’

* * *

Ava watched as Liam stacked the plates in the dishwasher, her body and mind in turmoil. Emotions swirled, grief and a warmth at having had that grief understood—a sense of a connection that somehow prompted her body to hum anew at the memory of earlier. Of being pressed back against him, his arm around her waist Just those few seconds seemed to have branded her in some way. And now...now she needed to get a grip, had to be careful.

They had agreed to put the past behind them but it still existed. Plus Liam was a widower—a man who hadn’t dated since his wife died. And Ava wasn’t on the market for a relationship with anyone. Yet when he returned be

aring a dessert that looked utterly delicious she knew the adjective ‘yum’ was directed at him by her unruly hormones.

And somehow her gaze landed on a curl of his copper hair, shower damp on the nape of his neck, and it mesmerised her. She snatched her glance away only to land on the tantalising bare V of his neckline.

‘It’s one of Elena’s specialities—’ He broke off as he looked at her, must have read something in her gaze, or perhaps she was drooling or sending out some sort of smoke signal from her ears. But as he paused their gazes locked and she saw desire in the depths of his cobalt eyes.

Say something. Break the spell. ‘Um...you look amazing...’ Oh, for Pete’s sake. ‘Not you. It looks amazing. The dessert, I mean.’

‘So I don’t look amazing?’ Amusement laced his deep voice and she glared at him.

‘I... I don’t know.’ Ava closed her eyes and wondered where twenty-seven years of poise had vanished to. Seemingly cancelled out by one curl of hair, some understanding, a sculpted face and an even more sculpted body and... There she went again.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I am a dessert sort of girl and this clearly fuddled my brain. It looks amazing. What is it?’

‘Barchiglia. It’s a chocolate and almond tart with a pear and sort of almond meringue filling.’

‘That sounds to die for.’

‘It is. That’s why I thought we could use the dessert as a bit of an incentive.’

‘How?’

‘We cut it up into small pieces and every time we get a question right we get a piece. If we don’t get it right we forfeit to the other person. And you really don’t want to forfeit any of this.’

‘Bring it on.’ She watched as he cut the cake, appreciated the deft, confident movements, but even more she appreciated what he was doing—knew he was trying to distract her from her grief.

‘OK. You ask first,’ he said.

‘What’s my favourite colour?’

‘Amber.’

‘Correct.’ He picked up a small piece and popped it into his mouth, and she smiled as he made an exaggerated mmm sound.

‘My go. Where did I live as a child?’

‘Surrey.’