‘I apologise,’ he said, sitting back, that deep voice made far too seductive by the upper-class Italian accent. ‘It wasn’t my intention to ignore you tonight.’
No?
‘My mind was somewhat preoccupied.’
Snap! ‘Yes,’ she said, also sitting back, unable to keep some of the derision out of her voice. ‘I saw what was occupying it.’
A frown touched his brow.
‘The blonde woman who forgot her clothes?’ she reminded him.
His expression eased. ‘Ah, Donatella, si.’
She noticed he made no effort to deny she’d been the source of his preoccupation. Ava tried not to grit her teeth. They weren’t on a date. He owed her nothing. She still wanted to hit him.
She didn’t really know what she’d been expecting. She suspected it went along the lines of I remember you. I’ve never forgotten you. I never got your message...
‘There’s something I should tell you.’
‘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.