‘Come,’ he said brusquely. ‘Give me the address of your hotel and I will see you home.’
Ava ignored him and grappled with the door. The flash of impatience she’d heard in his voice had her retaliating as she struggled out, ‘Why bother? You didn’t last time.’
It was an unfair thing to say, but she was past being fair, and it would have made for a great exit line—but she ruined it by toppling straight onto her hands and knees in the gutter.
Could it possibly get worse? Swearing under her breath, she clambered to her feet, hopping about as she whisked off her heels. She’d walk in her stockinged feet. She might as well—she’d just laddered her last pair anyway.
She was plodding down the street, not sure where she was going, when she heard him call out in that deep, resonant voice.
‘Evie!’
She didn’t even turn around, wondering who the hell Evie was. Right now she just wanted to put as many blocks as she could between them.
Oh, why was everything so hard for her? Other women went on dates, were romanced, kissed, cuddled and adored. Other women came to Rome and had adventures. She felt pretty sure all of those women didn’t end the night walking the streets in their stockinged feet.
Blearily she rummaged in her bag for the hotel’s card she’d picked up on her way out this morning. All she needed to do was find someone and present it, and get some directions. How hard could it be?
She gave an oomph as she almost toppled over a stone bench that had somehow leapt into her path, but an unyielding male hand closed around her elbow and fluidly turned her into his arms.
‘Stop it—let me go!’ she huffed, pushing against his chest, aware mostly of the heat of his body, the delicious scent of him, and her own giddy reaction as she tried to free herself. She turned this way and that until she realised he wasn’t holding on to her, just trying to steady her. Why did she need steadying?
She heard him say, ‘Dio, you’re drunk.’
It wasn’t an accusation...more an observation.
She lifted her chin to sling back a clever reply—something along the lines of, I’d have to be to go anywhere with you...
Instead she gazed owlishly up at him.
‘I will drive you back to your hotel,’ he informed her in a tight voice, but somehow he didn’t seem angry any more.
Ava wanted to argue, but she already knew she was in no condition to make a fuss.
* * *
‘Where to, Principe?’
His driver, Bruno, addressed Gianluca calmly over the roof of the limo, as if ferrying drunken sick women around the city nightspots was a regular occurrence.
Good question.
A sensible man would find out where she was staying, do the right thing and not look back.
Si, a sensible man... He’d just bounded out of the car and charged after her, so clearly he didn’t qualify.
He had not behaved sensibly from the moment he’d put the Jota into a screaming U-turn this morning. No, it was long past time to assert his much-vaunted judgement.
He leaned down to find out where she was staying.
To his surprise she appeared to be asleep. He gave her a gentle shake. Her head fell forward.
Bene! Drunk. Blind drunk.
Swearing under his breath, he noticed her right hand was clutching something. When he prised open her fingers he found some crumpled euros and an embossed white card.
She was offering him money?
A cab—of course... It all clicked into place. She’d thought he would just bundle her into a cab? In her condition?
Pulling back on his first thought to wake her up and get this sorted out, he retrieved the card.
The Excelsior.
Nice hotel. Not far from here.
Being as careful as he could, he gently shifted her into a more comfortable position. Her mouth hung slightly open and she was breathing softly. For the first time the tension had left her face. She looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. She looked like a woman who didn’t go to bars to pick up men and drink so much she passed out. She looked, in short, like the kind of woman who needed looking after.
He pitied the poor bastardo who ended up with that job.
Then he noticed other things. There were holes in the knees of her stockings. Her dress was thin. She must have been cold out on the street. Not questioning his actions, he shrugged out of his coat and laid the heavy silk-lined jacket over her.
Unexpectedly she pulled her head back and opened her eyes, green and swimming. She seemed to try and focus. For a moment neither of them spoke, and then she dropped her head again and made a sound that reminded him a little of a hog rooting for truffles. He was so astonished he smiled.
Straightening up, Gianluca slid the hotel card into his back pocket.
‘Casa mia,’ he said to Bruno. Home.