‘I’m not any happier about this than you, Signora Lord. A day never starts well when my mother feels the need to phone me.’
‘Signorina,’ she reminded him—then wished she hadn’t, given the now speculative look on his face.
‘Signorina,’ he said, disturbingly softly.
‘Yes, well...I’ve heard about how close Italian men are to their mothers,’ she bustled on crisply.
‘We speak three times a year: Easter, Christmas and her birthday.’
His eyes moved lazily over her and Ava shifted a little.
‘This morning will make it four—because of you, signorina.’
‘I’m bringing mother and son together,’ she responded dryly. ‘I’m doing you a service.’
He ignored her. ‘According to the women of my family, with whom I make it my practice not to get involved,’ he added with wry emphasis, ‘you refuse to see your brother because you feel they have offended you in some way.’
She didn’t miss the way he made it sound doubtful that anyone had offended her, as if his precious family couldn’t possibly have done anything to hurt her...
Ava’s temper was rekindled. ‘What’s it got to do with them?’
‘Apparently they feel responsible for some unhappiness you experienced at your brother’s wedding all those years ago.’
You. You are responsible for my unhappiness!
Ava sucked in a breath, aware she had been far too close to blurting that sentiment out. Where on earth had it come from? Surely she didn’t believe that? But she was very afraid she did, and it was motivating her frustration with him.
Almost helplessly she silently willed him to mention the real issue, which was their long-ago night together, so she could dismiss it out loud as unimportant and all in the past.
‘It’s not their business,’ she said mulishly when she realised that—just like a man—he had said all he was going to say.
‘You can discuss it with them,’ he said.
‘I’m certainly not discussing it with you!’
‘Bene. I have no interest in your varied sex life. I am, however, the man who will be sending you south this afternoon.’
What varied sex life? He’d clearly confused her with one of his bimbos.
She watched him scoop up her dress, which she’d so embarrassingly thrown onto the floor in her drunken state last night. He shook it out and tossed it to her.
Ava watched in horror as he picked up her bra—all pretty black lace filigree, but substantial enough to support her—and dangled it in front of her.
She snatched it from him, narrowing her eyes at him. He probably had a pile of these—souvenirs from all the other women who had passed through this room. Oh, if only the walls could talk—if only she could find that pile, wrench open the door and point out his stash and confront him with his rampant promiscuity...
Gianluca said calmly, ‘Once you are dressed we will talk about this.’
What? No suggestive comments? No questions as to why she’d seen fit to strip herself in the middle of the night...? No interest on his part in her being naked...?
Ava was suddenly aware that what she was feeling was fast approaching disappointment. It was completely inappropriate and she veered her thoughts in the other direction. She really should have got dressed some time ago, instead of sitting here mulling over what he knew and didn’t know.
It was clear he knew everything.
CHAPTER SIX
‘DID YOU HEAR ME?’ he repeated impatiently. ‘Dress yourself and we will talk.’
‘Just a minute.’ She gathered the sheet around her, as if another layer might give her the requisite dignity she felt she was presently lacking. ‘What have you said to your mother about me?’
‘My mother?’ He rubbed the back of his neck, drawing into prominence an impressive bicep.
‘Yes—the woman who gave birth to you,’ she snapped impatiently, convinced he was just showing off his incredible body to taunt her. ‘Or did you spring fully formed from the head of Zeus? I wouldn’t be surprised...’ She muttered the last.
‘You really want to discuss my mother?’
No, she wanted to run a hundred miles in the other direction from his mother!
She had experience in facing down corporate sharks in boardrooms when a lesser woman would be knock-kneed to enter, but Maria Benedetti—La Principessa—had looked down her patrician nose at Ava seven years ago, as if the Lord family were somehow not good enough for the Benedettis.
God knew what she would say about this situation—her precious firstborn son standing over her, fully dressed, groomed, every inch the cool upper-class Italian male, and she in her knickers, wrapped in a sheet, at a complete disadvantage after a drunken night on the tiles.