Most women would be grateful to be dropped onto the Italian Riviera for a couple days of R & R. In point of fact he could think of several just off the cuff who would brawl with one another to have the chance of spending a couple of days in his company in these surroundings... He was known for being generous. He didn’t begrudge a woman a little shopping, a little pampering—it always made them far more relaxed and amenable when it came to the point for which they were both here.
Si, there were many women who would appreciate this gesture.
Clearly Ava wasn’t one of them.
She had a sharp tongue, that female, and no sense at all of her role as a woman—to smooth the awkward moment, to expect his assistance.
Instead she pushed him to treat her as he would a man—but what she didn’t understand was that if a man had behaved as she had today he’d be out cold on that hillside right now, not sitting nice and tight in a luxury hotel.
Basta. He’d spent too much valuable time thinking about this. He’d done his duty by her. He could live with the papers’ stories about his supposed latest squeeze—he was used to it, after all. As far as he was concerned there was no need for them to see one another again.
Besides, there was a cure for this. This was Positano. There were beautiful, available women everywhere. Fiery, opinionated Italian women, who knew how to handle a man, knew when to challenge and when to lay down their weapons and offer up some much appreciated docility.
He observed one or two of these paragons as he sipped his vodka.
The Russian, who had flown in for this one-hour face-to-face and would be flying out afterwards to join his mistress on his super-yacht at St Tropez, followed suit.
The lawyers continued to buzz.
When the business of the day was set aside the Russian leaned casually back in his chair and said in his soft, thickly accented Italian, ‘Fly out with me this evening, Gianluca. We can look at the plans over dinner.’
The plans. Drinks and dinner. A bevy of the beautiful girls who travelled the world with one of Europe’s richest men. The oligarch was infamous for his parties. But Gianluca’s thoughts flickered not to tanned skin and lithe, flexible female bodies, but to Australia’s answer to Gina Lollobrigida, wagging her finger at him and lecturing him about Seventies-era James Bond. He wondered what kind of response the Russian would get from her.
Which was when he laughed for the first time since she’d accused him of being a playboy. Which was when he knew he wouldn’t be going anywhere. What he wanted was right here in Positano.
CHAPTER TWELVE
AVA SAT UP GROGGILY. She was in the middle of the bed and a quilt she couldn’t remember drawing over herself was crumpled under her hand.
She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. She remembered lying down and feeling so lousy it had almost hurt to take her next breath. She rubbed her eyes listlessly. Clearly she’d underestimated the toll the day had taken on her.
The quality of light drifting through the windows was different—softer. Some time must have passed. Ava froze. There was a sports coat draped over one of the high-backed chairs, and keys and a phone on the table. Even as she kicked her legs free of the quilt she listened. Running water. It was the shower.
Ava propelled herself off the bed, her hands going to her hair, madly smoothing it down.
He was in her shower—their shower. Were they sharing a room? He hadn’t said anything about sharing a room. Typical! It was a huge presumption on his behalf. Especially when he knew her feelings on the subject...
Ava caught herself mid-tirade.
Her feelings had changed.
Somehow, at some point coming down that mountain, her feelings had changed.
And she was doing it again. Working herself up to avoid facing her fears.
She subsided back onto the bed.
He’d come back to her.
She bit her lip and smiled the smallest smile.
Think, Ava, think. Remember what he said about you being sexually frustrated and highly strung? You could show him. You could make him eat those words.
There was only one teeny, tiny problem—and, given he was a sex god, he might not even notice.
She wasn’t very good at it.
Sex.
But maybe there was an opportunity here for her...
He had all the skill.
She could take advantage of that.
She was here in this beautiful spot, with one of the sexiest men in the world. She remembered very successful sex the last time. Was there ever going to be a more perfect opportunity than this?
Gianluca Benedetti wasn’t a man who did deep and meaningful. Knowing that going in, she wouldn’t attach herself. It would be sex. If she could just relax and follow the dictates of her body, not her conscience...nor her heart...she would be fine.
Just fine.