Was that when the pains had started? Had his unnatural colour been the first sign? Could he have stepped in even then, put his arm around his father, eased him into a chair, fetched the doctor, an ambulance—assistance?
It was never going to go away—the guilt—and damn Ava Lord for bringing it all up again.
He’d left her on the roadside, not trusting himself with her until his temper cooled off. He’d had to get off the mountain, and the usual scenic way—the steps that plunged down the side of a cliff to the road below—was not available to a woman who turned milk-white a hundred feet in the air.
Maybe that was why he’d landed them both on the coast—the gesture of a man who was used to women falling in with his plans, no questions asked. He’d stumbled badly there. But that glimpse of vulnerability in the air had made him want to look after her.
Throwing her off the cliff in a sack would have been the way one of his ancestors would have dealt with her.
He would have to be more creative.
He pulled the tarpaulin cover off the bike, kicked out the stand and pushed it onto the road.
She wasn’t like any woman he’d ever known. Something about fighting with her was turning him on, and he was a man who made it a point of honour not to involve himself in disputes with women. He’d seen too many of them growing up, between his parents. They were inevitably messy and emotional, and a man never won.
No, women didn’t fight with him... They pouted and sulked and made silly little threats, but in the end they did exactly what they were supposed to do. Looked good and provided a little light entertainment.
Yet in the last two days he’d been angered, provoked, amazed, and he was in the grip of a powerful combination of feelings—primarily sexual. Si, he could vouch for the sexual, and it was definitely starting to become painful.
Dressed as she was, spitting insults at him, the antithesis of everything feminine and polished—he still wanted her with a fierce pull that was beyond his previous experience.
That she seemed utterly ignorant of her power over him was the saving grace.
Although he was beginning to think even that was wilful.
Crazy woman. He started the bike up. It purred like a kitten. A slow smile curved his mouth. She’d love this. She could hardly sulk on the back of the Ducati.
* * *
‘Grazie bene. Molto bene. This has been most kind of you.’
Having exhausted her schoolgirl Italian, Ava waited and waved to the old man as he made his way back down the path towards a stone foundry.
She stood in the dappled sunshine by a water pump, wondering what Gianluca was doing. Probably at the hotel already, kicking back with some sort of exotic drink and a blonde who, in Ava’s imagination, resembled to the letter Donatella... He’d probably sent some lackey looking for her when he’d found her gone, so he didn’t have to explain to his precious family how he’d lost her.
Screwing up her face, she mimicked the blonde in her mind. Oh, Gianluca, you’re so wonderful, everything you do is wonderful, let me take off more clothing...
She ground her teeth together.
Far better that she concentrated on what she could improve for herself. It had been a long day, and it wasn’t over by a long shot. She should take this time to regroup, not to fixate on Gianluca Benedetti’s sex life and her lack of one.
It was private here, cooler too. Paolo had told her she was welcome to stay as long as she wished, but they would be leaving at five, using an old track direct to the village, and she was welcome to go with them. He’d given her a clay jug to fill with water and she concentrated on filling it.
She had no intention of hanging around. She’d essay that track by herself. But first she wanted to freshen up. She felt hot and sweaty in her clothes, but something about concentrating on the water splashing into the jug was bringing her a measure of peace.
After a quick reconnaissance of the area she determined she was alone and removed her shirt. She splashed cold water from the tap all over her arms and back, chest and belly. It trickled into the waistband of her accursed trousers and she was oh so tempted to rip them off too. But that would have to wait until she was behind a closed door. She determined one thing. When she got back to Sydney she was making a bonfire of them—all twelve pairs—and then she was going on a sexual rampage through the adult male population of Sydney. He’d see who was highly strung and sexually frustrated then!
CHAPTER TEN
GIANLUCA COULDN’T BELIEVE what he was seeing.
She was half stripped and pouring water over herself from a jug. Pouring it over bare, gleaming skin. The clear water, shot with gold at this angle, was gushing out of the pump and Ava had bent over to plunge her arms underneath it, splashing water down her back. She stood up and shook herself completely unselfconsciously.