‘Who?’
‘My nearest competitor. He jumped at the chance to come and work for me and he’s extremely keen and exceptionally able. So I’m utterly at your disposal for as long as you want me.’
‘Don’t worry,’ she said lightly. ‘I still only want you until Saturday.’
‘Of course,’ he said smoothly, ignoring the strangely bitter taste the thought of her departure left in his mouth.
She stared at him for a moment longer, the expression in her eyes unreadable, and then gave her beautiful shoulders a quick shrug. ‘Well, we can’t keep on doing nothing but having sex.’
‘Can’t we?’
‘I’ve never been to Venice before. I’d like to see some sights.’
‘Plenty to look at here,’ he drawled, pulling down the sheet that was draped across him.
‘Stop it,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’m serious. I vaguely recall a plan to learn Italian. I have a hankering to try some proper tiramisu. And even though I haven’t had much use for them lately I’m also going to need to buy some new clothes.’
‘Va bene,’ he said, reflecting that, since he’d given his housekeeper the week off, they probably did need to pick up some supplies. ‘If I really can’t tempt you back into bed, we will visit the city. Give me an hour to make some arrangements.’
* * *
By the time they sat down to lunch in a divine cafe that appeared in no guidebook but apparently served the best tiramisu in the city, Rico had taken Carla on a private tour of the Doge’s Palace and had St Mark’s Basilica and the Bell Tower closed to the public so that they might explore them in peace and solitude. They’d had an argument about whether biscotti were better on their own or dipped in vin santo and a discussion about up to exactly what time it was acceptable to order a cappuccino. The entire morning had been an incredible experience and, for Carla at least, very much needed.
Not for a second had she regretted agreeing to stay with him for a few more days. She’d had no doubts about changing her flight to Saturday morning, which would give her the rest of the weekend back home to prepare for the week ahead and proved that she was still using her head, not her heart, to make decisions. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but instead of lessening in passion and heat, the sex had been only getting better.
But she’d woken up this morning needing a change of scenery. The hours since the moment he’d caved in to the desire he had for her had been incredibly intense, increasingly light on chat and heavy on action. And while she hadn’t exactly felt trapped, she’d definitely felt a need for space and a break.
‘So you’re an exceptionally good tour guide,’ she said, taking a sip of her chianti and thinking of the deluge of information he’d presented her with, dates and facts that indicated an encyclopaedic knowledge of the city.
‘I’ve had plenty of practice,’ he answered, his eyes shielded by his mirrored shades. ‘I know these streets and canals and everything within them like the back of my hand.’
Her head immediately swam with everything he’d told her about his youth, but she pushed it aside because it was far too beautiful a day for an analysis of his distressing past.
‘Well, if this person you’ve hired proves too good and you become surplus to requirements,’ she said, thinking instead about how taken aback she’d been by the news that he, who’d always operated totally alone, had taken on the responsibility of an employee, ‘at least you know you have an alternative employment option.’
‘I won’t. I’m excellent at what I do and I need to do it.’
‘You’re very driven.’
‘As are you.’
‘Why do you think that is?’
‘Probably because if you keep moving forwards at great pace, it’s harder for the past to catch up with you.’
‘This is true,’ she said, tilting her head while she gave it some consideration and came to the conclusion that he could be right. ‘Although I’m totally over mine, of course,’ she added, thinking of the return of her confidence and self-esteem and the way she’d eventually had sex again, even though it had taken another four years before she’d been brave enough to take the plunge.
‘Are you?’
She nodded. ‘Endless conversations with Georgie and the therapy my parents arranged worked wonders. You ought to try it.’
His dark eyebrows lifted. ‘You had therapy?’
‘A lot of it. And counselling. For at least a year. They felt terribly guilty. ‘
‘And so they should.’
‘Well, yes,’ she admitted, remembering being in plays at school that no one came to and coming top in tests that no one praised her for. ‘But they weren’t to blame any more than I was. Shortly after I was rescued, they started talking about moving off the commune and adopting a more conventional lifestyle, but I persuaded them out of it. They’d got a bit smothering by that point and I just wanted it behind me.’