She forced her mind to be blank. She didn’t want to think about Michael. She didn’t even want to think about Nico. She needed to focus on the fact she was safe, that she was strong – so much stronger than she’d given herself cred
it for in the beginning. She’d felt afraid for so long and not known how to act, but now she was free and she knew that was a credit to her courage. She’d saved herself from a bad relationship that had been going to an even worse place.
She’d saved herself.
The fight or flight instincts were kicking in again now, and a part of her wanted to run. To pack her bag and leave Ondechiara. But that would be wrong. It would be like giving up baths or chocolate or champagne – subjugating a part of herself out of fear of Michael. She wouldn’t do that again.
By the time she stepped out of the bath, rain had begun to fall once more, softly now, though the night was warm and muggy. She dressed in a simple t-shirt and maxi skirt, poured herself a glass of wine and made her way to the little deck at the back of the house. It had views of rolling Tuscan hills, like something from a guide book, and as she sat there with her knees pulled to her chest, resting her chin on them, she watched the rain cut through the evening, the dark, inky sky blotting out the moonlight completely.
She heard the motorbike’s engine cut out only a few seconds before the knock at the door, and she knew who it would be. Shame curdled her belly – shame at having left Nico without a note, an explanation. But what could she have said? What would she say now?
She took a sip of her wine then placed the glass on the small coffee table, standing to move back inside, through the living area, towards the front door. And even though she was sure it was him, her survival instincts had been irrevocably honed by her experiences. “Who is it?”
A pause. “Nico.”
Her heart leapt. Her pulse fired. “Hang on.”
She sucked in a deep breath, checked her appearance in the mirror then unlocked the door, pulling it inwards.
Heaven help me. He was wearing a black leather jacket over his denims. The motorbike helmet hung loose from one hand and in the other, he held her yellow hat. His expression was quizzical.
She immediately felt foolish. So foolish.
“Hey.” She cleared her throat and offered a half-smile.
“You forgot something.” He held the hat out to her.
She took it, her pulse racing for reasons she couldn’t comprehend. Desire, certainly. Fear? Not of Nico, but of his connection to her past? Definitely. But didn’t that make Nico yet another part of her life that Michael was seeking to control? A pleasurable activity she was denying herself because she was afraid of her asshole ex?
“And I have your coat,” she nodded to the hooks just inside the door.
“So you do.” He lifted both brows and her heart skipped a beat. “Was that your plan? I must say, as far as heists go, the quarry leaves a little to be desired.”
It was a joke and she smiled, even when she felt a chasm of uncertainty, and an instinctive need to pull back from him. “I thought about taking the Pavona near the door,” she tilted her head to the side in an imitation of thoughtfulness. “But you know, who wants world class art when there’s a woollen coat on offer?”
“Indeed.” His eyes narrowed then, his expression taking on a serious quality. “You couldn’t wait for your clothes to dry?”
“I…”
What? This was a moment of truth, a time for her to decide what she wanted to say to him. Except she couldn’t. Words failed her.
“Mind if I come in?”
It was simply a matter of extending the same courtesy to him that he’d rendered her earlier that day. He was getting wet and inside her home it was warm and dry. But he was so enormous – his personality, his essence, his everything – that once he’d breached the door to this cosy little villa she suspected it would never feel quite the same again.
So? She challenged herself. She’d survived worse than that. Did she think she wasn’t strong enough to conquer his presence? Or did she think he wouldn’t already be in her mind after what they’d shared? Keeping him out in the rain wasn’t just silly, it was downright rude.
“Of course not,” she waved a hand into the space, opening the door a little wider.
She’d been right. The second he entered, he dominated everything. The air, the space, the light. It was all Nico Montebello. Her mouth felt acrid, her temperature increasing.
“You walked out on me.”
“I…” she swallowed, a frown forming on her face. “Yeah, I did.”
He turned to face her slowly, his sentiments impossible to fathom. She was drowning in the ocean-blue depths of his eyes, and there was no lifeline in sight. “Why?”
Such a simple question, with no answer she could possibly give.