Italian Escape: Summer with the Millionaire / In the Italian's Sights / Flirting with Italian

Doubt gnawed at Minty’s stomach. On one hand, they were having a good time. He was funny, easy to talk to, good in bed. On the other, she risked exposing him to the crazy media circus that was her life. He might shrug off a few gossip websites but would he be so sanguine when an ex sold her story to a newspaper? When it was his front door the photographers surrounded?

‘What about work?’ she said instead, watching him carefully. He gave nothing away, his expression bland.

‘I’m quite happy to authorise your leave. Come on, Minty, I’m talking about a road trip—just a few days.’

‘Hmm...’ It wasn’t going away with Luca that worried her, it was coming back. The longer she spent with him, the more under a spell she was, like Sleeping Beauty in a dream world of warm sun, olive trees and a handsome ice-cream tycoon. The difference was that Sleeping Beauty had woken up to her happy-ever-after; Minty would wake up to the dullness of everyday life. There would be no one to hack through the forest of thorns and rescue her; she would have to do it herself.

Again.

The longer she stayed with Luca, the harder it would be to fight her way back into the real world.

Last time she’d rebounded into a disastrous series of relationships after just one night. A night that had left her aching with unconsummated desire, feeling all alone. What was she thinking, spending all this time with him, letting him get so close?

But maybe this would work the other way. She fancied him; that was pretty undeniable. But he wasn’t irresistibly perfect. Sure, now he was suddenly all about the impulsive days off work, the long walks, the sudden holidays, but at heart he was still the disapproving, sensible, solid Luca. He couldn’t keep that side of himself locked away for too long. And when that side resurrected itself he’d blame her for leading him astray. Just like he always had.

Maybe she needed this finally to move on. To let the crush play itself out until the scales fell irrevocably from her eyes. They would. They always did.

And she’d be free.

‘Minty.’ His voice was caramel and cream, a hint of something darker, more intoxicating threaded through it. ‘Don’t overthink this.’

‘Normally people tell me to think before I act,’ she pointed out. ‘Here I am, trying for a new responsible me, and you’re holding up a perfect-looking apple and telling me how how juicy it is!’ The problem was, she wasn’t very good at resisting temptation, and they didn’t come much more tempting than the tall Italian beside her. She sighed. Would a short trip really hurt? She could be careful; careful not to get pulled into his world, careful to be herself, to stay flighty and silly and impulsive.

‘I am supposed to be doing the consumer focus groups this week.’ But she allowed her voice to lack conviction. She slid a provocative glance at him through her eyelashes and she saw him smile.

‘Alessandro can do that.’ The smile was in his voice and a rush of heat flooded through her. It wasn’t fair; how could someone’s voice have this effect on her? This man’s voice...

‘You may get tired of me without the office to escape to. I can be very demanding.’

‘That,’ he said, looking directly at her, the heat in his eyes making her gasp, ‘I am counting on.’

‘Where do you want to go?’ Her voice wasn’t quite steady. His proximity, the way his eyes seemed to strip and caress her, were making it hard for her to remain cool. In control.

‘Roma?’ He didn’t sound so certain. Minty knew with utter certainty it was the last place he wanted to go, but that he knew she’d enjoy it. The squeeze in her chest was almost suffocating. It wasn’t often that anyone put her interests before their own.

‘What if I wanted to have a beer overlooking the Pantheon?’

‘Then you would pay.’ His mouth lifted with a triumphant smirk. ‘I’ll warn you, mine will be a large one. Plus some kind of bar snack or two.’

‘Shop?’

A small pause; she peeped at him through her lashes. He looked amused. ‘Please just wear sensible shoes and don’t expect me to carry all your bags.’

‘Sensible and pretty,’ Minty assured him. ‘But I don’t want to go to Rome.’

An eyebrow quirked. ‘No? Then where shall I head to? North to the lakes or the mountains? Or I could drive us to Venice or Verona?’

Verona was new territory; the lakes were always lovely. Venice? Suddenly the thought of a jostling, crowded city didn’t seem that appealing, even one as quirkily beautiful as Venice.

Besides, Luca would hate it.

Minty looked out at the sunshine and thought about the light and very spring-like clothing she had just purchased. It was still early in the season. ‘I think we should go south,’ she decided.

Luca’s eyes flickered to her bare legs and feet, and he grinned but didn’t say anything.

‘Are you sure?’ Minty wasn’t sure what she was asking. Was he sure about taking the time off, about taking a trip with her? About being with her?

‘Completely. I haven’t taken any time off in well over a year. A break will probably do me good.’

‘Okay.’ She bit down on her bottom lip. These doubts were ridiculous. Luca was a grown man, a responsible, sensible CEO. If he said he wanted to take some time off, then it wasn’t her job to question him or dissuade him.

It was just that impulsive road trips were more her style than his. She wasn’t used to people adapting to her ways.

Minty slouched down further into her seat, deliberately, provocatively, assuming an almost horizontal, ultra-relaxed position. ‘South it is. How far are we going to go? All the way?’ She allowed a touch of innuendo to enter her voice and was gratified to see him swallow, his jaw clench. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.

‘There probably isn’t time to get to Sicily and to enjoy it properly. Not if we’re going to drive—unless you want to fly?’

‘Oh, we are definitely driving. A road trip is much more fun if it actually involves a road,’ she insisted. ‘Flying makes it a mini-break; not the same thing at all.’

‘I went on holiday to Sorrento with my parents the year before they died,’ Luca offered. His face was blank, expressionless, but for all the studied nonchalance there was a dark undercurrent in his voice. ‘I never wanted to go back before—too many memories, I suppose—but maybe it’s time to make some new ones. Of course, you’ve probably been there far too many times.’

Minty shook her head. ‘Not even once,’ she said promptly. ‘Sorrento it is. Capri, Amalfi, Positano—sounds like a socialite’s dream. I bet I can find us a café where the price of coffee will make you cry.’

‘I can’t wait,’ Luca murmured drily, but he reached over with one hand and touched her, just a fleeting caress of her knee, yet it was as if a flame had scorched her, the heat travelling across her body. Minty resisted the urge to grab his hand, to move it back.

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