driver, then walked into Number 37 and up to the front door, where she took a moment to search her handbag, then let herself in. A light came on in a ground-floor window.
Alessandro gave her a moment, then got out and crossed the street.
He didn’t have long to wait after ringing the bell before the woman answered. She wore her wheat coloured hair swept into a bun, and though her warm, attractive face was more lived in than Lara’s, he detected an unmistakable resemblance in the fine bones and resolute chin. Shrewd, humorous sky-blue eyes looked him up and down and measured him all the way through to his soul.
Ah. The mother.
Still, he realised with a surge of triumph, no boyfriend on the premises. There almost certainly would not be a boyfriend.
‘Alessandro Vincenti,’ he informed her, with a courteous inclination of his head. ‘Is this where Lara Meadows lives?’
For a second the woman stood stock-still, then her eyes shone with an intense silvery light. ‘Ah. Yes. Yes, it is indeed. If you wait here I’ll just get her.’ She turned back inside, then gave a small start and exclaimed, ‘Oh, here she is now. Lara, someone to see you. Ales-Excuse me, now-did you say your name was Alessandro Vincenti?’
Alessandro assented with a grave murmur.
From the top of the stairs Lara heard Alessandro’s voice in conversation with her mother’s and she felt her stomach lose its floor as all her separate universes collided.
Somehow she managed the walk down without tumbling.
Alessandro was even more darkly gorgeous on her doorstep. He looked taller, more sophisticated, more thrillingly, exotically Italian. As she paused halfway down he lifted his dark gaze to hers and she felt the old adrenaline kick higher.
Her watery knees held. Just.
He’d changed into a casual jacket and trousers with a black polo sweater. The black-surely it was cashmere- enhanced his olive colouring and deepened his eyes to shimmering brilliance. As they swept over her in masculine appraisal the sensual golden flicker in their depths touched a trigger somewhere deep in her abdomen.
‘Hi.’ If only she could sound normal, not be so conscious of her breasts, despite their heavy-duty shield, she could deal with him. Fear of blushing prevented her from looking at her mother, but she still felt the heat rise through her neck and ears.
She said breathless, useless, stilted things.
‘Well, er-Alessandro, how are you?’
‘Fine. And yourself?’
‘Fine, fine. Did you…did you have any trouble finding the house?’
‘None whatsoever. I have the-what do you call it here?-GPS.’
She saw him glance at her mother, and said quickly, ‘This is my mother,’ then turned to Greta to explain-as if it could be explained that the big boss of the company had headed straight to her house on his first night in Sydney-‘Alessandro has come to-to manage Stiletto. He-he wants to ask some questions about the company.’
She blushed outright then at the unlikeliness of it, and with mixed emotions saw Alessandro take her mother’s hand and say in his beautiful accent, ‘It is charming to meet you, Signora Meadows.’
Though her mother’s response was restrained, Lara could tell she was ravished to her kneecaps. And absolutely undeceived.
Lara threw him a sardonic glance, knowing he was fully aware of the effects of his high-voltage courtesy on Australian women, and his dark gaze met hers with bland inscrutability. Before her mother could start inviting him to dinner and making offers of accommodation, Lara cut in, ‘Oh, goodness, Mum, I’ve just thought. Would you mind going upstairs to-to make sure I turned the iron off?’
Greta looked startled, but Lara tweaked her sleeve and added, ‘Just to make sure everything’s all right up there, please, dear. If you wouldn’t mind?’
Greta’s eyes lit with comprehension. ‘Certainly dear. Of course. We don’t want to set fire to anything. Bring Alessandro inside out of this chilly air.’
Lara waited until her mother was out of earshot, then said in a low voice, ‘Well, I did tell you not to come, but since you’re here now, what is it?’
His glance assessed her and pierced straight through her defences. Her vest might as well have been made from gauze. ‘Relax, bambina. Let’s not keep up this pretence we aren’t pleased to see each other. Have you had dinner?’
She folded her arms in front of her. ‘You’re kidding yourself there. Why would I want to see someone who’s a cold, arrogant-?’ She broke off, unwilling to frame the word.
He smiled, and it lit his eyes, his whole face, with warmth. ‘Bastard is the word you’re looking for. For the same reason I might want to see someone who’s a defensive little liar.’
Her insides lurched in shock. What did he mean? Had he heard something about Vivi already? Then she saw that his eyes were still smiling and her heart dropped back into its niche. ‘Anyway,’ she said quickly to ease over her scare, ‘we’ve already-we’ve had dinner.’
He looked surprised. ‘So early?’ He paused a second, as if perhaps waiting for Greta’s invitation to be reissued. She felt slightly ashamed to have to be so inhospitable, when his manners were usually so excellent. When she said nothing he tilted his head towards the end of the street. ‘I noticed a brasserie somewhere along there. Come, then, we’ll have a glass of wine.’
Truly, after the way he’d treated her at work, he had a nerve. It had clearly never occurred to him that she might refuse. And to be honest, it didn’t seriously occur to her. Despite all her fears and anxieties, it was abundantly clear that the moment of revelation had arrived and there was no avoiding it.
At least he’d decided to abandon hostilities. For the conversation she had churning around in her mind the atmosphere needed to be calm. Pleasant. Rational.
As she would be, once her heart had slowed down a little. Once the wild old excitement in her veins had stopped its seething. Was it so weak of her to relish the rare heady pleasure of being seen in public with a stunningly attractive man? She felt sure any woman who’d pushed a pram single-handedly would appreciate the allure of it.
Praying fervently that the man-rich air hosties who lived across the street were watching through their front windows, she unhooked her jacket from the stand inside the door and slipped it on.
He was standing outside the gate, gazing interestedly around at the neighbourhood.
She closed the gate behind her and he cast her a dark, inviting glance that thrilled through her like ocean spray. She walked along the street with him, under the bare trees and the old street lamps, past the rows of terraces with the minuscule front gardens inside their iron railings, trying not to show how she savoured every rare, precious step.
How she’d dreamed of this. How many times had she pushed the stroller to the shops and fantasised that her lover would come back for her and his little girl?
He adjusted his long strides to hers on the uneven pavement, just as he had the last time he’d been in Sydney. He was a true Venetian, he’d explained to her then. Walking around cities was one of his favourite pastimes. This was how it had all started, those magic walks.
That time came back to her then with such a powerful intensity, she felt quite tremulous and emotional. Occasionally the back of his hand, his shoulder, his hip made an accidental contact with hers, and the joyous old electricity shivered through her. She made herself widen the distance between them, glanced up at the cold night sky as if the distant Milky Way could distract her, not that it was visible in the glare of the city lights, but her desperate flesh yearned for more of those delicious little brushes.
She’d lived like a nun for too long, that was the trouble. It had weakened her defences against tall, handsome Italians with smiling eyes. But she needed to keep her head. Whatever she said tonight would be inscribed in stone for keeps.
His dark gaze captured hers. ‘I am surprised to see you’re still living with your parents. I thought-isn’t Bindinong in the Blue Mountains?’
She nodded. ‘After Dad died Mum and I moved to Sydney.’
He stopped in the middle of the pavement. ‘You’ve lost your father. I’m so sorry to hear that. Was this an
