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Linda had found some hot Melburnian man, and they were lost in each other at the bar.

‘More?’ Tony asked, raising his bottle.

I sliced my eyes to my wristwatch and gasped at the time.

‘I have to go,’ I said, scrambling up.

‘No,’ Tony groaned.

‘I must. I have a work gig first thing in the morning.’

‘OK,’ he acknowledged. ‘But let me walk you home.

I thought about it, face flushing as another of my night’s admirers swung past with a seedy grin.

I sighed, knowing I’d need an escort to exit the place without being pawed.

‘Thank you,’ I conceded.

Tony’s lips curved.

We gathered our things from the table and told Linda we were lighting out.

She smiled, raised a brow as she glanced between Tony and me and gave me a wave. ‘I’ll come home whenever,’ she murmured, returning to her hunk. ‘You two have an awesome time.’

I rolled my eyes, not quite with the program she was suggesting.

Tony led me outside, holding my hand close as he pulled me through the compact crowd. I appreciated his care, running interference for me in loud, aggrieved Italian phrases when a few eager punters leered at me.

Laughing at their outrage at Tony’s brand of Euro-intervention, we escaped into the fresh air.

Drawing deep breaths after the pub’s thick beer-scented ambience, we wandered up the road hand in hand, slightly tipsy, basking in our post-pub fun glow.

Chapter 9

LORENZO

Iwas slated to receive the keys to my new house in twenty-four hours.

It was about time.

I was over hotel living, restaurant food and bland carpeting.

I was also restless as hell, needing relief. The night before I relocated, I was climbing walls, going out of my mind, anxious about the move, and obsessing about Mia again.

Earlier in the week, I commissioned our global security firm to investigate her and discovered that she had moved from the Blue Mountains to Sydney.

They’d emailed her Mia’s most recent address, and I stared at it for so long on my phone screen that it burned in my memory, all the while considering the option of showing up unannounced.

I rejected it because, fuck, it skewed the thin line of stalking.

Not. My. Style.

However, I found myself wondering, what if I just caught a glance at her from my car? That wouldn’t be stalking, would it?

On a whim and in a grim, unshakeable mood, I called Mauri.

‘I need to go for a drive,’ I snarled, aware I was dancing with my dark side on the edge of a dangerous bluff.