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He glanced at her then and took another gulp of beer and swallowed. ‘You know I didn’t.’ Because he spent all his time with Mario. He didn’t have to say it.
‘Were they mean to you?’
Gio looked away again. What was this? Twenty questions? But he unclenched his jaw. ‘No, they were never mean to me. They had their own battles to fight. They both took more after my father than I did. I never had that drive or ambition, that sense of competition to be the dominant Corretti. They just … they were preoccupied with their own stuff.’
Gio glanced at Valentina again and she was looking down into her beer bottle, swirling the liquid. Her hands were small and graceful. Capable. He had a sudden memory of being much smaller, when Valentina had been sitting on the sidelines of some game he and Mario had been playing.
At one point he’d gone up to her and asked if she wanted to join in, stuttering over the words. Instinctively he’d been tensed for her reaction, to laugh at him or mimic him, but she’d just stood up and put her hand in his.
Sounding as if it was almost half to herself Valentina said now, ‘You’ve been very successful.’
Gio smiled minutely, brought back to the present, and the reality of a very adult Valentina. ‘The horse-racing business is very lucrative and I had a good horse.’
Valentina smiled wryly. That was an understatement. Everyone knew about Giacomo Corretti’s meteoric rise to fame and the horse that had won races for almost a decade, turning him from champion into legend. She looked at him. ‘Is Misfit still alive?’
Gio nodded and something about the intensity of his focus on her made her nervous, tingly.
‘Yes … but he’s retired now. He stands at my stud at the castello. Mares are sent from all over the world to be covered by him. He’s sired two of my current champions—Mischief and Misdemeanour. They’re both running in the Corretti Cup this year.’
Valentina fell silent. Misfit had been the horse that he’d taken her riding on that day around the gallops. The sheer provocation of that memory again, and the way this conversation had veered wildly off a comfortable track, made her put her beer bottle down and she stood up.
She sounded breathless. ‘I should be going.’
Gio stood up too, and it was only then that Valentina realised how dark it had become. His face was shadowed. He looked even bigger in the dim light. It was as if thinking of that moment on the horse had ripped away some vital part of her defence around this man. She felt naked, vulnerable. Exposed.
She turned around and then felt a large warm hand on her arm, under her T-shirt. Her belly plummeted to some dark hot place.
Gio compelled her to face him, turning her around. He was frowning. ‘What did I say?’
‘No—nothing,’ Valentina stuttered, which made her think of Gio’s stutter. How fierce and yet vulnerable he’d looked whenever he had stuttered. She closed her eyes. Dio. Would her imagination not cease?
‘I’ve upset you.’
Valentina opened her eyes but avoided his, focusing on the bronzed column of his throat above his dark T-shirt. She shook her head. ‘No … I’m just tired. It’s been a long day … few days.’
‘Valentina, look at me.’
Somehow Gio was right in front of her, his hand hot on her arm. She imagined that she could feel her pulse beating against her skin, as if trying to touch his skin. His blood.
She looked up and was caught by his dark brown gaze. Green flecks like dark jewels. How many times had she dreamt of these eyes? How many times had she coveted his gaze on her, only to feel it and flee like a little coward? His gaze was on her now and it was scorching her alive.
Gio frowned even more, in a question. ‘Valentina?’
Her eyes dropped to Gio’s mouth. That gorgeous sensual mouth. Made for dark things. When she’d been seventeen she’d kissed her pillow and imagined she was kissing him.
Gio’s voice sounded slightly rough. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
Her eyes rose to meet his. She seemed to have been invaded by some kind of lethargy. She knew she should be cool, step back, push his arm off her, but all those things seemed so difficult to do.
She shook her head faintly. ‘Looking at you … like what?’
A long moment burned between them. Valentina had forgotten everything. She could feel herself swaying ever so slightly towards Gio. And then his other hand came onto her other arm and he was pushing her back, pushing her away from him.
It was as if someone had just doused her in cold water. Valentina suddenly saw exactly what she must have looked like. Staring at Gio’s mouth like a love-struck teenager, swaying like a drunk person, silently begging him—She stepped back sharply, forcing his hands to drop. She felt hot inside, her skin prickly all over, and worse, her breasts felt fuller, her nipples stinging against the lace of her bra.
‘Go to bed, Valentina, you’re tired.’ Gio’s voice was curt and flayed Valentina alive.
She couldn’t even answer. She stepped down from the seats and had to force herself not to run all the way to her rooms. Mortification was a tidal wave eating her up all over. Gio had pushed her back; he’d had to stop her from making a complete fool of herself. She’d just exposed herself to him spectacularly. No matter what she said or did from now on, she hadn’t hidden her attraction to him.
