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‘It must be beautiful where you come from.’
‘You’ve never been to Italy?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve never been overseas.’
‘Never?’
She shook her head again. ‘There was never the money. And then, when things improved, there was never the time.’ She indicated he should turn right at the next intersection and then asked, ‘Is it the Piacenza region where your mother comes from as well?’
He slowed, waiting for an oncoming car to pass before he could make the turn. ‘Why do you ask that?’
‘Well, your mother is Italian and you’re living in Italy and I thought—well, I just wondered …’
‘She came from that region, yes.’
‘She’s not there now?’
‘Not as far as I can tell.’
‘You … don’t know where she is?’
‘Nobody knows where she is.’
Holly blinked. ‘But surely …?’
He cursed in Italian under his breath, a curse he’d heard his mother fling at his father when he was just a child, before he answered, his mood as wintry as the thick atmosphere and the heavy sky. ‘Nobody knows,’ he snapped. ‘Now, which way at this next intersection?’
She sank back into her seat. ‘Straight ahead, then right at the next town.’
She shut up then, thank God, giving him the breathing space to get his temperature under control. As if eight hours stuck alongside her in the car wasn’t enough, now she had to bring up his mother, scratching away at wounds that were best left alone.
Who knew where his mother was? Who knew if she was alive or dead? Not him. Sure, he might have wondered once, might have imagined or even hoped as a rebellious teenager that he’d find her hiding out amongst the hills and vineyards of Piacenza, but that was a long time ago and he’d long ceased wondering.
After all, why should he care after the woman had walked out on the family and left them all to rot?
Was it any wonder his siblings had gone wild? Rich, good-looking, untamed. Was it any wonder they could fill gossip magazines all by themselves?
He snorted. Not that he’d been much better.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Whoever had coined that phrase knew what they were talking about. But thank God he’d managed to keep his private life private. Thank God the paparazzi had long given up on him as the boring Chatsfield by the time Michele had turned up on his doorstep needing help.
He felt a familiar ache in his side, not helped by sitting so long in the car. He didn’t want to think about Michele. He didn’t want to think about that year. That loss.
The woman beside him shifted in her seat and he caught a whiff of her scent, something light and lemony and fresh. Like she was, he thought. Natural and unspoilt and so different to the type of women he was usually attracted to.
He hadn’t set out to be attracted to her, and yet …
He turned his head. She was staring straight ahead, her arms crossed, and if he didn’t know better he’d think she was sulking.
Maybe he’d been a bit hard on her, but after eight hours sitting so close it was no wonder he was feeling on edge.
He changed down a gear for a bend and let his fingers stray, his fingertips just grazing the fabric of her work pants. She jumped like he’d branded her and he smiled.
Josh had tried to warn him off and he’d listened. He hadn’t set out to seduce anyone, let alone prickly Ms Purman, and he didn’t resent getting the warning. But then he remembered that stolen kiss and he’d seen the way she’d watched him all this week. He’d seen the desire and the longing building in their blue depths while he’d been thinking about her in ways that weren’t entirely honourable himself. Did she realise those eyes were like windows to her thoughts?
And Josh had mentioned nothing about consenting adults.
Not that she was likely to consent to anything right now, and with good reason. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t talk much about my mother. I generally don’t talk about my family at all.’
‘I noticed,’ she said, her head swinging around. ‘Why is that?’
He shrugged, slowing the car as they came up behind a fruit-and-vegetable truck that was struggling along the windy road. ‘I don’t have a lot to do with them. Any of them.’
‘Why not? Because you don’t approve of their lifestyle?’
He had never approved, he’d always thought he was better than that—until Michele had appeared out of the blue—but that wasn’t the reason. ‘I left home when I was sixteen. I was angry and rebellious and decided I didn’t want to live in a media circus any more.’
