India Grey - The Italian's Defiant Mistress

Clamping her purse beneath one arm, she dug beneath the layers of old bus tickets, leaky Biros and odd gloves, triumphantly managing to unearth it before it stopped ringing.

‘Lou…!’

‘Hi, babe. You tried to call me. Everything OK?’

‘Where were you? I needed you!’

‘I was here. I’m just not answering my phone in case it’s Marissa. I’m supposed to be at death’s door, remember? The trouble is I got quite carried away with the story when I rang her to tell her, and now I can’t remember all the details. Anyway, never mind that. How’s it going?’

At the comfortingly familiar sound of Lou’s voice Eve felt the sting of tears at the back of her eyes again. The need to offload was overwhelming.

‘It’s awful. I’ve completely messed everything up!’

‘God, Eve, you’d better not have. Marissa will strangle me with one of her garish designer scarves if she finds out I made up all that stuff about your past modelling success and your dazzling journalistic career. Tell me it’s not that bad.’

Eve swallowed nervously.

‘Remember the time you interviewed that Hollywood movie star and spent the whole time giving him your come-get-me smile—then found out afterwards that you had lettuce stuck to your teeth? Well, it’s about a thousand times worse than that.’

There was a painful pause. ‘I don’t believe you. But I’m listening.’

Miserably waiting in the queue, Eve watched the sultry girl behind the counter sprinkle chocolate on the top of a cappuccino. Even the waitresses round here looked like supermodels. She held the phone closer to her mouth and dropped her voice to a whisper.

‘I kissed Raphael di Lazaro.’

‘Sorry? I can’t hear you. For a moment I thought you said you kissed Raphael di Lazaro!’ Lou laughed heartily, and then stopped abruptly. ‘Eve? Oh, God—that is what you said, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘OK. Well, in that case I suppose just one question springs to mind—’

‘Fantastic,’ Eve whispered, staring straight ahead as the tears gathered in her eyes again. ‘He’s totally not how you’d expect.’

‘No, Eve! The question was not, What was it like? The question was, In the name of Aunt Fanny, why?’

‘Oh. I didn’t know who he was at the time.’

‘Now, wait a minute. I’ve known you since we both started university, and in all that time, Eve Middlemiss—four years of prime mating opportunities—I have never once known you to snog a guy without first meeting his mother and practising your new signature for after you’re married.’

‘That’s not fair! I—’ Eve hissed vehemently into the phone, but was unable to protest further as she’d reached the front of the queue at the counter. Hastily she ordered a chocolate croissant and a double mochaccino latte, adding sulkily, ‘With extra cream.’

‘Let’s be honest, Eve.’ Lou spoke more kindly now. ‘You’re not the kind of girl who kisses strangers. What’s going on?’

‘I don’t know, Lou. It was bizarre—like fate, or destiny, or something. I saw him…No, we saw each other, and it was like something just clicked. It felt right. Inevitable, somehow. Like I didn’t have to do anything because we both knew it was going to happen. It had to happen. And it did. After the show I was talking to this guy and, well, I know it sounds stupid, but he arrived and just sort of swept me away…’

‘And you went with him? Just like that? Jeez, Eve!’

‘I know, I know. It was stupid,’ snapped Eve, wedging the phone against her ear as she handed money to the supermodel waitress. ‘But at the time I was—I don’t know—powerless to resist. You don’t know what he’s like, Lou…There’s a sort of strength about him…’

‘There was a “sort of strength” about Adolf Hitler too, but it hardly made him the ideal partner. Look, Eve, I don’t like the sound of this. What happened last night was nothing to do with destiny, or love at first sight, or whatever fluffy notions you’ve got. It’s far more likely that he remembers Ellie and recognised you, and intends to keep you quiet. It’s not safe. I think you should come home.’

‘No.’ It came out more forcefully than she had intended, and the waitress gave Eve an odd look as she handed her the paper bag containing the croissant. Tucking it under her chin while she waited for her change, Eve continued in an urgent whisper, ‘I’m not giving up now. For two miserable years I’ve waited to find out something, anything, that would bring me closer to understanding what happened to Ellie, and now I’m here and I’ve finally managed to put a face to the name on that bloody scrap of paper. And suddenly none of it seems to fit, and I don’t know what I believe any more, but one thing is certain…’ Her voice was rising as her resolve increased and, snatching up her hot chocolate, she swept away from the counter. ‘I’m not coming home until I find some answers, whatever that takes. Either I’m going to expose di Lazaro as a sleazy drug pusher, or—’

She paused for a second to take a tentative sip of the froth on the top of her chocolate, closing her eyes in pleasure at the rich, sweet aroma. The next moment she had collided with something hard and unyielding.

A tidal wave of hot chocolate spilled over her hand, and made five small splashes on the front of the white shirt three inches from her nose.

The creased, obviously expensive, instantly recognisable white shirt three inches from her nose.

She gave a tiny whimper of distress.

‘What? Eve? Eve?’

In one swift movement Raphael Di Lazaro had relieved her of the dripping paper cup and extracted her mobile phone from between her ear and her shoulder. His face was dangerously calm as he spoke into it, but his eyes glittered with anger.

‘I’m afraid your friend seems to be momentarily lost for words, but let me reassure you that she’s perfectly all right.’

Eve’s cheek burned where his fingertips had brushed it, and she felt dizzy as she caught a brief hint of the scent of his skin. Vaguely, from the depths of her despair, she could make out the alarm in Lou’s voice at the other end of the phone.

‘Thank goodness for that. What happened?’

‘It’s nothing. Just a little accident with some hot chocolate. Tell me, is she always this clumsy?’

Eve heard Lou laugh, relaxing in the warmth of that low, impossibly sexy voice. Traitor. She wouldn’t be so amused if she knew who she was talking to.

‘Is she wearing her glasses?’

Raphael’s chilly gaze flickered over Eve’s face. ‘No.’

‘Oh, she’s hopeless. Really, she shouldn’t be allowed out on her own.’

‘I couldn’t agree more, signorina.’

Furious, Eve snatched the phone back. ‘OK, Lou—lovely to talk to you. But you’d better go and sleep it off now. And remember—no more vodka at breakfast time.’

Snapping the phone shut with grim satisfaction before Lou could protest, Eve steeled herself to look up at Raphael. Even though he still wore that careful, guarded, blank expression, there was no mistaking the hostility it masked.

‘So, Signorina Middlemiss…’ He paused, enunciating each word very carefully, as if trying not to lose control of his temper. ‘Perhaps you’d like to tell me exactly what you think you’re doing?’

Her chin shot up in defiance. ‘It was an accident—hardly anything to make a fuss about. I’m sure it’ll wash out—’

His voice cut through her like the lash of a whip. ‘Don’t be childish. You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. What were the words you used? Sleazy drug pusher? I hardly think that’s the sort of thing the readers of Glitterati want to hear about.’

The searing contempt in his tone was like acid on an open wound. But even more painful was the realisation that Lou’s theory might be right.