with you. I’ll give you a lift.’
She shook her head. ‘Thank you, but you’ve already been kind enough. I’d rather not impose.’
He wasn’t sure what was going on here—he’d never experienced this weird, unexplainable feeling before—but what he knew for definite was that if he let her walk out of his life now, he’d regret it. Somehow he needed to persuade her to trust him. And to spend time with him so they could get to know each other.
Max had said he’d known the instant he’d met Rachel that she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Orlando had scoffed, saying it was just lust and luckily he’d found friendship as well. But now he wasn’t so sure. Was it possible to fall in love with someone at first sight? Did ‘The One’ exist? Was this odd feeling love? And was Eleanor Forrest the one he’d been waiting for?
He needed to know.
Needed to keep her with him.
‘Eleanor, I know I’m a stranger, but you’re a fellow doctor and you’ve helped save the life of one of my countrymen. Don’t they say in England, one good turn deserves another?’
Eleanor couldn’t help smiling at the old-fashioned phrase. ‘You’ve already bought me coffee and sorted out my luggage for me. I think we’re quits.’
‘Let me put this another way. You could take a taxi, but why spend money you could spend on…’ he waved an impatient hand ‘…oh, good coffee or ice cream or something frivolous to make your time here in Italy fun, when I can give you a lift?’
Lord, it was tempting. But she knew it would be a bad idea. Orlando de Luca might be the most attractive man she’d met in a long while—probably ever, if she thought about it—but that didn’t mean she should act on the attraction. She’d already proved her judgement in men was lousy. Spectacularly lousy. OK, so Jeremy had caught her at an acutely vulnerable moment, but she’d still swallowed every single lie. Not just hook, line and sinker—more like the whole fishing rod. ‘We might not be going the same way.’
‘Then again, we might.’
The man should’ve been a lawyer. He had an answer for everything.
‘So where are you going?’ he asked.
A direct question. One she was reluctant to answer.
He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Is it all strangers, all men, or just me?’
She frowned. ‘How do you mean?’
‘I make you nervous, Eleanor.’
‘No.’ Actually, that wasn’t quite true. He did make her nervous. Because she was aware of the chemistry between them. And she remembered what had happened last time she’d acted on chemistry. Cue one broken heart. And she was still picking up the pieces.
‘There’s another saying in your country, is there not?’ he asked softly. ‘Trust me, I’m a doctor.’
Ha. Jeremy had proved that one to be false in the extreme. He was a doctor—and most definitely not to be trusted.
She faced Orlando, ready to be firm and say thank you but, no—she was getting a taxi. And then she saw the challenge in his eyes. As if he dared her to take the risk. Let him drive her to the hotel.
They’d worked well together on the plane. She’d trusted him then. Could she trust him now?
‘I won’t expect you to invite me in for a nightcap, if that’s what you’re worrying about.’
She felt the colour shoot into her face. ‘Actually, that didn’t occur to me.’ Though Orlando had already told her he was single. And he was the most gorgeous man she’d seen in years, with those unruly dark curls, dark expressive eyes and a mouth that promised all kinds of pleasure. And she couldn’t get Tamsin’s suggestion out of her head: that a holiday fling with a gorgeous man would do her good…
He folded his arms. ‘So are you going to stand in a long, long queue, Dottoressa Eleanor, or are you going to let me drop you off on my way home?’
She gave in to temptation. ‘If you’re sure it’s no trouble, then thank you. A lift would be nice.’
His smile was breathtaking. And it made every single one of her nerve-endings feel as if it were purring.
‘Then let’s go through Customs, tesoro,’ he said softly.
The queues at the customs area and passport control had died down, and they moved through the airport surprisingly quickly. She followed Orlando into the car park—just as she could’ve guessed, he drove a low-slung, shiny black car. A convertible, to be exact. Men and their toys. And didn’t they say that all Italian men wanted to be racing-car drivers?
As if her thoughts were written all over her face, he laughed and stowed her case in the boot next to his. ‘I have only myself to please, Eleanor. And I love driving along the coast road with the hood down and the wind in my hair and the scent of the sea and lemon groves everywhere. If you have time in your schedule here, maybe you’d like to come with me some time.’
He made it sound so inviting.
And it made her knees go weak to imagine it: Orlando, wearing a black T-shirt and black jeans, a pair of dark glasses covering his eyes, at the wheel of the open-topped car.
‘So, your hotel?’
She told him the name, and before she could tell him the address he told her exactly where it was. Clearly he knew his home city well. ‘And just to stop you feeling guilty about taking me out of my way, it’s on my side of the city. On my way home, to be precise. It’s within walking distance of my apartment, in the Old Quarter.’ He opened the passenger door for her, an old-fashioned gesture of courtesy she found charming.
Though some nervousness must have shown on her face because he added, ‘I assure you, Eleanor, you will be perfectly safe. I am a good driver.’
He proved it. Though he was also a very fast driver, and her knuckles were white by the time he pulled up outside her hotel.
‘We are both in one piece,’ he said with a grin. ‘Relax.’
She wasn’t sure if it was the way he’d driven—exactly the same as all the other people on the road, taking advantage of every little gap in the traffic—or being so close to him in such a small space, but relaxing was the last thing she felt like doing right now.
‘Enjoy your stay in Italy, Eleanor.’ When he’d taken her case from the back of his car and carried it up the steps to the entrance of the hotel, he took a card from his wallet, and scribbled a number on the back of it. ‘If you have some spare time while you are in Naples, maybe we could have dinner. My surgery number is on the front. The one I’ve written on the back is my mobile. Call me.’
It wasn’t a question.
‘Call me,’ he said again, his voice soft, and raised her hand to his mouth.
The brush of his lips against her skin was momentary. It was a mere courtesy, she knew, the Italian way of doing things. It didn’t mean anything. But there was heat in his eyes. Heat matched by the flicker of desire rising up her spine.
Calling him would be way too dangerous for her peace of mind. But she wasn’t going to argue over it now. Instead, she smiled politely. ‘Thank you for the lift, Dottore de Luca.’
‘Orlando,’ he corrected. ‘Prego.’ He smiled, sketched a bow, ran lightly down the steps to his car and drove off.
CHAPTER THREE
ONCE Eleanor had signed the register and been shown to her room, she unpacked swiftly and took a shower. She was too tired and it was too late to eat a proper meal, so she ordered a milky hot chocolate from room service. She started to text her mum to say she’d arrived safely, then realised what she was doing halfway through, blinked away the tears,