Innocent In The Billionaire's Bed. Clare Connelly

have done, she thought with an inward groan of mortification.

      He didn’t seem to realise. He pressed the helmet onto the seat and then reached back towards her.

      His hand in her hair was like the start of her dream coming true. She watched, mesmerised, as he studied the red lengths, pulling his fingers through it, a slight frown on his face. Her breath hitched in her throat and anxiety began to perforate that strange mood.

      Had he recognised who she was? Or rather who she wasn’t?

      ‘Do you dye this?’

      She pulled a face, not comprehending why he’d ask such a question. ‘No!’

      ‘I didn’t think so.’ His frown deepened. ‘It’s like copper and gold.’

      ‘Yes.’ She nodded, stepping backwards and almost tripping on a rock that jutted out of the ground. His hand on her elbow steadied her, then dropped away again. ‘I hated it, growing up. I used to get teased mercilessly.’

      ‘I find that hard to believe.’

      Strangely, it was something that Cressida and Tilly had in common. They’d discussed the dislike they’d felt as children, for having such unique colouring.

      ‘Yes, well—says you, who’s probably always looked like a mini-Greek god.’

      The words were out before she could stop them.

      ‘I’m Italian,’ he pointed out, his grin doing strange things to her blood pressure. ‘And there is nothing miniature about me.’

      ‘You know what I mean.’ Her cheeks flushed bright red. She might as well have blurted out that she couldn’t stop thinking about how gorgeous he was.

      He nodded, apparently taking pity on her because he didn’t pursue it. ‘I wouldn’t have teased you for your hair. Or anything.’

      Her heart thumped. ‘Is this the volcano?’ She nodded at the jagged mountaintop that was still a little way above them.

      He grinned, his eyes lifting to the peak. ‘Yeah. The track stops here.’

      ‘So we’ll walk?’

      ‘Sure.’ He lifted the seat of the bike and pulled out a black rucksack, hooking it over his shoulder. ‘Let’s go.’

      She’d packed flip-flops and dresses, neither of which were especially suited to scaling a Mediterranean volcano. But she wasn’t going to complain.

      ‘The volcano would make an excellent tourist attraction. I know the previous owner of the island had plans drawn up to run a cable car across the top.’

      ‘That’s a great idea,’ she murmured.

      The climb was steep and her breath was burning, despite the fact she was generally in good shape.

      ‘Just say if you require a break,’ he murmured.

      Not bloody likely, she thought to herself, sending him a sidelong glance. ‘I’ll be—’

      ‘Fine,’ he responded. ‘The thing is, you usually say that before you fall over, so perhaps we should pause.’

      ‘That happened once,’ she said with a laugh, reaching across and pushing at his arm playfully.

      He grinned back, but it was no longer playful. The atmosphere was electric.

      She swallowed, forcing the conversation to something less incendiary. Something safe. ‘Was the previous owner looking at developing the island for tourists?’

      Rio’s step slowed. ‘Si.’

      ‘I wonder why he didn’t,’ she murmured.

      ‘He died. Unexpectedly.’

      ‘Oh! What a shame. That’s awful.’

      He stopped walking and turned to face her. ‘Look, Cressida.’

      He nodded behind her and she spun.

      An enormous smile broke across her face. ‘I’m on top of the world!’ she said, shaking her head.

      The ocean spread like a big blue picnic blanket in every direction, but from this height she could make out ships in the distance, and another island dotted with bright homes.

      ‘Capri,’ he explained. ‘It is only twenty minutes away by boat.’

      ‘So close. And I thought we were all alone in the middle of the sea...’

      She smiled up at him, but the look of speculation in his eyes stole her breath. There was no way this awareness was one-sided. He felt it too. Didn’t he?

      She jerked her eyes back to the view, her mind spinning, her blood rushing.