A Shadow of Guilt Read online

  Brings them together so they don’t feel so isolated, like I always did even with Mario …

  Gio clamped his jaw shut as if those rogue words might spill out. He wasn’t sure why he felt so vulnerable telling her about something that was so close to his heart. Was he afraid she’d laugh at him? Accuse him again of trying to atone?

  Valentina seemed to absorb this information in silence and then she asked, ‘Your brothers were mentioned too. Do you see them much?’

  Gio’s mouth tightened. Little did she realise that any question about his family was akin to walking blindfolded into a minefield. He dragged his gaze away from the provocative curves of her body beside him in simple jeans and T-shirt and looked out to the falling night. ‘No … is the simple answer.’

  ‘They weren’t at the wedding?’

  Gio shrugged. ‘Not that I saw. They should have been.’ He took a gulp of beer, suddenly wondering if he’d been wise to alert Valentina to his presence here.

  He felt her turn to look at him. ‘You didn’t spend much time with them growing up, did you?’

  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.

  Surrounded by the inky blackness of the night, Gio downed the rest of his beer in a disgusted gulp. When he’d stood in front of Valentina … and she’d looked at him. Cristo. He’d been so hot and hungry for her that he’d imagined her looking at him as if … as if she wanted to kiss him, or for him to kiss her.

  He’d been so close to pulling her into him, tipping up that chin, running a thumb across the silky skin of her jaw and cheek…. He’s almost done it, and then he’d seen her sway slightly … with fatigue, not lust.

  Thank God he hadn’t completely lost it and misread her signals. The last thing he needed was to add one more thing to Valentina’s hate list for him.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE FOLLOWING EVENING Valentina was in foul form. It had been a tough day; everyone’s nerves were on edge as they put together all the elements for the Corretti Cup. There were many more staff now, all labouring in their various departments. Event micro-managers were making sure all the areas were kitted out. There was one central dining area where a set menu buffet lunch would be served every day for the main crowd.

  Then there was the unbelievably opulent cordoned-off vast VIP marquee area, set in its own landscaped gardens, which had the sit-down à la carte menu, and where each evening a champagne reception would be held as the last races were run.

  On the last night there would be a gala ball which would include a charity auction. All the staff had been kitted out with security passes for various areas. Valentina had received one for all areas. She was supervising both the main and VIP areas and Gio was adamant that the buffet diners shou
ldn’t feel like they were getting a second-rate service.

  It had surprised her; she’d expected him to be more concerned with the VIP section but he’d been almost disdainful of that as he’d led the group of his chief organisers around that morning, making last-minute notes. Some people were paying into the thousands for tickets into the VIP marquee, or for a corporate box at the stadium stand. Valentina had also been surprised to learn via one of the other staff that all of the proceeds of the Corretti Cup VIP ticket sales were going to various charities Gio supported locally.

  On top of all of that she knew he was dealing with the arrival of hundreds of horses for the races. Some of the most expensive and valuable bloodstock in the world was now at the Corretti stables along with an accompanying heavy security presence. The place was buzzing with grooms and cleaners and decorators and assistants.

  Gio had been nothing but utterly professional to her all day, and distant—he’d barely looked at her that morning during the walkabout meeting. He’d treated her exactly the same as the others, who’d all been feverishly taking notes. She should be happy; she should be delighted that the previous evening appeared not to have had any effect on his behaviour towards her. She should be ecstatic he was practically ignoring her!

  So why was she so out of sorts? She was two days away from the most important opportunity of her career and she couldn’t afford to mess up or get distracted.

  Thoroughly disgruntled, Valentina went to see her parents after work and brought them some food she’d prepared. They wanted to hear all about the lavish preparations at the racetrack as it was all anyone could talk about in Syracuse. It was the biggest annual event attracting thousands of tourists. It shamed her a little to realise just how much Gio was doing for the local economy.

  When she was walking out about thirty minutes later, her mother stopped Valentina in the corridor. ‘Gio came to see us yesterday. He’s been very good, making sure everything is on track for the operation.’

  Valentina’s voice was instantly tight. ‘Did he? That’s nice.’ Another surprise—in the midst of his busiest time of the year he was taking time to visit her parents?

  Her mother shook her head, her dark eyes compassionate. ‘Valentina … he has suffered too—don’t think that he hasn’t. You’re not the only one who lost Mario that night.’

  Valentina’s own sense of building guilt mixed with her mother’s gentle admonition made her unbearably prickly. She turned to face her. ‘Did he, Mama? Did he really suffer? What about when he was cavorting on yachts in the south of France? Or making millions off the rich and idle gamblers in Europe? Or perhaps he suffered when he was staggering out of casinos at dawn in Monte Carlo with a bimbo model on each arm?’

  It took Valentina a second to notice that her face had gone pale. ‘Mama?’

  Her mother was looking over her head and the hairs went up on the back of Valentina’s neck. Slowly she turned to see a grim-faced Gio standing behind her. He had a bunch of flowers in his hand. Valentina gulped. He stepped up beside her, a face like thunder, and handed the flowers to Valentina’s mother. And then he looked at Valentina, eyes so dark they looked black.

  He took her arm and bit out, ‘You and I need to talk.’ And then he was pulling her unceremoniously from the clinic. Fear and trepidation was uppermost in Valentina’s belly now, not even anger, although she’d never let Gio know that. She’d never seen him so angry. When they were outside he all but flung her arm away from him and faced her. Six foot two of bristling angry male, muscles rippling. He was a sight to behold.

  Valentina backed away. ‘I’m not going to talk to you when you’re like this.’

  ‘When I’m like what?’ he almost roared. ‘You barely talk to me any which way. I can’t do anything right.’

  Suddenly a wave of emotion came over her and terrified he’d see it in her eyes Valentina walked quickly to her car which was nearby. She heard a muffled curse but got in quickly and locked her doors. She was trembling all over when she pulled out of her car space and it got worse when she hit the open road and saw a familiar dark silver sports car behind her with a broad-shouldered figure at the wheel.

  Gio was following her. It had an immediate effect on her body. A wave of heat made tiny beads of sweat break out over her top lip and between her breasts underneath her shirt. Her hands were sweaty on the wheel and her little car wheezed and panted as she pushed it over the speed limit. She ignored Gio flashing his lights behind her. All she knew was that she had to get away from him. Her emotions were far too volatile to deal with him right now. She felt as if she was on the edge of a precipice.

  When she pulled into a space at the racetrack with a screech of brakes a few minutes later, Gio was right behind her. He slammed on his breaks too, sending up a shower of gravel and dust. He sprang out of his car, ripping off dark glasses. ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at? You could have caused an accident!’

  Valentina was shaking with all the strong emotions running through her. ‘You know all about accidents, Corretti, don’t you? Just stay away from me.’

  He sneered. ‘Oh, it’s like that, is it? We’ve gone about two steps forward and three hundred back?’

  Valentina clenched her hands to fists, her blood thumping in her head, making it spin. ‘I quit, Corretti, OK? This isn’t working. I should never have come to you in the first place.’

  She started to stride away towards her accommodation fully intending to pack and leave and then felt a much larger presence beside her. He took her arm in his hand. Again. It was too much; she yanked free and glared up into his face. ‘Don’t touch me.’

  Suddenly Valentina became belatedly aware of people stopped in their tracks around them, watching avidly. Gio noticed too. Grimly he took her hand instead, in a grip so tight it bordered on being painful, and said, ‘Not another word, Ferranti. We’re taking this somewhere private. We are not done.’

  Valentina was tight-lipped and white-faced by the time Gio was opening a door on the same floor as his offices. Her hand was still clamped in his and the way his much larger hand engulfed hers was far too disturbing. He finally let her go when he opened the door and all but pushed her through. She snatched back her hand and held it to her chest; it was tingling.

  Pacing away from him, she was so pumped up that she barely noticed what was a very starkly designed yet luxurious small apartment. Minimal furnishings in soft greys and muted colours in the living area led into a bedroom and what she presumed to be a bathroom en suite.

  Gio closed the door behind him and she heard him turn a key in the lock. Valentina backed away, eyes huge on him, instantly her sense of threat spiked. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  Gio was grim. ‘We’re not leaving here until we’ve come to some agreement as to how to proceed without you wanting to rip my head off at every opportunity. It doesn’t make for a good professional relationship.’

  He crossed his arms. ‘And first things first, you are not quitting.’

  Valentina crossed her arms too. She was valiantly ignoring the fact that she was now alone in a locked room with Gio Corretti and there was enough electricity crackling between them to light up the whole stadium.

  ‘I can quit if I want to.’

  Gio arched a brow. ‘Really? Have you already forgotten that you came to me as a last resort?’

  Valentina flushed. She had forgotten for a moment. She thought she had freedom. But she didn’t. If she left now she couldn’t allow Gio to pay for her parents’ care and she’d be right back to square one. And it would be so much worse because she’d be decimating her father’s chances of getting well again. It was inconceivable that she could do that to them.

  ‘Fine.’ She felt like a fool. ‘I won’t quit.’

  Gio’s brow got higher. ‘That’s big of you—after that little public display of animosity I would have grounds to fire you if I so wished.’

  Fear lanced Valentina. She looked at Gio properly. ‘But you just said that I couldn
’t quit.’

  Gio looked at Valentina and suddenly the bravado was gone and she looked achingly young and vulnerable. Her hair had been tied up in a ponytail but long tendrils had come loose and drifted about her shoulders. She was wearing tight black skinny jeans, flat shoes and a white button-down shirt. It was slightly too short and he could see a sliver of pale flat belly underneath.

  She wore no make-up and she was the most beautiful woman Gio had ever seen. A shaft of desire hit him right in the solar plexus, spreading outwards to every cell in his body, even as the realisation that he could never have her failed to douse that desire. It only served to rouse it.

  Anger made Gio spit out, ‘Let’s get to the real issue here, the elephant in the room—Mario.’

  He saw how Valentina blanched and her eyes got bigger. He pushed down the urge to apologise. Saying his name out loud was like exploding a soft yet lethal bomb between them. ‘Come on,’ he sneered. ‘Aren’t you just waiting for another opportunity to hurl some more insults and accusations my way?’

  Perhaps it was the easy forgiveness of Valentina’s parents working on him subconsciously, but for the first time in a long time, Gio actually felt a subtle shift in his ever-present sense of guilt. It wasn’t so black or all-encompassing.

  Valentina was struggling to hold on to something real, tangible. Her hatred for this man, for what he had done. She clung to it now like a drowning person clinging to a buoy. Her voice shook with tension. ‘Don’t you dare mention his name.’

  Gio looked fearsome, his face tight with anger, eyes blazing. Muscles popping in his jaw. ‘I have as much of a right to mention his name as you do.’

  Valentina shook her head. ‘No, no, you don’t, you—’

  ‘I what?’ Gio cut in. ‘I killed him? Is that what you’re going to say?’

  Emotion, thick and acrid and cloying, was rising up within Valentina, but it wasn’t the easily understood grief for her brother. That she recognised and knew well; this was something much more ambiguous and disturbing. It was something to do with this man and how he made her feel, how he’d always made her feel.