Learning to Trust (3 page)

“Why?”

Now he saw fear and he hated himself. “I have a suite at the George. I want to talk to you some more and I think we’d be more comfortable there.” He thought he was gaining ground, especially when she agreed to it in a muted voice that indicated only limited agreement.

“But I go back tomorrow. Early. I start at eight.”

“Once you wouldn’t have known what eight looked like, unless you’d been up all night.”

She laughed, she actually laughed. A small effort, but it was an improvement on fear, or anger. “True.”

So he took her into his hotel. He’d arrived in Naples deliberately low-key, and chosen the George as his base, a respectable, if uninspiring four-star hotel. Since mostly businesspeople and tourists used it, he considered it unlikely that anyone would know him. And he’d registered under his mother’s maiden name, which happened to be his middle name. Not a very effective disguise, but then people wouldn’t be looking for him here. But if he found Byron, he wanted everything low-key, so he could get him home and into rehab without people knowing more details.

They walked in through the ultramodern marble-floored lobby. Lime green and orange chairs were scattered around the area trying to look arty and classy. Glass and chrome predominated, but Jon had the strong feeling that someone had skimped on the designer’s aims because the quality wasn’t all it could have been. The same as the rooms. Or maybe too many five-star stays had spoiled him, places where the staff fell over their own feet to do his bidding.

This time, it seemed, he was proven wrong about anyone looking for him. A black-suited man followed them to the elevators, his brass lapel badge proclaiming
Giovanni Bellini, Manager
.
Oh perfect, just fucking perfect.
Someone had recognized him.
Please don’t let him have recognized Lina.
But with her natural mousy hair and clean-scrubbed face, that was unlikely. And he could always deny it.

“Excuse me, sir.”

At least the manager spoke English. Jon raised a brow and lifted his chin, freezing his glare.

The manager appeared not to notice, perhaps because his gaze was fixed on Lina. “I understood that you checked in alone, sir.”

“Yes. If you wish extra for my guest, I’m sure my credit card will cover it.”

For the first time, the man appeared slightly nervous. He licked his lips and transferred his attention to Jon. “Is this a local girl, sir? Is your acquaintance of long standing?”

Before he could say anything else, Lina burst into a tirade of something that sounded like Italian but wasn’t, not completely. That patois he’d heard in the café, an incomprehensible mixture of Italian, Spanish and other elements he couldn’t place. It didn’t sound complimentary and he could do nothing except stand like an idiot and gape. Even more so when her tone quieted and softened. She clutched his arm, murmuring words he didn’t have to know to understand, rubbing her body against him.

Revenge was sweet, apparently. As sweet as her smile.

Oh shit.
Thank God they didn’t know him here. She was landing him in it headfirst. Shaking her off would no doubt confirm the manager’s suspicions, so he did the only thing he could think of. “We’re leaving. You can wait if you like, but I’ll be down in ten minutes. Five.”

He heard the
ping
of the elevator and dragged Lina inside.

Jonathan looked as if he wanted to shake her, but Lina only felt triumph. At last she’d done something to rock his fucking reserve. Served him right for that interrogation he subjected her to in the restaurant, and his refusal to let her go after he’d promised he would. Behaving like the prostitute the manager obviously took her for had worked nicely.

He ran a hand through his hair, raising the dark mass into spikes. “What did you say?” He sounded almost resigned.

She chortled at the remembrance of the expression on the man’s face. She’d changed that superior bastard fast. “I said didn’t he have a heart, everyone had to earn a crust and these days it was harder than ever. ‘What’s a working girl to do?’ I said.”

He advanced on her, hands outstretched. “I should strangle you.” But instead, he cupped her shoulders. “So what did you say after that? When you—pressed your body against mine?”

Lina fought her urge to purr like a cat at the feel of his hands on her body. “You don’t want to know. Really you don’t.” Embarrassed when she recalled what exactly she’d said, she felt the hot blood rush to her cheeks. To her shock, he bent and pressed his lips to one side of her face.

“You should keep that. You look so much better with a little color.”

“Not what an emo girl wants to hear.” She paused. “Just as well I never joined that group. Too young for me.”

The elevator doors opened. Jonathan slid one hand down to hers and clasped it warmly in his own. “Just as well I didn’t unpack. I only arrived this morning and I just dumped my stuff and came to see you.”

“To see me?”

“I can’t explain now.” He tugged her into the room and glared at her. “Stay here.”

There wouldn’t be much point in her running away now. He knew where to find her. But at least she’d had a bit of her own back. Getting him thrown out of his hotel room was a kind of triumph. He’d find somewhere else easily enough.

She grinned and glanced in the mirror. She didn’t look too tarty. Just that her skirt had shrunk in the wash, and her T-shirt had faded. She’d bought it secondhand and had laundered it ferociously ever since. That smear of sauce she’d picked up when she’d dropped the tray didn’t do her any favors, though.

She didn’t wear makeup these days, so she didn’t have the caked mascara and painted face of the prostitutes who haunted the back streets of Naples. Her hair, too, was a mousy dark blond, not the bright platinum she used to have. A bit straggly, perhaps, but she hadn’t had it cut for a while. Having lost her scrunchie somewhere, it poured down past her shoulders in a cascade of untidy waves and curls, natural ringlets jumbled with plain tangles. Maybe she looked like a harbor whore, then, although these days most of the bay was devoted to the great god Tourism. Still, tourists needed whores, or at least some of them did.

Jonathan came out of the bathroom bearing a small toilet bag, which he pitched into a sports bag lying on the floor. That and a suit carrier was all he’d brought. “Here.” The suit carrier had little wheels at the bottom. “I’ll even give you a good tip if you behave.” He wanted to make her smile. She looked so forlorn, so lost standing there.

“Aren’t you still mad?”

He shrugged. “What’s the point? I didn’t like this place much anyway. Do you know anywhere else I can stay?” But he lied, because the manager had roused him to fury. How dare he assume that Lina was anything but a friend? He’d never been treated that way before and he wouldn’t allow her to be treated like that, either.

She bit her lip. He’d rather be biting it for her. “There’s the Romeo. That’s supposed to be really good. Five-star.”

“Sounds good.” But as he gazed at her, an idea came to him. He knew she intended to run away, perhaps as soon as she returned to her lodgings. He could read it in her, see it. He’d noticed it before, when she left New York and then, to his cost, he’d ignored it. He wouldn’t ignore it this time.

They exited the soulless room without a backward glance. The elevator was fuller this time, and they traveled down in silence. He glanced at her once and they shared a smile. Her little trick in the lobby would backfire on her; he’d see to that.

When the elevator doors opened, he grabbed her hand and tugged her out of the space, right in front of the manager. He glanced at the man, then led her to the center of the floor. Before she had time to complete her “What the f—” he’d hauled her into his arms and brought his mouth down on hers.

His arms clamped her close and he forgot where he was, what he planned. Nothing mattered except this woman and the welcome he found in her arms. Tingles spread through him, a hyperawareness he could have done without. His lips pressed against hers, hard and demanding, and he felt her melt. Relief swept through him that she accepted him still, that he could make her do this. He slid his hand up her back, feeling for her bra and heard the suit carrier thump as it hit the marble floor. Bliss.

She felt like nobody else he’d ever kissed. Danger prickled his nerves. When he turned his body into her he made sure she became aware of his erection, pressing hard against the thin fabric of her skirt. She tasted wonderful, and he wanted to meld their bodies together. It made it difficult to breathe, but hey, who needed air? Not when his tongue touched her mouth with a delicacy the rest of his body denied. She opened her mouth. With a groan, he shifted her weight in his arms and drove his tongue between her lips.

Their tongues met in a touch of need, then he opened his mouth wide and ate at her. His desperation mirrored the way she met him and asked for more. Nobody and nothing meant anything anymore. He pulled at her mouth, increasing the connection between them, before he released her.

They separated slowly, reluctantly. She stared up at him and he saw his bewilderment reflected in her eyes.

Realization entered her gaze and she drew away. And it was then the flash happened. Then another. He didn’t know if there’d been any more. Plenty behind his eyes but he assumed that was part of the deal of kissing Lina.

He shoved her behind him and growled, like a tiger at bay. Actually growled. She tugged his arm. “Hey. Tourists love a good picture.”

His media sense more alert than hers, he was worried about paparazzi, but it was unlikely any of them would recognize her, or him for that matter. He wasn’t dressed in an unusual way, and she looked nothing like she used to.

After a reluctant laugh, he turned around to face her. “I’m an idiot. Paranoid. I’m sorry.”

“Sooo romantic!” someone crooned.

It would strengthen his argument.

“Holiday romance,” he suggested and shot the manager a telling glare. “Nothing else.”

When he walked, she walked with him, towing the suit carrier. He had the sports bag in his free hand. The tourist who’d taken the photo had actually been taking a picture of his family, posed just behind them. Jon paused. “Did you take a photo of us?” He’d pretend to want to see a copy, and ask for it to be deleted.

But the guy shook his head. “Would you like me to?”

Jon smiled and shook his head. “No. My—girlfriend is a little camera shy before she puts her makeup on.”

The man laughed. “Women.”

“I thought it was beautiful,” his wife, who’d been watching them, said. “And you don’t need makeup, honey. You’re lovely as you are.”

Lina smiled. “Thanks.”

He hoped that made her feel better about that bastard manager’s assumption.

At the entrance Jon stopped and confronted the manager. “Take my bill from the card I registered at check-in. You may also take fifty euros for yourself.”

Bellini’s face cleared. “It is in the interest of us both to remain discreet.”

Jon exited, pushing her through the open door before he followed and then he paused, bringing her to a halt. “That could have been a paparazzi, you know.”

She grimaced. “I know.”

“I’m not as high profile as some people, but I could be recognized. And I want to keep this visit discreet. If I stay at a top hotel, where paps hang around, I’m courting disaster.” He took her chin in his free hand. “And I don’t want to risk losing you now I’ve found you. I mean you no harm, Lina, and if you insist, I won’t tell anyone where you are or what you’re doing, but I don’t want you leaving. You’re planning to, aren’t you?”

She let her lids droop over her eyes. “I need to feel safe.”

“Then here’s the deal. Let me stay at your place, where nobody will find me, and I’ll promise to keep your secret, if you still want me to. If I go to the Romeo and the paps find me, I swear I’ll take you with me, say I’m here with you. Spill the whole thing.” He hated putting it like that, but he couldn’t take the risk. Addicts were unreliable at the best of times, and even if she was what the experts called a functioning addict, that is, an addict with a job and a way of life, she’d still be unreliable.

She frowned and her mouth twisted up at one corner as she thought. Eventually she sighed. “Okay. I can see you won’t want anybody to know who you are while you’re doing this.”

He opened the car door just before she reached it. The beep made her jump, but it didn’t stop her climbing in and shoving the suit carrier in the backseat. He got in quickly, copying her action with the sports bag. After starting the car, he backed out fast and rocketed onto the street before screeching to a halt. Someone clipped him and he swore. She sent him a grin. “You fit right in here.”

“Thanks but no thanks. So where to? A decent hotel?” He stopped at a traffic light, shocking the man in the car behind him who leaned on his horn with insistent force. Jon prided himself that he was a fast learner. “Every day I send up a prayer that every camera phone in the world will suddenly stop working.” He stuck his head out the window and gave the man behind a New York greeting before reluctantly sending the car into action.

“I need to be at the café for breakfast tomorrow. After the early shift, I have the rest of the day off. So I can take you around the shelters if you want.”

His mouth firmed into a grim line. “I guess you know all the places I can find drug dealers and addicts.”

“I do. But I don’t do that anymore.”

“Sure you don’t.” He wanted to believe her, really wanted to, but he needed proof. He’d been burned too long, too often by someone he loved to fall into that trap. But if he didn’t believe her, he’d hurt her, perhaps destroy the tenuous trust they’d already set up.

He’d have to take that risk.

It still hurt, that he couldn’t take her at her word.

It was true. She hadn’t touched anything stronger than beer or the occasional glass of wine for two years now. Not because she couldn’t, but from choice. Alcohol wasn’t her problem, had never been.

He’d be gone soon enough, out of her life, and she could shrink back into comfortable obscurity. Maybe she should move on, anyway. She should be thankful in a way, because he was forcing her to reassess. Just as the sisters had told her.
Move on, don’t look back.

“Take a left.”

From then on they said nothing until they reached the side street next to the café. She’d let him park in the little garage where Franco kept his battered VW. That way Jonathan’s car might still have wheels in the morning.

She got out and fumbled for her keys, then unlocked the timbered gate and swung it open. The back part of the gate was haphazardly reinforced with metal bars, so it was heavier than it looked, but she’d done this before and she didn’t find the weight a problem.

Jonathan drove in and parked. He only just had space to exit, and they had to open the hatchback to get to his bags. She had to admit he was coping with her neighborhood remarkably well for a rich boy born with a silver spoon firmly lodged down his throat. She took care to lock the doors to the garage while he got his luggage out of his car.

From here they could go straight upstairs. If she went the other way, she’d have to go through the café and she wasn’t up to facing Franco right now. Too shaken by the day, the kiss, her past catching up with her, she began to wonder exactly why she’d offered to put him up on her sofa. And she had a sneaking feeling he wouldn’t be spending the night there, anyway.

Shit, she’d been celibate too long. Already the tingle of desire invaded her senses. She couldn’t lie to herself—she’d invited him here because she wanted him. Not just because the thought of the paparazzi discovering him, and thus her, terrified her.

Leading the way up the steep staircase to the hallway increased her tension. That short skirt meant if he looked up, she was hiding very little. She didn’t know if he did, but the thought made heat roll through her in waves.

As a result she was extra bright covering her doubts with cheery good humor, after she’d unlocked the apartment door. “Apartment” was pushing it a bit, but she’d made it comfortable, with a throw and bright pillows to cover the shabby sofa. Her books rested on the single bookshelf. She read them and passed them on, wishing for an electronic reader so she could save the space. One day, maybe.

Not for the first time she’d felt frustration when she’d recalled her precipitate flight from New York five years before. By mutual consent, she and Byron had destroyed their checkbooks and credit and debit cards at the airport after maxing the cash they could get out in one go. They should have emptied the accounts first, planned their departure better. But they were in too much of a hurry. And too scared to think straight.

That was then. She’d done all right since, well, for the past couple of years, anyway. Maybe she could get Jonathan to spring for a few things before he went home. She thought of the things she’d like—the reader, a nice lamp, one of those cool cookpots, and she sighed. A few years ago she could’ve bought them out of chump change. But for all that, she preferred this life, preferred her independence and the privacy she had. She wouldn’t swap it.

She dumped the suit carrier on the sofa. “Okay?” She turned to him with a bright smile. “It’s a sofa bed, actually, so we—”

“You want me to sleep on the sofa?” He took a step toward her and she turned suddenly breathless. “Are you sure about that?”

“You can’t want me.” Feebly, she tried for sanity. One of them had to. “I’m all the things you despise, remember?”