Page 5

‘Attenzione alle guardie!’ he’d warned. Watch out for the guards!

And now one of said guards was running towards her.

‘Proprietà privata!’ he called, and Stella didn’t need her translation app to interpret what he meant.

Stella thought of what her colleagues might do—Margot, who was tough, would stand her ground and tell him there were no signs. Daisy, her manager, would act the lost tourist and say she was just taking a photo.

He was just a few feet away, approaching touching distance, when something akin to panic descended.

Only it wasn’t quite panic.

Yes, her heart was beating rapidly, and her face was on fire, but it wasn’t quite panic that hit Stella at the approach of this raw male energy. And, unsure quite what she was feeling, Stella did something foolish…

Why, she didn’t quite know, but she turned tail and ran.

She aimed for the forest and the hilly track from which she’d come, but even as she took off, his footsteps were closing in.

‘Torna qui!’ he called, and with his authoritative tone it sounded like a command, one that might be better not to ignore. More to the point, it was ridiculous to think she could outrun him.

Stella wasn’t sure why she’d even tried.

‘I was just…’ Her voice petered out and she stood, a little daunted and a whole lot too breathless for such a brief sprint. She turned to face him, embarrassed by her overreaction. ‘I was just…’ she repeated, but up close with this man, being held by piercing, knowing grey eyes, words failed her.

‘Just what?’ he demanded, switching straight to English, and when she didn’t answer he carried right on. ‘Tell me now—who do you represent?’

She swallowed, unsure what he meant.

It was far too early in the morning, and he was by far too beautiful to allow for common sense.

‘What paper are you with?’

‘I’m not.’

‘News agency then?’

‘I’m not the press…’ she stammered. ‘I was just walking and stopped to take some photos…’

* * *

Gabe threw her a disbelieving look, one that called her a liar, but then he wavered—something he rarely did. He made rapid decisions and backed them, but on this occasion…

She didn’t look like press.

There was a certain hard look to them he recognised, even with the pretty ones.

Especially the pretty ones.

And she didn’t have that hard look, and…

Well, yes, she was pretty, with dark curly hair, worn scraped back in a ponytail. Her vivid blue eyes were wide with alarm, and she was breathing rapidly. Gabe felt a rare pang of guilt—given she’d run, he must have scared her. But then he glanced down and saw that, rather than running shoes or hiking boots, at the end of pale legs she wore only flimsy sandals.

And any flare of guilt dispersed—she was no casual tourist who had just happened on this place.

‘You didn’t walk up here.’

* * *

God, those eyes were too knowing.