Page 13 of The Billionaire's Seduction Revenge

She rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that just so like you,” she said with condemnation. “You really are the most arrogant man! As if any amount of skills or experience can save you if another driver happens to careen to the wrong side of the road.”

“What happened to starting over?” He reminded her, fastening his own helmet in place before taking Emma’s and lifting it towards her head. She stood completely still, mesmerised by his face as he was in such close range, her eyes tracing the contours of his features as her pulse began to rush.

“I—,”

He paused, helmet held aloft, eyes on hers.

“You..?” He was teasing her. Clearly he knew what kind of impact his proximity was having on her.

Emma’s cheeks flushed. “I was only pointing out a flaw in your logic.”

“A skilled and experienced driver has a better chance of avoiding accidents. Where is the flaw?”

“A better chance, certainly, but that doesn’t make it impossible.”

“Life is full of risks,cara.Even in a car, a truck could cross the lines and wipe us out.”

“But in a car there are air bags and a steel frame.”

“And on the bike you wear a helmet.”

Disbelief showed in her expression.

“The restaurant is not far, the road is quiet, and I promise to drive with the utmost care, but if you would truly prefer it, we can take my car instead.”

Emma’s heart did something strange in her chest. Somehow his offer undid almost all of her anxiety. And the moment she contemplated going in a normal car, she felt a strange, deflating sense of disappointment.

Was it possible she was actually looking forward to this experience? She hated motorbikes, but mainly because of how Jack used to drive them. She’d listened to him roaring off, watching him with a heart in her throat, imagining his body mangled around a pole because of his ridiculous over confidence. It had been bad enough to witness, but the few times she’d gone with him had convinced her it wasn’t for her.

But now? Maybe this was a chance to conquer those memories, those fears, to show her strength over them?

“It’s fine,” she huffed, hoping she did a good job of hiding her complex tangle of thoughts. “The bike’s here and clearly you’re looking forward to it.”

“I am,” he pressed the helmet into place, checked the fit with his hands then nodded. “I promise, you’ll enjoy yourself.”

He moved to the bike, kicking one long leg over the seat and settling himself in the driver’s position, leaving Emma to manoeuvre herself onto the rear. It was only then that she realised how close they’d be, her body fitting snugly to his, her arms wrapped around his waist, and her nerves went into overdrive. Was this what she’d actually been looking forward to, rather than the bike ride itself? She was grateful for the loud, deep throttle of the engine because it hid her soft groan.

She was aware of him on every level. Between her legs, she couldn’t help butfeelhow masculine he was, how large and consuming. His chest was broad yet muscled, so her hands pressed against a flat wall of abdominals, steel-like, and he sat inches above her in the seat.

He drove expertly, just as he’d promised, confident, capable, and yet carefully too, in a way she suspected was entirely for her benefit, nothing like Jack’s carelessness, so that within ten minutes or so of leaving the villa, she forgot her anxiety altogether and became completely swept up in appreciating the stunning view that enveloped them in every direction.

To their left was the ocean, mesmerising for its vastness and clarity, and to the right, a grove of trees, olive and citrus growing wild over the mountainside, so Emma thought how lovely it would be to lose herself amongst the thick, ancient trunks, to enjoy the citrus fruit in winter, picked straight from the tree.

The approach to the city of Bari reminded Emma of everything she’d loved about this place from the moment she’d first arrived. It was so quintessentially Italian and yet it lacked any air of pretence. There was no sense here of a veneer of Italy existing purely to satisfy tourists; it was a living, breathing city, filled with history, culture and people going about their lives.

The white-washed buildings with their terracotta roofs were beautiful and instantly familiar, courtesy of the films and television shows she’d watched over the years, set in lovely Italian villages. Even more picturesque were the simple things, like ropes hanging from window to window with brightly-coloured laundry adorning the lines, and old women wearing black sitting in green plastic chairs rolling pasta on card tables, talking, laughing, drinking homemade wine poured from rounded bottles. Children ran down the streets, laughing, kicking footballs to one another, the epitome of delightful exuberance, and men stood outside the grocery shops with artful displays of fresh produce—primarily fruit and vegetables—the men talking, some smoking, all looking distinguished in beige and grey. It was a place of relaxed elegance, of old-fashioned manners and civility, and a place where Emma had felt immediately safe, and those feelings radiated through her even now, perched on the back of Vasilios’s bike, as he drove through the streets with all the familiarity of someone who’d taken these roads many times.

Here he had to slow down even further, because the residents of Bari delighted in not rushing, and it was common to find couples wandering across the street without first looking, certainly without hurrying. No one seemed to mind.

Vasilios, though, she suspected, found such dawdling irritating. At least, that fit with the personality profile she’d mentally tabulated of the man. But when they arrived at their destination and hopped off the bike, he looked every bit as relaxed as the other residents of this ancient town—even managing a smile, or something that looked an awful lot like it.

“See? I told you there was no danger.”

So why were alarm bells screeching inside her brain?

Heat flooded her body, from her heart to every single outer reach—her toes, her fingertips, the hair on her head. Emma looked away, pretending fascination with a young couple and their baby, watching as they dotingly crossed the street, but it was too painful. Out of nowhere, she felt the jab of hurt, right between her ribs, remembered the feeling of knowing life was growing inside of her, that she was to become a mother, and then the loss, the nothingness that came after.

A lump formed in her throat; she swallowed past it quickly, blinking away, looking instead at her feet, at the plain brown sandals she wore.

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