A Shadow of Guilt - By Abby Green Page 0,17

So what did she want to be then? The dangerous revelation of that thought made her step back hurriedly. ‘OK, well, I’d better get going.’

‘You know you can move into the staff quarters here if you like?’

Valentina shook her head. ‘No, with my father in hospital I’d like to see him every day. And my mother needs me.’

‘That’s going to be a killer of a commute. I don’t need you falling asleep in your canapés.’

Valentina glanced quickly at him and away again when she saw his rigid jaw. ‘It’ll be fine. I won’t let you down.’

She moved to leave and Gio put his hand on her arm. She stopped in her tracks, breathless.

‘I didn’t mean that you would let me down. I’m concerned it’ll be too much.’

Valentina forced down the tender feeling rising up and looked directly at Gio’s dark glasses where she was reflected as a tiny figure. She pulled her arm free and said coolly, ‘I’m not your concern.’

Gio’s jaw clenched tighter. ‘You are if you’re my employee.’

Valentina faced him directly, something dark goading her to say, ‘Since when have you cared so much for others or their safety?’

Gio seemed to blanch before her eyes and Valentina wished the words unsaid but it was too late. She stepped back before she said anything else. ‘You don’t need to worry.’

Gio watched Valentina hurry away in her black slacks and white shirt with her hair pulled back and he wanted to throttle her. Well, he wanted to kiss her, and then throttle her. He was glad of his glasses because he’d been staring at her mouth for the past few minutes, until she’d let that little barb slide out: Since when have you cared so much for others …

Gio swung away abruptly from following Valentina’s progress to the car park and paced angrily towards his own jeep which was nearby. He gunned the engine and made the fifteen-minute journey to his castello with his hands clenched tight around the wheel.

When he saw the familiar lines and ramparts of his home he breathed out and turned into the impressive driveway lined by tall cypress trees. As the castello came into view he had to concede as he often did that it was entirely too huge for just him, but he’d bought it more for the surrounding land which contained his small farm and more importantly his stud and stables.

It had used to also contain a small training ground and gallops but after Mario’s death he’d got rid of them, unable to look out his window and not see the prone figure of his best friend lying on the ground.

It was one of the reasons he’d taken off for Europe after Mario’s death and had spent the best part of two years in a blurry haze. Anything to avoid coming home and dealing with his demons. But he had eventually found his way back out of that black hole to come home. Now, he still trained horses but he was fanatical about safety and hadn’t been on a horse’s back in seven years.

Cursing this uncharacteristic introspection Gio swung out of his jeep and instead of going into the house, took a detour around it and made directly for the stables where he found Misfit, who whinnied in acknowledgement as soon as Gio drew near. Just being near his prize stallion made a level of peace flow through Gio, even though having met Valentina again he realised peace was bound to be elusive.

He caressed the sleek thoroughbred’s neck and face and chuckled softly before taking an apple out of his pocket, which the horse gratefully received. ‘You’re a rogue,’ Gio chastised easily. ‘You only love me for my apples.’ Familiar emotion welled up when he thought of how far he’d come with this thoroughbred.

His father, who had fancied himself as a bit of a horseman on the side, had installed state-of-the-art stables and training grounds at the family palazzo. It had quickly become a sanctuary for Gio, who’d had an innate affinity for the horses from the first moment he’d seen one.

Benito Corretti had bought Misfit as a yearling, unbroken, from a stud in Ireland. The colt had had a good pedigree but after several failed attempts to break him in by the head trainer, his father had declared curtly, ‘Send him to the meat factory. He was a waste of money.’

Gio had gone to his father. He’d been sixteen years old and hadn’t stuttered in a couple of years but in front