Her Italian Millionaire (15 page)

 She was standing there, shading her eyes from the sun with her hand, trapped by the look in his eyes, trying to remember, trying to decide if she'd dreamed he'd kissed her on the way back to the hotel last night or if he really had.

“Good-bye, Marco,” she said. “
Ciao
.”

“
Ciao
, Ana Maria,” he murmured. Then he framed her face with his hands on her cheeks, leaned forward and kissed her. Under a warm Italian sun, in the middle of the afternoon, with noisy tourists and travelers filing on board and taking their seats all around them, his lips met hers. With the smell of salt air and the deck moving gently underneath them, he kissed her good-bye.

He kissed her quickly as if he too wanted to get it over with, then he took a deep breath and kissed her again, this time taking his time, using his lips and his tongue and his teeth and leaving her knees weak and her head floating somewhere above her body.

Was this how Italians said good-bye in public? If so, how did anyone ever leave? And how did they kiss in private? As far as kissing went, he was way out of her league. If he'd kissed her last night like this, she wished she'd been sober enough to appreciate it. She'd never been kissed like this in her life, except for last night, and had no clue how to respond. All she could do was to put her arms around him, cling to his lips and hold on for the ride. It was wrong, it was crazy, but she didn't want to stop. She wanted to absorb the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms and the magic of those amazing kisses.

Without breaking the kiss, without taking a breath, she felt Marco's cool hands slip under her shirt. She shuddered under his intimate touch then gasped as his fingers found her money belt. Was that it? Was he just a common thief after her money?

“
Che cos'e questo?
” he muttered. “What is this?”

“It's...it's my money belt,” she said breathlessly. “For safety. So no one steals my money.”

She felt his lips curve against her cheek. “You Americans. You protect your money, but what about your heart?”

How could she answer when he was kissing her temple and the corners of her mouth. The boat whistle split the air, but it seemed to come from another place and another time. He was holding her so tightly her breasts were pressed against his chest, and she could feel his heart racing. But why? He was a charming Italian gigolo, with many notches in his belt, so what did it mean to him, kissing an American woman good-bye? If only she had someone she could ask. Some woman, or some advice columnist.

Even as she felt herself tumbling deeper and deeper under his spell, she knew what the answer would be.

He's a player, a ladies' man. You're American. A little different from his usual conquest. You may be over forty, but you're naive and innocent and you're a challenge. As soon as he figures you out, as soon as you start asking questions and making demands, he'll drop you so fast your head will spin.

Her head was already spinning. With a huge effort, she pulled back, put her hands on his shoulders and took a deep breath. His eyes had lost the cynical look she was accustomed to seeing. He was looking at her intently, studying her as if he was trying to decide who she was and why he was kissing her.

 “Is this all part of your service?” she asked, trying for a light tone, a tone that said, that meant nothing to me. “See the ruins, learn the history, have an exciting ride through town and then a good-bye kiss? All for the same price? You must let me know how much I owe you.”

His gaze hardened. He grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her again. This time he devoured her. This time his message was clear. This is not about a job. This is about you and me. This not good-bye. This is to show you it is something you couldn't pay for, because it's not for sale, and if it was, you couldn't afford it.

She was stunned. She was shocked. She clung helplessly to his shoulders and then she realized her hands were wrapped around his neck, her fingers laced in his hair. She kissed him back without thinking, without caring she lacked his technique and skill. If energy and enthusiasm and abandon counted, then they were even. He didn't seem to care about her lack of technique, either. His hands were on her hips, pressing her against him.

 Marco was breathing just as hard as Anne Marie was. When she finally caught her breath, she turned to look down at the dock. The boat was pulling away. The engines were chugging and people were waving their handkerchiefs. And Marco was still on board.

This was her fault. She'd distracted him. Or had he distracted her so she wouldn't notice he was once again following her? Following her to where she was going to meet Giovanni. Coincidence? Accident? These coincidences and accidents were happening a little too often to ignore. Now he had to go to Salerno. This was awful. She had to get rid of him, but how?

“Marco,” she said, her voice too loud in her ears. “Look.”

If she expected him to panic, to run to the other side, leap into the water and swim to shore, she was wrong. He merely glanced at the receding dock and shrugged.

She sat down with a thud on the wooden seat, stared out at the open sea and tried to think. Had she prevented him from getting off in time? Or had he planned to stay aboard?

“What will you do when we get to Salerno?” she asked, smoothing her hair with her fingers. She couldn't believe she was having such a normal conversation with a man she'd been kissing like there was no tomorrow just a few minutes ago. Of course, these kisses meant nothing to him or to the bystanders. Such displays of affection were commonplace in this country. The kisses may have meant good-bye, or maybe they were just a way of passing the time agreeably. To her they were earth-shaking, unforgettable. But she'd die before she ever admitted it to him.

“Rent a car,” he said, taking a seat, leaning back, with his arms stretched out against the railing, squinting into the sun.

“And drive back to San Gervase?”

“Eventually,” he said. “First I may pick up a few tourists there who need a guide to the ruins. And of course I will be happy to take you on a tour as well. Free of charge, naturally.”

She blushed, remembering that she'd offered to pay him for his services and how offended he'd been. “Thank you, but I've studied the book and I think I'm up on the history and the archeology.”

She nudged the second bag with her toe. “What is this?” she asked, as if she didn't know. It was his bag and no one packs a bag if he doesn't plan on taking a trip. Even a trip as nearby as Salerno. So he'd planned all along to go with her, but why? Did he know she was planning to meet Giovanni there? Another thing. Why would someone follow a tour guide and smash his car? Because he wasn't a tour guide, he was a threat to someone. It was time she got rid of him.

“Just a few of my things,” he said vaguely. “I like to be prepared. I'll get us some drinks.”

Marco left his bag with her as a show of confidence. It was locked after all, and he didn't think she'd try to pick the lock while he went to the snack bar one deck below. He hoped she had no reason to suspect he was other than some kind of stereotype Italian playboy with a stereotypical warm-hearted grandmother and the equally typical cheesy cousin. Without any prompting from him, they'd all played their parts to perfection, because they were what they were.

And he was what he was. An Italian male who'd had a few too many close calls, both with women and with the men he was chasing. It was time to settle down which didn't mean getting married. It only meant it was time to stop flirting with strangers. He'd gotten carried away there on the boat deck. When she'd continued to make a big deal of the money, of his paying her way, he lost control for a moment. He had to show her it wasn't about money. He thought she'd gotten the message. But hadn't he gotten an even more important message?

Leave her alone. She's a wild card. She's your enemy. You're using her and for all you know, she's using you. Her kisses scared the hell out of him. There was a sweetness in them he'd never experienced. She kissed like she'd had no practice, but he knew she'd been married. After so many years, had she forgotten the passion? Didn't everyone? Wasn't that really why he didn't want to get married? Was he afraid the passion would die?

Settle down, they said. He was hearing that from all sides and the voices were getting louder and more insistent, even the voice in his head. But where and how and with whom - he didn't know. Even more important, why? If he did, he could settle down in his rented apartment in Rome where he'd be in the middle of the action. Or maybe in a chalet in the Dolomite Mountains where his parents had retired, though that might be a little boring. After he caught Giovanni he'd give it some more thought. In the mean time he'd play the role of the Italian lover, why not? He'd run the tour guide role into the ground with Ana Maria. It was time to try something else.

He couldn't think about anything until he got his car repaired. When he saw the damage he felt slightly sick, as if he'd been physically assaulted. He knew who'd done it. If it wasn't Giovanni, it was someone who worked for him. If they thought that would prevent him from continuing to hunt him down, they were wrong. It was a childish trick to smash his car, but there was something of the boy still left in Giovanni. The same boy who'd once bashed Marco's toy cars in the schoolyard. Marco had done his share of damage to Giovanni's toys. Then it was just a game. Now it was a warning, a signal. I know where you are. I know what you want. Come and get me if you dare.

Giovanni was too much a coward to engage Marco in physical combat,
mano a mano
. Instead he waited until he was in the house to smash his car. For that and for everything else, Marco would make him pay.

Flirting with Ana Maria took his mind off his car. Kissing her was part of the game. An excuse to stay on the boat; that was all. If he'd gotten a little too involved in it for a moment, what was the harm? He was in no danger of losing his head. He'd always enjoyed the company of women. There was no reason to stop now, especially when he needed Ana Maria to flush out Giovanni. It would all be over soon, as soon as he caught Giovanni in the act.

He felt bad about Nonna. Of course she'd jump to conclusions when he brought a woman to her house. She was fond of Ana Maria and he didn't blame her. Hell, he was... fond?...of her himself. Though it was best he didn't feel anything at all. He was there to do a job, and she was going to help him do it, whether she wanted to or not.

He'd just paid for the drinks when he felt a tap on the shoulder.

“Ciao, Marco.” Antonio Ponti, an old friend, would have shaken his hand if he hadn't been holding two full paper cups.

“I hear you've gotten engaged,” Marco said. “Congratulations.”

“Congratulations? For what? We haven't even said our vows and I can see the future lying ahead of me. I feel like I've been sentenced to life in the Catacombs. Everywhere you turn, there's a blank wall. Everywhere you look, there are the skeletons of those who've gone before you. There's no way out. No possibility of being released early for good behavior.”

“Not that your behavior was ever that good,” Marco joked.

“You should talk,” Antonio said. “Somehow you've managed to outlast us all. All I can say is, don't give in. Stand firm. Don't let any woman think you love her or you can't do without her or that you're ready to get married. Have you seen those laboratory mice running around a maze trying to find a way out? That's me. I'm telling you, there is no way out. Once you've said the words, those magic words 'will you marry me,' - watch out.”

“I will,” Marco said. “But aren't you exaggerating? Bianca is a good woman,
non e vero?”

“Yes, sure,” Antonio said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “As good as any. Have you heard the latest about Giovanni?”

“I don't think so. I haven't seen him for a year or two, what is it?” Marco said, feigning nonchalance.

“He was in town the other day driving a new Maserati. Since his father went to prison he's taken over the family business and he must be doing well. He's bought a house on Ana Capri.”