Her Italian Millionaire (33 page)

Yes, his claims of being something she knew he wasn't and his refusal to let her pay for anything bothered her. She wanted to keep walking; anything to put off going back to that little room where she'd have to decide whether to sleep with Marco or not. Whether to make love with Marco or not.

When they paused to rest on the footpath, he ran his fingers over her bare shoulder.

“You are so beautiful tonight, Ana Maria,” he said, his voice hoarse. Then he kissed her on her bare shoulder. A small flame of desire began to burn. His breath was warm on her naked skin and her heart hammered in her chest. The flame threatened to engulf her. She wanted to think she could make a rational decision about what to do next, but when he brushed her skin with his lips, she was helpless. Her knees buckled and he put his arm around her to steady her.

“It's the dress,” she murmured.

“It isn't the dress,” he said. “You look even more beautiful without the dress.”

She slanted a glance in his direction, grateful he couldn't tell she was blushing...again. In the light of the full moon, with shadows shading his face, she couldn't tell what he was thinking - if he was laughing at her for being embarrassed or using the line he'd used before. Maybe she didn't really want to know.

“Hasn't anyone ever told you you were beautiful before?” he asked, holding her at arm's distance and giving her an incredulous look. He looked sincere. He sounded sincere. But how could she be sure he didn't use the same line on every woman he gave the grand tour to?

“I...not very often,” she said.

“What was wrong with your husband, was he blind?”

“Speaking of my husband... My son says he wants to come to Italy. He misses me.”

“Isn't it too late for that?” Marco asked.

“Much too late. Now, tell me about crushing the grapes.”

“Are you sure you want to join in? Most people are content to watch the grapes being harvested rather than squishing them between their toes. But if you really want to then tomorrow morning we join in the grape stomp. It's a competition. The different teams see who can squeeze the most juice during a certain time period.”

“How's your hand?” She took his hand in hers and gently ran her thumb over the palm.

“Better,” he said, his voice dropping a notch. “That helps.”

They didn't speak for a long moment. The only sounds were the faint sound of voices carrying in the night air and music from the village below. Sometimes spoken Italian sounded like music, Anne Marie thought.

“Where's your ring?” Marco asked, his voice suddenly serious. “Why aren't you wearing it?”

“I didn't feel like it. It's back in the room. Why?”

“We should get back.” He dropped her hand and led the way down the path back to the village and to the widow's house. She'd left the porch light on for them, but the rest of the house was dark.

Anne Marie wondered why in the world Marco was so interested in the cheap ring she'd bought.

At the front door, he put her behind him and pushed the door open with his knee. Anne Maria held her breath. It was dark and quiet inside the house. For a long moment, Marco stood staring into the darkness. Finally he reached for her hand and pulled her inside the house.

At the door to their room, he did it again - pushed her back and threw the door open. She could feel the tension in the air. This time she was so scared she couldn't breathe. The picture of her ransacked hotel room flashed before her eyes. The clothes littered all over the room, the emptied suitcase, the feeling of being violated. There was a tight knot in her chest.

While she waited outside the room, Marco went in and closed the door behind him. She could only imagine what he was doing. Checking under the bed, behind the door, in the closet? For what? Who or what was he looking for?

When he finally opened the door, the lights were on and the room looked exactly as they'd left it - homey, warm and welcoming. She breathed a huge sigh of relief and collapsed on the edge of the bed.

“Don't tell me you expected it to be ransacked again?” she said, her voice slightly shaky. “You worry too much.”

“Do I?” he asked, turning to give her a cool glance. “Maybe you don't worry enough. Get the ring.”

She went to the bathroom and took the ring from her cosmetic bag. She came out and held it out in the palm of her hand for him to see. He nodded, his lips pressed together in a straight line. Where was the good-natured, teasing Marco she'd sat across from at dinner? Where was the romantic Marco who'd kissed her on the shoulder and told her she was beautiful with or without clothes? No wonder he'd never been married. Who could put up with this hot/cold personality.

“Now put it in a safe place,” he said, “so no one can find it.”

“Not even you?”

“Not even me.”

“This is ridiculous. I paid practically nothing for this. If I lose it or someone takes it, I'll buy another one.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes. I'm not going to hide it. I'm going to wear it. Look.” She slipped it on her finger. “Now I'm going to bed. I mean, I'm going to sleep...in the chair.”

“No, you're not.”

“If you don't take the bed, I'll leave.” Brave words. Where on earth would she go?

His mouth twisted in a grimace. “All right. You win. Then you get the bathroom first. It's down the hall.”

After a quick shower she came padding barefoot back to the room in Isabella's white cotton dressing gown. Marco had put a blanket and a pillow on the chair and had stripped down to the jeans that rode low on his hips. She swallowed hard and looked away. She knew he was wearing no underwear. She was, but just a wisp of silk here and a bit of lace there.

“Sure you don't want to change your mind?”

“Positive.” She took a deep breath and looked at the landscape pictures on the walls. Anywhere but at his broad chest. Anywhere but at his hips, anywhere but at the bulge in his jeans. He took a towel and left the room. She intended to be asleep in the chair by the time he came back. Or if she wasn't, she'd pretend.

The chair wasn't that uncomfortable, she decided. Not with the pillows. She stretched her feet out onto a small footstool and wrapped herself in the blanket. When she heard the doorknob turn, she closed her eyes.

“Ana Maria?”

Her eyes flew open. It was not Marco standing there in his low-slung jeans, his hair damp from the shower, and it wasn't Dan, her ex-husband who was purportedly on his way to Italy. It was Giovanni, in slim tapered slacks, a beautiful designer jacket and smooth leather shoes.

She braced her arms on the arm rests. Her pulse quickened.

“What...what are you doing here?” she asked sitting up straight in her chair. “How did you know, I mean where did you come from?”

He laughed softly as if she'd said something witty. “I couldn't let you go like that. I had to be sure I didn't lose you.” He closed the gap between them and took her hand to kiss her fingers. “This ring,” he said, his lips and eyes on her new ring. “You didn't have it the last time I saw you.”

“No, that's right.” It was dark when he'd seen her. How could he have noticed?

He tugged at it, but it didn't move.

“What...why?” she asked, impulsively making a fist and digging her nails into her palm.

There were footsteps in the hall. Giovanni pressed his finger to her lips.

“Shhh,” he said. “You have not seen me.” He crossed the room in a flash and disappeared out the double doors to the balcony. Then she heard a dull thud. The door opened and Marco came in. He looked around the room, his body tense, his eyes narrowed.

“Who was here?”

“No one.”

Marco went to the balcony and spent a good five minutes there. When he came back he closed and locked the doors behind him. Then he locked the door to the hallway and placed a chair under the knob. He turned and glared at her.

“Where's the ring?” he demanded.

She held up her hand. “Just where it was the last time you asked. You're certainly jumpy. What's wrong?”

“You tell me.”

“Nothing. Good night.” She closed her eyes. But the image of Giovanni stayed with her. How had he found her and why? If only he could have stayed long enough to answer a few questions. Whatever the answers were, it was clear he didn't want to run into Marco. Why not?

If she opened her eyes what would she see? Was Marco undressing? Was he still glaring at her? Was he in bed? She couldn't stand the suspense another moment. She peeked out from under her eyelids. He was lying in the bed on his back, a sheet over his body, his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, as if he felt her gaze on him.

“Should I?”

His answer was to reach for the light switch and plunge the room into darkness. His calm, regular breathing soon told her he'd fallen asleep.

Ann Marie turned, she twisted, she rearranged the pillow and her blanket, but she couldn't sleep. The chair that had seemed fairly comfortable an hour ago had turned into an instrument of torture.

She sat up straight and looked at the outline of Marco's sleeping body, envying him his ability to forget his worries, whatever they were, and sleep. Of course he was in a big, comfortable bed. On one side of the bed. There was plenty of room for her on the other side. Did she dare?

He was a sound sleeper. She was such a light sleeper, she'd wake up before he did and return to her chair. He'd never know. She stood, tiptoed across the room, and gently lifted the corner of the blanket. He didn't move. She slid between the sheets. She held perfectly still, her arms stiff at her sides. He slept on. She exhaled slowly and let herself relax for the first time in hours. But the mattress sagged and she started to roll toward him.

That wouldn't do. Not at all. She repositioned herself and gripped the edge of the bed with one hand, and tried to relax. Before she closed her eyes, she glanced at the door. All she needed was for Dan to burst in the door. But even if he'd hitched a ride on a supersonic plane, he couldn't be here by now. And if he did arrive, how would he ever find her? Yet Giovanni had found her.

It might have been minutes or maybe hours later when in the middle of a dream about Dan, the Dan she'd married, the Dan whom she'd loved and who'd loved her, that she backed into a hard, male body. This is what she'd missed when Dan left. The closeness, the warmth, the togetherness.

She sighed contentedly and squeezed her eyes tight and let herself drift back toward sleep. Even with her eyes closed, she could tell it was early. Doves cooed outside the window. Cool air drifted in through the window smelling of sage and other wild herbs.

She was half asleep when she felt strong arms go around her and pull her body close to his. With a deep sigh of satisfaction, she drowsily nestled into him. She was at home in her bedroom, happily married and still in love with Dan. She felt his warm breath on the back of her neck. His hands reached under her nightgown and cupped her breasts. His thumbs caressed the swollen undersides and then teased the nipples, until she was breathing hard and wanting more. Much more. With her eyes still shut, she wiggled out of her nightgown and tossed it on the floor. The rough hair on his chest teased the skin on her back, his legs wound around hers, the strength of his erection nudged her toward reality.