Her Italian Millionaire (40 page)

The streets were almost empty. She had no idea what time it was. The moon had set and the sun had not yet come up.

“I didn't get to see the buildings illuminated,” she said. “I guess I shouldn't worry about it; not everyone gets to hobnob with international jewel thieves.” Keep it light, she told herself. Don't yell, don't blame Marco for using her. For him, it was all in a day's work. Still... “I can't believe you thought I was a thief. But you did, didn't you?” she asked.

“At first, yes.”

His jaw was set. His eyes were on the road. He was all business. She wanted to ask when he'd changed his mind about her, when he'd decided she wasn't a thief, but it was probably best she didn't know. It might have been only minutes ago, or hours ago, at best. All the time he'd made love to her, slept alongside her, danced with her, kissed her...all that time, he'd really believed she'd stolen a diamond. That hurt.

“I never really thought you were a tour guide,” she said, her chin in the air. She wanted to hurt him, to make him suffer they way she was. But how could you hurt someone who didn't care? The best she could hope for was to show him she wasn't as dumb as he thought.

“No?” he said. “Well, I tried, but you were too smart for me. You know far more than I did.” She shifted away from him toward the door.

“Some things, yes,” she said.

“Many things,” he said under his breath.

She smoothed her skirt and didn't speak until they got to the convent. He stopped the car and looked up at the stone walls and the gate.

“They have a curfew,” he said. “I forgot.” He hunched over, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. Then he sat up straight. “We can't get in until six in the morning. I'll take you to my apartment.”

“I'll go to a hotel.” She wanted to get away from him, almost as much as he must want to get away from her.

“I need to know you're safe,” he said.

“Safe from what?” she asked.

“From everything and everyone.”

“No one would want to harm me. I don't have the diamond, I don't even have the candy.”

“I can't take any chances,” he said. “I lost Giovanni tonight. I've been trying to catch him for over two years, and now it turns out I have no case against him. He didn't steal the diamond; all he did was want the diamond. That's hardly a crime. Neither is finding the diamond in a chocolate truffle.”

“What now?” she asked.

“I don't know.”

He drove to a large building on the Piazza Pasquino, took her up an elevator to the eighth floor, down a wide, carpeted hall and into a small apartment with high ceilings and dusty furniture. He threw the windows open in the living room and bedroom that looked onto a small courtyard. He tossed a few pillows onto a large austere-looking bed and told her to help herself to his clothes and his toiletries in the tiled bathroom with an old-fashioned tub.

“I'll be back as soon as I can,” he said. “Don't open the door to anyone.”

He stood at the front door for a long moment looking at her as if he wanted to say something. What was there to say? I'm sorry I didn't trust you? I'm sorry I made love to you?

Anne Marie waited. But she couldn't stand the silence very long.

“Say it,” she said. “Say you're sorry.”

“I am sorry. Sorry I didn't trust you. I wanted to, but I couldn't. Not and do my job.”

“And was part of your job to make love to me?”

“No, of course not,” he said.

 But she didn't believe him. “It doesn't matter. I got what I wanted, an Italian affair. I thought it would be with Giovanni, but well, you can't have everything. I don't need to tell you that. You got the diamond; maybe some day you'll get Giovanni.”

“You don't want me to get him, do you?” he asked, his hand on the door knob. He probably wished he'd left before they had this conversation, but she wasn't going to let him off that easily.

“No, I don't want you to catch him. I know he used me; he certainly lied to me. He doesn't love me and never did. But he was once a good friend. He never made love to me to get information from me.”

“Did he make love to you?” he demanded. “I thought you said…”

“That's none of your business,” she said hotly.

“So I was just a substitute for Giovanni, was I?” he asked, his eyes blazing.

She'd wounded his male pride. Good! At least he wouldn't remember her as some pathetic tourist who'd been used not only by her best friend, but by her long, lost Italian boyfriend, as well as himself.

“Yes,” she said. “I came here to recover from my divorce. My ego was in shambles. You knew that, and you took advantage of me. Well, I took advantage of you too. When I saw I couldn't have Giovanni I settled for you. I couldn't go home without an Italian affair; now I've had it, and I'm going home. My husband is waiting for me.” It wasn't a lie; he was waiting for her. She just didn't care.

“Damn it, Ana Maria, I can't stay here and argue with you. I said I was sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

“You didn't hurt me,” she said, crossing her arms. A few minutes ago she'd been so tired and depressed she could barely hold her head up. Now she was on a roll. Her brain felt like it had just woken up from a long nap, and her spirit along with it.

“You made my vacation,” she said. “I have to thank you for that. I'll have so many stories to tell. Wait till Evie hears...well, maybe I'll visit her at the federal prison and tell her. Or maybe I'll just write a book. Don't worry, I won't use any real names. And I'll change the diamond to a stolen painting. It should make quite a story.”

“You're going to write about me?” he asked, his eyes glowing like hot coals. He took a step toward her.

“Yes,” she said, but her voice wasn't quite as strong as it had been. “You can't stop me.” The way he was looking at her and the way he was coming toward her told her he could stop her if he wanted to. He was bigger and stronger than she was. His eyes were narrowed and his mouth was set, his lower lip jutted forward.

“I can't stop you,” he said. “But I can give you something more to write about.”

She took a step backwards, then another, breathing hard. She'd never seen him look so furious, so determined. He put his hands on her shoulders and backed her into the wall.

His lips came down on hers, hot and heavy and punishing. His hips pressed against hers and she could feel the strength of his erection. She wouldn't let herself respond, she wouldn't give him that satisfaction. She kept her arms stiffly at her sides.

His hands framed her face and he forced his tongue into her mouth and ravaged it. She couldn't take it. Not another minute. Not another second.

She invaded his mouth as he'd done hers. Her tongue wound around his. She pressed back against his assault on her body. She thrust her hips forward and heard him moan deep in his throat. Her nipples peaked and beaded against his shirt.

She was running on pure adrenaline and instinct when she wrapped her arms around his neck and answered his kisses with her own, faster, harder, wilder than anything she'd ever known. Damn it, her body, her heart and her raging hormones still wanted him, lusted for him, loved him.

At the same time, she wanted to punish him. As he wanted to possess her. It was a duel nobody could win, about love and hate and pride and regret. Somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind, she knew it was also about goodbye.

Finally he broke away and held her at arm's length, his eyes half shut, breathing as hard as she was. So hard she was afraid she'd never fill her lungs again.

He backed his way to the door, his shirt hanging out of his pants, his hair matted to his head, sweat running down his face like a man who'd tried to outrun a hurricane. Before he left, he paused at the door.

“Don't go anywhere,” he said, his voice the one he might use on hardened criminals.

“Goodbye,” she said. She'd be damned if she'd take orders from him. Not from a man she was never going to see again.

Marco spent more hours than he wanted to, more than he thought he needed to, at the office with Silvestro. It was getting late. He called his apartment, no one answered. He drank cold coffee and popped some aspirin. He and Silvestro called their counterparts in the US and South Africa. They received congratulations on the recovery of the diamond. Giovanni was scarcely mentioned, he'd become irrelevant. He wouldn't like that, but it was better than being in prison. Evie Barton was in custody, so was her so-called cousin Misty.

“Not bad for a night's work,” Silvestro said, rubbing his hands together cheerfully. “On that note, I'm going to announce my retirement. I will nominate you as my successor, of course.” Before Marco could either protest or accept, his boss continued, “Now, what's going to happen to the woman? She's free to go, you know. I'm convinced she doesn't know any more than she told us. Any fool can tell she's an honest woman.” He gave Marco a half smile.

Marco wished he could replay the past twenty-four hours over again and do a better job of it. But it was too late. Too late to make amends, too late to apologize. He had made a fool of himself, let Giovanni get away, hurt Ana Maria, and now what?

“Now what?” Silvestro asked.

“Now nothing,” he said. “I'm taking a vacation. A long one. I'm going back to San Gervase and fix my roof.”

“And the woman?”

“She's going back to the States to her ex-husband.”

“Really?”

“I don't know. But with her, there's no telling.” He was still reeling from that encounter in his apartment. She was the most unpredictable, beautiful, feisty, honest, sexy, maddening...

He reached across the desk to shake hands with Silvestro, then left the building. When he got to his apartment, he knew she was gone before he even opened the door. The bathroom towel was still damp and the mirror was still steamed up. The bed hadn't been slept in, but he smelled her scent everywhere. On the glass she used, on the telephone she'd used, on the window she'd opened.

He was out of the apartment in a few seconds, got into the agency car, and sped through the early morning traffic to the convent. Dawn was breaking over the convent walls. Inside was an oasis of calm.

He asked to see his sister. She came to the door in her gray dress and apron, her hair smooth, and a smile on her face. The convent had done wonders for her sense of serenity, but serenity was not what he wanted right now. He wanted Ana Maria.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“She went to the airport to try to get a flight to California.”

“Why didn't you stop her?” he asked.

“Why didn't you?” she asked.

“I didn't know,” he said. “I didn't know I'd fall in love with her. I didn't know she'd get under my skin. I didn't know I needed her. I didn't know I needed anybody.”

“What's wrong with you?” Isabella asked with a worried frown.

“Everything,” he said.

She put her hand out and in it was a small black box. “Here, take this. It was Nonna's. It is for whoever of us gets married first.”