The Vendetta (4 page)

She left the bathroom to enter the main lobby. The hub of the hotel’s reception space was a twenty-foot stone mantel, surrounded by leather couches in conversational groupings. Guests in ski parkas and uniformed bellboys created an ebb and flow of people and luggage. Skiers had packed Telluride this week, she knew, leaving only the top-end rooms available.

She looked around and saw Nick standing near the gigantic fireplace. The sight of his long, lean body propped casually against the mantel sent a jolt of appreciation straight through to her toes. She walked over to him, thinking she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so aware of a man.

She sank onto the sofa, avoiding his smoky granite eyes. “Where’s the rest of the crew?” she asked, alluding to Kimmi and a couple of the EMTs. They’d all met in the hotel bar after Nick had carried her over here. They’d been rehashing today’s events, until Lisa had had to take the call from Ty.

“They said something about heading to a steakhouse.” Nick’s deep voice poured over her like warm butter, and she almost missed what he said.

Her eyes narrowed on his face. “We weren’t invited?”

He shrugged. “We can join them if you like, but I thought you would like to go someplace quieter.”

She nodded, but didn’t know what to make of this attentive care of her needs. It was supposed to be the other way around. She resorted to customer service speak. “This hotel is nice. How is your room?”

“It’s fine.”

She nodded and then flushed as she realized how a comment about his room might be interpreted. She was not usually so tongue-tied, but couldn’t seem to regain her balance with this man. If this was Kimmi’s idea of matchmaking she’d—

“What is it,
carissima
? Why are you so uncomfortable with me?” There was his voice again, like a caress, turning her insides to jelly. Butter
and
jelly, she was toast.

She looked down at her hands clenched together in her lap. “I’m just, well, I don’t
do
this. Regularly.”

“Do what? Meet strangers in hotels?” he asked.

She shook her head, but couldn’t look at him. His spicy scent soothed her when he sat next to her on the couch. She looked up into gray eyes that held a hint of questioning amusement. He should laugh—she was being an idiot.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You must be dying to get up to your room to relax and put all this behind you. I’m afraid I’m not very good company right now.”

“You’re wrong, Lisa Schumacher.” His voice resonated deep inside her. “I’m fascinated by you. You are one of the most interesting people I have ever met.” He reached up, put his hand under her chin, and raised her face to his. “What I want to know is, what do
you
want?”

Startled, she met his eyes.
You
.

Before
that
thought popped out of her mouth, however, her stomach grumbled. Loudly. She grinned in relief. “Well, apparently I want dinner.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “OK, we’ll start there. Can your stomach stand the delay if I clean up first?”

A part of her was unwilling to let the evening end so she said, “I think so.”

He stood up and held out a hand. Her heart pounded, but she placed her hand in his. Something clicked into place inside her.

“Good,” he said. “Come with me.”

Chapter Three

Lisa heard the knock on the suite’s bedroom door as she stood at the mirror, hoping the repairs she’d made to her appearance from the few items she’d had in her purse would do. This morning she’d opted for a soft black turtleneck and jeans, which were just fine for a day at work, but somewhat lacking for a casual date, even at a ski resort. And her feet were bare because she hated to put her bulky snow boots back on. On the other hand, if she tracked mud and snow all over this pristine suite, Nick might be offended and allow her to skulk back to her own apartment.

She made a face at her reflection. Unlikely.

And, too, if Nick was offended by something she did, Ty would find out, and then bye-bye to her good job at Art and Bean. It would take forever to find something else that suited her so well. She was so close to being able to walk her own path, but she wasn’t quite there.

She leaned toward the mirror to stroke a slick of lip gloss on her lips. If sucking up to a high rolling art collector would push her further in the direction of freedom, then that’s what she would do. Though she didn’t think Ty had quite meant seduction by candlelight when he’d told her to “take care” of this art world star. And she did have her limits when it came to sucking up.

She pushed a strand of long honey hair behind her ear and then shrugged. She could at least use the time to find out a little bit more about the enigmatic Mr. Carnavale of Rome, Italy. He’d said she was one of the most interesting people he’d met. Well, she felt exactly the same way about him.

The knock sounded again.

“Coming, coming.” She padded across the plush carpet and opened the door.

She smiled. She couldn’t help herself; he was a gorgeous, gorgeous man. All thoughts of skulking away disappeared.

“Hello,” she said.

His eyes flared with warmth. “
Buona sera, piccola
.”

Unaccustomed shyness clogged her throat as her gaze swept over him. His charcoal sweater deepened the gray of his eyes. The open collar of his lavender shirt drew her attention to his wide shoulders and strong arms. Lavender. Her mouth lifted. Only an Italian could carry off that color with such casual masculinity.

She took a breath then pointed down at her feet. “Does it matter if I don’t have shoes?”

He looked down. “Not to me. But won’t your feet get cold?”

“They might, but I didn’t want to clomp around your lovely suite in my big old snow boots.”

He took her hand, sending a frisson of electricity up her arm. “Come into the living room. I’ll be back in just a second.”

Lisa followed him into the cavernous space. He disappeared into the other bedroom while she went over to the bank of floor to ceiling picture windows that faced the looming mountain. On the slopes she could see the tiny yellow headlights of the Caterpillar tractors that groomed the runs for the next day’s skiers. Nestled below, the ski village’s lights sparkled with nightlife.

“Wow,” she whispered. “What a winter wonderland.”

She flicked on a few more lights, and the outdoor scenery disappeared. The windows now reflected the suite’s luxurious interior. A couple of simple, wrought iron chandeliers graced twenty-foot ceilings. The splashes of deep blue and dark red in the rugs and throw pillows complemented the muted beiges of the southwest-meets-ski-lodge decor. A vast sectional sofa took up the space in front of a stone fireplace that held a crackling fire.

She turned as Nick came back into the room.

“Here. You can put these on.” He held out a pair of pristine white athletic socks.

She took the socks from him. “Are you sure? I think I’ll be OK without them.”

“No, the worst thing in the world is cold feet. I insist.”

She raised her eyebrows. “The
worst
thing in the world?”

She sat down to put them on, but he forestalled her by kneeling in front of her and taking the socks back. Her heart stuttered, and she drew in a deep breath. He smelled wonderful. A hint of his spicy cologne, clean soap, and him. But he had to stop doing that—kneeling like a lovelorn swain.

“Allow me.” He picked up her foot and placed it on his rock-hard thigh. Her toes curled in response to the strength and heat burning through the sole of her naked foot. He took one of the socks, efficiently gathered it up, and slipped it on. His hands looked very dark in contrast to the white sock and her pale little instep. As he smoothed the band over her calf, she bit her lip against the surge of warmth.

He performed the same service as quickly and economically on the other foot. When both feet rested side by side on his leg, she met his bright silver gaze, only inches from hers. Her toes were very warm now but her heart pounded, and it was everything she could do not to drop her gaze to his sculpted mouth.

“You’ve done that before,” she said. She’d meant it to come out as an accusation, but it sounded more like flirtation.

He grinned, then placed her feet gently on the floor. “Yes,” he said. “I have two feet too.”

She mentally rolled her eyes. “No, I meant for someone else.”

He shrugged. “My mother. She’s always cold, even in summer.”

His mother.
Before she could ask more about his mother, he stood with athletic grace and gestured toward the dining room.

“You were hungry before. You must be starving now,” he said.

They rounded the corner, and her mouth dropped open.

She’d heard the wait staff come in while she’d been in the other room, but she hadn’t realized they’d brought a feast. Platters of chicken, steak, and fish vied for space on the small dining table with roasted potatoes, a pile of grilled asparagus, salad, and, of course, spaghetti. There were also oysters, what looked like fried calamari, and breaded zucchini. The two place settings, decorated by cleverly folded napkins, gleamed in the light of a muted chandelier and candles. This was seduction indeed. On a grand scale.

“Well, Happy Thanksgiving to you too.” She blurted out the words but then, afraid she’d been rude, she turned to Nick. “I’m sorry, lame joke. Do you know Thanksgiving?”

“Thanksgiving? American holiday. Pilgrims, Plymouth. Yes, I know it.” He frowned. “But Thanksgiving’s not until—”

A laugh escaped her and he broke off. His mouth lifted at the corner, and he shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

“Ah, I understand,” he said. “Too much for two people?”

When she nodded, he actually looked sheepish, and the inner chill that had caused her to hunch her shoulders eased. She relaxed, breathing in the warm smell of good food.

“I wasn’t sure what you would like,” he said, “so I ordered everything.”

“So I see. Oysters? In Colorado?”

He grinned. “Hey, they were on the menu.”

She laughed again.

He seated her and then poured the wine. She could feel the warmth of his long legs sprawled very close to hers under the table. Their dinner conversation consisted mostly of his questions and her answers. But when she mentioned college, the line of inquiry became less general. Here was common ground, a common interest.

“Your degree is in art history?” He seemed fascinated.

“Yes,” she said. “I even spent a year in Rome studying the Baroque sculptors.” She hadn’t been able to say that in conversation with a man in a long time. If ever.

“Then you speak Italian,” he said in that language.

“Yes, but I have not spoken it in five years,” she replied, also in Italian. She wrinkled her nose and switched back to English. “Not great, huh?”

“On the contrary, you speak it well,” he replied.

She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “My grandmother did insist on correct pronunciation.”

“Your grandmother? Who—”

“But what about you?” she interrupted, trying to find an opening. She was tired of talking about herself and reluctant to discuss her connection with an Italian principessa. Normally, the topic of Gran was off limits. Lisa couldn’t imagine why she’d mentioned her.

“Why does an Italian businessman speak American English with very little accent?” she asked, to skirt further probing about her relatives.

He nodded his head toward the living room. “I think we’re done eating. Why don’t we continue our conversation in front of the fire?”

Apparently it was Nick’s turn to avoid a question.

When they were settled on the sofa, he spoke first. “Did you live with your grandmother during your studies?”

“Nick.” Her tone was a warning.

He spread his hands in a smooth gesture. “OK. What do you want to know? I live in Rome. No pets, no brothers or sisters, no wife or girlfriend. I collect art, and I export luxury goods.”

She wanted to know about the luxury goods and why he lived alone. She especially wanted to know about the art collection. Truthfully, she wanted to know everything about him. She took a breath to speak just as he leaned forward to stroke her cheek with his warm fingers. The movement stunned her to silence. His hand trailed down the line of her neck to her shoulder.

“My apartment is in the Aventine,” he said, naming an exclusive section of Rome. “You are always welcome there.”

Her mouth dropped open, and she pulled away. “Listen, I wasn’t trying to wangle an invitation, Nick. I was just trying to find some common ground here. I have been answering questions all night. You now know just about everything about me, and I still know next to nothing about you. I—”

“‘Wangle’ an invitation?” His amused tone irritated her further.

“Yes, you know. Wangle. Contrive, wheedle, finagle. For someone so fluent in English you—”

“Finagle? I like that one even better.” He captured her hand and slowly pulled her forward. She wasn’t quite ready to give up her annoyance or the safe distance between them, though, so she resisted.

His teasing smile drew her forward, and he cupped her jaw. The warmth of his other hand—stroking her neck, cruising down her back—melted her reluctance. She knew she was staring at him like he had just spoken Martian, but she couldn’t seem to formulate a coherent thought.

“You’re a regular
Oxford English Dictionary
.” He grinned and then he placed one kiss on her cheek near the corner of her mouth. “I think I need you to come to Rome,” another kiss on the other corner, “so I can increase my vocabulary.”

Lisa frowned. She wasn’t a complete novice, but after a disastrous relationship in college, she had been conservative in her approach to men. She wasn’t prepared, then, for the desire that welled up inside her. The seductive whisper of her body urging surrender. Caution dictated she should unwrap her arms from the strong column of his neck, but she didn’t want to let him go. She struggled to focus.

“Now who’s wangling,” she said, her voice husky. “And you’re trying to distract me. Your English is perfect and you know it.”