A Weekend of Misbehaving (4 page)

Security was a must. Which had been why he’d asked Bill, the janitor, if he knew anything about the nanny, and the only thing the man mentioned—besides a trail of compliments—had been a strange fellow that had asked for her the day before. The night he’d seen her naked. Bill said the man was abrupt and, although he’d only seen their interaction from far away, didn’t seem too friendly.

The trip to Capri would give Lorenzo better insight. Whether the man was a jealous ex-boyfriend or a drug dealer, he needed to know.

“Mmmm…” A delicious moan escaped Alice’s lips pressing against the rim and fogging the glass. “This is heaven. Are you sure you don’t want any?”

He nodded and lifted his water one more time, pretending it was decades-old scotch. Alcohol had no room in his life right now. He had to keep his head clear, uncluttered, real. Rational.

Alice took another sip, and then chuckled. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m a hillbilly for enjoying every little thing you are obviously used to.”

“No.” His voice was a tad huskier than he would have wanted. Somehow her appreciation of his lifestyle was refreshing.

She put her glass on the tray and folded her arms, angling her body toward his. Didn’t this woman have any notion of personal space? She studied him like she was an art student and he was a damned Monet. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she shook her head. “Are you always like this?”

Oh no. Not the free therapy lesson, the one he’d seen her use on Cara many times. The one that made him so glad for having her in his life.

“You’ve known me for a year.”

“I’ve worked for you, that’s different. For instance, I don’t think we’ve ever been alone like this.” She shrugged.

He drummed his fingers on his armrest.
Alone.
Yes, there was a trunk in his chest, loaded with fake treasure and concealed weapons. And maybe a bomb or two.

She snagged her lower lip with her teeth, and he swallowed hard. A sharp tingle zipped down his stomach, intensifying when it reached his cock.

“In our little make-believe world, what would a happy-go-lucky nanny like me be doing with an introverted one-percenter like you?”

“Must I remind you that you work for me?”

“Not during this trip. You’re paying me to be your sassy fiancée, the woman who should get a medal for breaking down your walls and showing you what life is all about.”

He snorted. “You must be really enjoying this.”

“I have to, at least a little bit, right?” She winked, then straightened her shoulders. “Seriously though, we fooled Viola for five minutes. I doubt she’ll believe we’re engaged if she hangs around us for a whole weekend.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she does.”

“How? You treat me like I’m an annoying neighbor. If knowing my eye color was part of a crucial standardized test, you’d fail big time.”

Fail.
The word stabbed him, and he inhaled. It brought to mind the voice and sordid laughter of his late wife, which echoed in the depths of his brain even after three years. His spine locked into place, and he rotated in his seat and edged closer to Alice until the fabric of his pants rubbed against her jeans. Kristin never believed he would be this successful. If she were alive, wouldn’t she rejoice at the possibility of him losing everything he worked hard to achieve?

“To a passerby, your eyes are brown.” The mockery in her expression vanished, and so did her smile. Her shoulders sagged a little, and a current of air left her parted lips. He lifted his fingers and traced her jaw. “When you’re excited about something, they shift into a melted, dark gold.”
Like now.
He outlined her cheeks, and she almost jumped out of her seat, her soft skin leaning into his caress. With the tips of his fingers, he slid down her lips, luscious and sultry like a Botticelli painting.

His fingertips tingled, heat shooting up his arm. She closed her lips but didn’t move a single inch away from him. He held her stare until flecks of shimmer surrounded her dilated pupils. Then, outlining her lips, he held his breath as she closed her eyes. Did she expect him to kiss her? Nonsense.

He tucked her hair behind her ear and dipped his head lower, his breath brushing her earlobe. He leaned in a little farther, his lips about to touch her warm skin, and whispered, “Failing,
tesoro mio
, is not part of my vocabulary.”

And he used every bit of his self-control to pull away.

W
ell, now he knew how to keep her quiet. Lorenzo smoothed his jacket. She’d said no more than a couple words since he’d returned to his seat and pretended to fall asleep. Maybe she tried to do the same, although he could feel her tossing and turning for a few hours, until she reached for the entertainment system, and he fell asleep.

She was probably horrified by his behavior. Good. He had to show her that he didn’t need to be a chatterbox like her to make an impression.

From the flight to Naples to the boat ride to Capri, she remained silent. At first he appreciated the quiet, but as they rode in the car that Viola had sent for them, he started to get impatient. He stretched his restless legs in the limo and cracked his knuckles.

Alice had a headset on and watched a movie on her phone. He called her name—one, two, three times. No response.

He nudged her leg, and she startled and took the audio set off. “Yes?”

“We should be there in a few minutes.”

“Okay, Mr. B.”

“I’m Lorenzo now, remember?”

“Right.”

He rolled down the window and let the sea breeze swirl around him. The pink flowers and green bushes multiplied as the car made its way up the hill, and the endless turquoise ocean sparkled beneath them.

“Nice, isn’t it?”

“Not bad.” She glanced at the panoramic view for no longer than a second, then returned her attention to the phone.

“Are you mad at me?”

She waved him off. “No, that would be childish.”

“Then why are you so quiet?”

“To show you how annoying that can be.”

He chuckled. “Don’t be catty, Alice. That’s not your style.”
That’s mine.

She shook her head, her lips breaking into a smile. She gave him a glance like she saw another side of him, like she knew him from a former era.

He inhaled and pointed out the window. “Looks like we’re here.”

Chapter Three

A
lice stepped out of the limo with the gentle help of the driver. She contemplated the villa nestled between other estates and a protuberance of bright green trees and pink flowers that looked like they had been drawn with a fluorescent crayon. The orange and pale yellow of the house contrasted against the cornflower blue sky, and warmth poured over her. Despite the nonsense leading to this trip, coming to this place made it all worth it.

A tall, skinny man clad in a plaid ensemble straight from an Agatha Christie movie greeted them in Italian and showed them into the three-level mansion. As she walked through the antique foyer, Alice blinked at the combination of old and current; some art pieces on the wall reminded her of what Lorenzo had on his. Then modern pieces like a glass coffee table and minimalist lamps blended with velvety couches and an exquisite crown molding.

The butler, she guessed, continued speaking in Italian with Lorenzo.
Lorenzo.
He exchanged a few sentences in his native language, and if there was a way that man could be even sexier, well, that was it. His voice was rich, complex, musical.

A thrill went through her and prickled the hairs on the back of her neck. She clamped her lips shut to keep from saying something inappropriate. Well, to him anything was out of line. Except the way he’d touched her in the airplane, the anticipation that brewed inside her when he had come closer…

“Oh, there you are.
Bienvenuto.
Did you have a good trip?” Viola materialized in front of them, stepping down a seemingly endless, curvy staircase.

“Yes, thank you.” Lorenzo gave her a kiss on each cheek, and Alice tightened her stomach. She knew just how his kiss could set off a chain of reactions in a woman’s body.

“Well, Rogerio will show you to your room, and you can freshen up. Later today we’ll have dinner on the deck. I’ve invited a few friends.”

Rogerio gestured for them to go up the stairs, and she did, her hand hovering over the polished dark wood railing. Lorenzo followed suit, though because of his long legs, every two or three steps of hers he could match with a single one. She was sure he was behind her just out of chivalry. Wait, chivalry?

She looked over her shoulder and found his eyes skimming over her behind. A hot cup of espresso spilled into her blood, adrenaline flowing through her veins. Unless she had something stuck on her ass, or he was a fashion expert studying her dark denim, Lorenzo found her larger-than-a-Victoria-Secrets-model butt appealing. Why else would he stare at her behind? A slow smile formed on his lips, and she sucked in her breath. Without waiting for his eyes to meet hers, she turned to face the door Rogerio led them to.

With a knowing smile, the graceful man sauntered into the suite and explained a few things to Lorenzo. Alice reached into her jeans for money, but before she could find anything, remembered this wasn’t a hotel, although it certainly could pass for one. She walked through the living area, gazing at the French doors leading to the bedroom. Excited, she pulled the white doors open, and a universe of pale pink and purple greeted her.

An old-fashioned white armoire and heavy dresser completed the feminine atmosphere. Silver lamps, small and tall, gave soothing light. And a four-poster, king-size bed covered with a flowery bedspread was elevated in the center of the room.

A clear vase with fresh flowers adorned each nightstand. The room was so delicate, she almost reached to remove her shoes to walk on the soft carpet. Looking ahead, there were rays of sunshine skipping through the doors leading outside. She strolled to the small but cozy balcony. Tones of deep blue blended in the sea, and to her right she saw many gorgeous villas piling up on a hill.

“Like the view?” Lorenzo asked, his voice deep behind her.

“This”—she pointed at the ocean—“could be one of those pictures hanging on the doctor’s office wall. All I need is an overused motivational quote.”

He smiled, more to himself than to her. Her cheeks warmed as her body reacted to his nearness. Crap. She’d worked for him for a year and had done a hell of a job hiding this silly crush from him. Granted, they barely spoke more than necessary. Still.

“They just brought the suitcases.”

“Suitcases,” she repeated in a low voice and followed him inside. “Why did they bring yours to my room?”

He pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow. She threw back her shoulders and crossed her arms. Did their rooms connect? Was that why he acted like she should know the answer to her question? She glanced around the room and strolled, touching the walls to find a door leading to another room. Besides a door that led to a bathroom as big as her bedroom in Austin, nada.

“Save it. We’re sharing a room.”

She swallowed hard and jerked back like he had thrown a bucket of frozen water on her. “Come again? This place has a gazillion rooms.”

With a sigh, he removed his jacket and opened the armoire. “Yes, but if we’re supposed to be a couple who can’t keep their hands off each other, why would we need two rooms?” He slid his jacket on a hanger and closed the armoire.

“Maybe you snore at night. Maybe we’re modern, and we like to have our own space.”

“You were naked in my pool. That shot down any personal-space theory.” He stretched his back and cracked his knuckles. “And for the record, I don’t snore.”

“That’s a relief,” she said, hands perched on her waist, and she drummed her fingers on the denim.
Relief my ass.
“But that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. Mr.—Lorenzo. I work for you. We’re already crossing the line in so many ways just by spending more time with each other. I’d like to have some serenity at the end of the day, or after a shower, instead of worrying about, er, sleeping next to a man I barely know.”

A man whose sterile relationship with her would resume as soon as they returned to Texas. It had to, didn’t it? She needed that job, now more than ever, to pay for her sister’s treatment. Most of all, she needed the money to pay Buck. Besides, if she unleashed her desire for him, there’d be a hell of an aftermath for her to deal with. Worse, he could just let her go. Fire her. And she’d be jobless and brokenhearted. Reliving that nightmare would be beyond stupid.

Yeah. She had a major crush on Lorenzo—she jonesed over him. But she also had a thing for James Franco, which meant nothing.
Stick with Franco. Instagram.
Got it?

“I’ll try my best to grant you your well-deserved serenity.”

“One day at a time I guess, right?” she thought out loud. This was going to be a challenge. Workout boot camps had nothing on spending every waking moment next to the man who threatened to squash her self-control and questionable morals. Was she ready to face the reality of literally waking up to a man she had masturbated over?

He winked at her. “There’s your motivational quote.”

“H
ow about some prosecco?” Viola lifted her glass as they met her downstairs. Lunch was served casually out on the main terrace overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Lorenzo nodded at the group of people gathered around and declined the alcohol. Yet again.

“That would be great.” Alice accepted the flute the waiter offered, her fingers clasping the stem.

Lorenzo reached to loosen his tie and was startled when he realized the shirt he wore already had the top button open. And no tie.

Alice smiled and lifted the drink to her lips. A light blue V-neck dress outlined her curves, and her hair tumbled down her shoulders.

He clutched his fingers into a fist, resisting the urge to touch her skin. Ever since a couple hours before, when they had to bathe and get dressed in the same confined space, his libido had stirred into fourth gear.

He had checked his email in the en suite while she got ready and took the opportunity to call the camp and ask about Cara. Then Alice slipped to the balcony, and he caught a glimpse of that same entranced expression she wore earlier, as if the sea somehow kept her in a hypnotic state.

He’d showered and shaved, and found himself patting the minty aftershave on his cheeks for a bit longer than usual.

“Lorenzo?” Viola’s voice brought him to reality. He blinked and turned to the woman at his side. “May I introduce you to Paul Smythe? He’s also a lover of the arts and a well-known dealer.”

“Of course. Nice to see you again, Paul,” he said. He had bumped into Mr. Pretty Boy on several social occasions and always found him harmless. In fact, Smythe’s over-the-top, cheesy antics often amused him. At a recent coveted auction, Lorenzo outbid him just for the heck of it. However, the dark glint in Smythe’s baby blues, along with the ambitious grin on his face, hinted he could be trouble this time around.

“Same here.” Paul raised his glass of scotch. “I must say,” he continued with his well-bred British accent, “I had no idea you socialized with such an interesting group of people, Viola. I find it most fascinating.”

Viola raised her eyebrow. “My ex-husband’s art is wanted by many. I’ve been wined and dined by a lot of dealers and connoisseurs recently.”

“Of course. How did you hear of Benicio’s work, Lorenzo?” Paul turned to him.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” Lorenzo injected, an uncharacteristic playfulness in the tone, and lifted his hand to his collar. Did Paul know anything about Benicio’s life? Doubtful. If he knew, he wouldn’t be interested in representing the work of a possible terrorist. Lorenzo had played with the idea of planting that seed in the social circles, to avoid others from buying the art. However, it was far too dangerous—what if the story leaked, and he ended up jeopardizing his career and Cara’s future?

Viola shrugged. “Money isn’t a problem for me. I want someone who really knows what they’re doing, and since I’m not the usual client, this isn’t the usual transaction.”

“My admiration for you grows even more,” Paul said in a syrupy voice. “My wife, Joan, and I are happy to be a part of such an historic decision. Aren’t we, dear?” He held the hand of the leggy blonde next to him.

“Yes,” she purred. “Of course.”

Lorenzo sucked the air around him so deeply, he only released it when a lump of oxygen got trapped in his throat. For the next twenty minutes, he observed as Paul and his wife shared a couple of jokes and talked with familiarity, leaning into each other with lengthy glances.

“Are you okay? You got pale there for a moment,” Alice whispered.

He took a step away from the group, taking her with him. His fingers on her waist was their first intimate contact of the day, and though her flesh was restrained by the soft material, the warmth of her skin sifted through. His fingers bit into her, bringing her closer. She gasped, and he loosened his hold.

“I should have known a weekend was too easy to seal the deal. Viola wants us to fight for it, and I doubt Paul will play fair.” He nodded at the passing waiter, who came to his rescue with a glass of prosecco.

“Excuse me. Aren’t we the ones playing it dirty, since the guy is happily married and we’re pretending to be engaged?” she asked, hands perched on her waist.

He sighed. “It’s not that simple, Alice.”

“Why do you want this so much?” she asked in a throaty voice that almost made him tell her. Except, he couldn’t. Why give her the ammunition? He wouldn’t make himself vulnerable to any woman again. Especially one that held the key to his peace of mind where Cara was concerned. It was paramount their relationship continued strictly business after this trip, otherwise the consequences would be disastrous for all involved.

“I can’t give you the details. I just have to get those paintings. No one else can have them.”

She nudged his elbow, and the gesture sent a thrill through him. “It’s okay. I’m here to help you.”

“
Grazie
, but I don’t know if there’s a whole lot you can do at this point. I’m afraid it’s just me and Paul. Although I’m the best in my field…” He pointed at the couple. “He is a good actor.”

“And likeable.”

He snorted into his drink. “That’s debatable.”

A smile teased her lips. “Good-looking.”

He threw his shoulders back and laughed. What woman in her sane mind would find Mr. Pretty Boy attractive? With his light blond hair curling at the end—like he hadn’t been properly introduced to a hair brush—and a permanent smile on his thin lips, Paul Smythe looked like a damn medieval cherub. The fact that Alice found him attractive tightened his heart with frustration. “You have to be joking.”

“Let’s help ourselves, shall we?” Viola interrupted them and pointed at the endless buffet table loaded with appetizers, canapés, and all kinds of small puffy pastries stuffed with lobster and salmon.

They filled their plates and sat at the long table.

“I hope a healthy competition won’t rustle any feathers,” Viola said.

“Not at all,” Paul rushed to say, with an invisible shark tattooed on his forehead.

“My ex-husband is very competitive.” Viola put the drink to her lips but didn’t sip. Her eyes were remote, like she looked at something far beyond their shoulders. “At first it was challenging and exciting, then it tore us apart. He was a coward in the end, and preferred to fool around with my granddaughter’s nanny than own up to his mistakes.”

Lorenzo peered at Alice, who listened without blinking. The pulse in her delicate neck, though, indicated a more real emotion. Her eyes searched for his, and he held the stare, his heart pounding to a halt. It was as if their eyes exchanged a secret message, a code whose meaning he himself couldn’t fathom. A vibrant energy radiated from her.

With a sigh, he broke the stare and faced the ocean. Ever since Kristin’s death, he prioritized caring only for his daughter and his success. The spontaneous part of him had been lost somewhere. A part that evoked all that Alice was about. A part that no longer existed. Wasn’t it better that way? Less painful?

A nudge to his arm prompted him to focus on the present. He looked down, and Alice’s fingers stroked his elbow.

“I was just telling them when I knew.”

He felt his face tightening. “You knew?”

“That we were meant to be.” She gave his arm a tap and folded her arm on his, like this was some intimate gesture they were comfortable with.