Her Italian Millionaire (16 page)

“Really.” Marco tried to not to show an inordinate amount of interest.

“And as usual, he had a new woman with him wearing a big diamond. Which only made Bianca jealous. Didn't Giovanni and your sister...”

“No,” Marco said, wondering how big this diamond really was and where it had come from. “They didn't.”

“Antonio.” A clear voice came from the front of the boat. Bianca appeared and wrapped her arm around her fiancé's waist. “
Ciao
, Marco,” she said and leaned forward to bestow an air kiss on both cheeks.
“Cosa c'e ie nuovo?”
What's new?

“Niente affatto,”
Marco said.

“Nothing?” said Antonio. “Don't believe him. He's got a new girlfriend. An American, by the look of her clothes, and very pretty. That goes without saying. Always with the prettiest girl in town. I saw him kissing her up on deck. So who is she?”

“Just a tourist,” Marco said, not regretting the kisses, only his lack of propriety. It never occurred to him anyone he knew would be on board. “I'm showing her around, that's all. Didn't you hear? I'm a one-man hospitality committee for the coast here. Making sure the tourists appreciate our national treasures.”

“Have you convinced her you are one of them?” Antonio asked with a knowing grin.

“Not yet, but I'm working on it,” Marco said.

“Well,” Bianca said, tilting her head to look at Marco. “Maybe we'll be hearing wedding bells for you, too.”

Marco shook his head. “Never.”

“That's what Antonio said, but look what's happened,” she said gaily.

Marco did see what had happened. His old friend claimed he'd lost his freedom and had been consigned to a life of misery, yet Antonio placed his hand around his fiancée's waist in a familiar, possessive gesture and then gave her an intimate look that belied everything he'd said. He was not quite the picture of a beaten, defeated man with no future. Marco didn't know whether to pity or envy him.

“I must get back upstairs with these drinks.”

“Va bene,”
Antonio said.
“Saluti a la famiglia.”

“Auguri,”
Marco said.

He returned to the top deck with the drinks to find Ana Maria was leaning back in her chair, her eyes closed, her head resting on the back of the chair. The two bags were on the deck next to her chair. He set the drinks down and went to stand at the railing, where he rested his arms and looked out across the blue water. It was better than watching her sleep in the sun, her fair skin turning golden, her lashes dark against her cheeks.

 A few minutes later he heard footsteps and she joined him to lean against the railing, saying nothing, but brushing her shoulder against his. He wanted to wrap his arm around her waist and draw her close, and stand there looking out at the water. Not talking, not thinking, just standing and looking. He was so tired of thinking and analyzing and theorizing. When was it time to just live?

 He stuffed his hands in his pockets and resisted the urge to reach for the American woman who was so close to him. He was supposed to be on guard, alert and at attention. Seeing Antonio and Bianca had set him thinking, wondering...

That's what happened when you ran into old friends who, no matter how much they protested, seemed right together. It was not what he wanted. Not at all. Still, he couldn't get the image of Antonio and Bianca out of his mind.

“I've been thinking,” she said.

“I thought you were sleeping,” he said, keeping his eyes focused on the waves, trying to block out the warmth that radiated from her body and the scent of her skin.

“I was thinking about your family.”

“So was I. I was thinking about my grandfather.” Liar. He was thinking about her. About taking off that ridiculous money belt and everything else she was wearing, and making love to her. It was tempting, so tempting to see if she made love the way she kissed, with a combination of naiveté and passion. He wanted to hear her call his name, to taste her skin, to watch her face when she climaxed.

This was insanity. It wasn't going to happen. The old Marco might have done it, but he was a new man. Mixing work and pleasure hadn't worked in the past, and it wouldn't work now. That didn't mean he didn't want to, so much he ached. The difference was, this time he wouldn't give in to his instincts.

 “My grandfather came from Sicily,” he said deliberately forcing himself to stop dreaming about something that wasn't going to happen. “You can't see it, but it's out there.” He pointed to the south. “He came a long way to meet and marry Nonna.”

“They must have had a good marriage,” she said thoughtfully.

“They did. They had a love affair that lasted over fifty years. If I had to get married, that's the way I hope it would turn out.”

“Have to? No one has to get married, do they?”

“No, but I feel the pressure. From Nonna and then I just ran into an old friend and his fiancée. He looked happy, but he warned me against getting married. Not that he needed to; I have no intention of being tied down. Why should I?” he asked her as well as himself. “I don't need a wife. I have a house in San Gervase, an apartment in Rome. Friends, family...everything but a car.”

“Or a girlfriend,” she added. “Unless she's forgiven you for whatever you did.”

“I don't think so. I haven't seen her since she walked out of the restaurant. God forbid she returns to bother me. She was more trouble than...” He almost said more trouble than even you. But she might take that the wrong way. “It is a good life, except for my car.”

“Who did it? Your cousin said you have enemies. Why? What do you do to make such enemies?”

“I'm in the travel business, but I actually work for the government, for the department of tourism. I have various duties. Sometimes helping tourists like you, sometimes investigating hotels and attractions incognito to see if they are up to standard. If I give someone a bad report, they are angry with me.” That sounded plausible, and for the life of him, he couldn't come up with anything else.

“That angry? Angry enough to wreck your car?” she asked.

“Evidently so,” he said. “After all, one black mark from me and their ratings go down in the official guide book. They lose income and some might even go out of business.”

“You wield a lot of power,” she said. “So you think this was someone who was trying to get back at you.”

“Perhaps.” He'd didn't want to say any more; he'd already told her more than he should. All those innocent questions. But were they really so innocent? Was she just as suspicious of him as he was of her?

“We're almost there,” he said, gesturing toward the shore lined with villas and hotels.

“I just want to tell you how grateful I am for all you've done for me,” she said.

He felt the heat creep up the back of his neck. It was not from the sun. It couldn't be guilt. He wouldn't know it if it was. And he had no reason to feel guilty. He was doing his job. Even more than that, he was paying a debt long overdue.

“There's no need to thank me,” he said stiffly. Not when I'm using you to further my career and to settle old quarrels. Not when you find out I'm on to you.

“Yes, there is.” She put her hand on his arm and he turned to face her. “You gave me the chance to see Italy as an insider. You made me feel like part of your family. That's what I wanted. That's why I came. Not to be a tourist, but to see how real Italians live.”

Was that really why she'd come? She seemed so sincere and he wanted to believe her. But he'd seen so many sincere crooks, so many con men and women in his time. It had gotten so he didn't trust anyone. It was better that way. Assume the worst and hope for the best. If her sincerity was an act, it was a good one.

“If you ever come to the States, I'd be glad to...well, to show you around northern California, introduce you to the natives, so you can see how they live, or whatever you'd like to do,” she said.

He stared at her. Would a jewel thief offer to show him around, take him past all the mansions where high society kept their expensive jewels, explain how easy it was to break in and take what you want?

“I'm not likely to visit America anytime soon,” he said brusquely. He tried to imagine himself meeting her son, visiting her library, seeing where Giovanni had gone to high school, and being driven around by Ana Maria. “My work keeps me busy here in Italy.”

“And your vacations?”

“My vacations?” How long had it been since he'd had a real vacation? What was the point? He'd vacation after Giovanni was behind bars. “This is my vacation.”

“But you're showing me around. I thought it was part of your job.”

“I enjoy it too much to call it work. Not when I have someone like you to show around.”

A faint blush touched her cheeks. “I never know if you're serious.”

“I'm always serious,” he said. “Besides, I am the one who should thank you, for letting me see my country through your eyes,” he said. “You have taught me to appreciate small things I used to take for granted.” This much was true. He too, could be sincere when he had to.

“Such as?”

His eyes drifted to her mouth, so soft, so sweet, so willing. He wanted to kiss her lips again and coax another response from her. He wanted to do more than that; he wanted to slide his hands under her shirt again, past the money belt and cup her breasts in his palms. But they were on a boat in the middle of a crowd, and even in Italy, some things are forbidden. But thinking about them, fantasizing about them, was not. Nonetheless, he should have better control over his hormones. Otherwise he wasn't going to make it through the next twenty-four hours. Hopefully that was all it would take.

Her question still hung in the warm air, and he forced himself to think of an answer.

“Such as? Such as the music in the square, which I used to find sentimental. Such as the food in the restaurant I thought was ordinary. Such as kissing you while the boat rocked under my feet and the waves slapped against the bow.” He brushed her mouth with his knuckles. A simple gesture that meant nothing at all. Not to him. Not to her.

He felt her lower lip tremble and a jolt of white hot desire shot through him like a bolt of thunder. So much for controlling his hormones. He'd resisted many well-dressed, high-class women, and nice local girls his grandmother would approve of, and many she wouldn't. He'd turned away from exotic dancers and highly-paid models, all since the day he'd screwed up because of a woman, but his resistance since yesterday had melted like a cup of gelato in the sun. There was something about this woman that affected him as he'd never been affected before. What in the hell was wrong with him? She caught his hand and pulled it away, as if she felt it too, and fought it.

“Anyway,” she said, her voice not quite steady, “when we dock we'll be going our separate ways. I can't impose on you any longer. I need to see the rest of Italy on my own.”

“On your own?” he asked. “What about your friend Giovanni?”

“What about him?” she asked with a sharp glance in his direction.

“You said you were going to meet up with him.”

“I don't know about that,” she said. “I may see him or I may not. He once promised to show me around Italy, but that was many years ago and I wouldn't hold him to that. He doesn't owe me anything.”