Her Italian Millionaire (18 page)

 It was Marco, wearing a helmet, a leather jacket and his wraparound sun glasses. She thought she'd never been so glad to see anybody. But she'd play it cool. His ego was already way too big.

He stopped, got off, took his helmet off and stood there under the late afternoon sun looking at her as if she was a lost runaway.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I came to find you.”

“I'm not lost,” she said.

“What are you doing?”

“Walking back to town.”

“It's a long way.”

“I know that.”

“What is this?” he asked, running a finger across her lips.

“Chocolate,” she said, pressing her lips together so they wouldn't tremble at his touch. It was no use. Her whole body was trembling. It was his touch, and the shock of seeing him. She wrapped her arms around her waist and tore her gaze from his face and focused on the candy.

“It isn't mine. I'm supposed to deliver it to someone. My friend's cousin.”

“Misty?”

She frowned. Had she mentioned her name and not realized it? “I was so hungry so I ate a piece, and now I feel terribly guilty, but even worse I'm about to die of thirst.”

He held out a bottle of Santa Vittoria water and she almost snatched it out of his hand.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice coming out as a dry croak.

 She forced herself to drink it slowly. Nothing had ever felt so good as that water on her parched throat. Nothing had ever tasted as good as that Italian mineral water. After she'd drunk half the bottle and murmured her thanks once again, he ordered her to get on the motorcycle. This was the man who presumed to give her instructions in etiquette. She was beyond caring. Despite her bravado, she was glad he was here.

Instead of obeying instantly, she ran her hand over the smooth, satin, red surface of the motorcycle. “Where did you get this?” she asked.

“I borrowed it,” he said.

“What is it, a Harley?”

His mouth curled in disgust. “A Harley?” he said. “It's a Motoguzzi.” He paused. “What did you think you were doing, going off with a stranger?”

“Everyone's a stranger,” she said spiritedly. “I'm a stranger in a strange land, as you pointed out. And you're a stranger too, for that matter. If I don't go off with strangers, I'll never go anywhere. How was I to know he'd dump me in the middle of the road?”

“How much did you pay him?” Marco asked.

“Nothing. He left before I could even open my purse.”

“What did he want? What did he say?” Marco asked, his forehead creased with lines.

“First he stopped to let me off back there in the middle of nowhere, even though he'd agreed to take me to the hotel. He picked up my bag, and when he noticed it was Italian and not American, he flew into a rage. What difference did that make? Obviously some, because you should have heard him. He was furious. He kicked the bag and then he took off.”

“Before you paid him,” Marco said, looking dubious.

“Yes. I was afraid I'd have to walk all the way to the ruins. It turns out the hotel where I was going, this wonderful agricultural estate I thought I had a reservation at, is closed for the season. I just hope I can find something else because I...I really want to see those ruins.”

“I'm sure you do.” He strapped her suitcase onto the back fender and handed her his helmet.

“For me?” she asked.

He nodded.

Where she came from, it was the law that riders had to wear helmets, but in Italy? She'd have to trust Marco on that and hope he didn't get stopped and cited before they got back to the town. She fumbled with the chin strap so clumsily he had to buckle it for her, and his fingers grazed her chin. She looked into his eyes to see if he'd felt anything like the buzz she got from his touch, the buzz that reverberated through her body like an electric current, but all she could see was her own flushed face reflected in his sunglasses.

“
Andiamo
,” he said, taking his seat and revving the motor. “Let's go.”

She looked at the motorcycle and down at her skirt. He turned around, as if to ask what was the delay.

“You mount on the left side,” he said, “as you would a horse.”

She quickly went around to the other side.

“Now swing your right leg over the seat and hang on.”

He watched as her skirt ripped up the side when she threw her leg over the seat. The old Anne Marie would have blushed at that blatant, sexy look in his eyes. She didn't blush. She met his gaze, and for one brief moment something passed between them, so swift and so fleeting, she didn't know what it was. It might have been approval for her spunk, her cavalier attitude toward her clothes and her willingness to climb on and go wherever he took her. But it was more than that. Much more.

As she settled onto the narrow seat behind Marco, she knew it didn't matter what he thought. She had a goal - to meet Giovanni tonight, and she'd get there any way she could.

 With a roar, the motorcycle leaped forward and Anne Marie threw her arms around Marco's waist and buried her face in his jacket.

The Motoguzzi vibrated and throbbed. Her whole body vibrated and throbbed in time to the cylinders. Inside her helmet there was a roar that filled her whole head. Her cheek was crushed against the warm leather of Marco's jacket and the rich, masculine smell intoxicated her as much as a large glass of Chianti. Her bare knees were pressed against the throbbing machine, her feet against the foot pedals as the wind rushed by.

They were alone on the highway. Alone in the world with the endless road stretching ahead of them. She was one with the man and the machine. The sun was low in the sky, the horizon limitless. She thought the ride would never end. She almost wished it never would. She'd never felt so much apart of a machine or a man before. The past receded and the future with it. There was only the here and now.

In the small, dusty town near the ruins, Marco pulled up in the middle of a small commercial strip in front of a shop that advertised souvenirs and tourist information and boasted wireless internet service. He got off and removed his sunglasses, then reached out to help her dismount. He made no secret of taking a long look at her legs and her torn skirt that revealed a stretch of her thigh. Her heart kicked into overdrive. She reminded herself not to take it personally, not any more personally than the kisses or the touch of his hands. It was just the Italian way.

“I have to thank you again,” she said, “for rescuing me.”

“Even though you didn't need to be rescued?” he said with a touch of irony.

“Right,” she said.

“Just be careful. Don't trust anyone.”

Good advice. It was also Giovanni's advice. But didn't it also apply to Marco? Why should she trust him? Just because he kissed like the expert he was? Just because he kept rescuing her? Just because she'd met his family?

“Don't worry,” she said. “I've learned my lesson. I'll find myself a hotel room and check my e-mail and get a couple of things, like a toothbrush and a few souvenirs.” Now why did she have to go into mundane details? She was nervous, that was why. She was babbling, afraid to say good-bye again. Afraid to make a be deal of it. Afraid he wouldn't leave. She was getting close to her rendezvous and she was afraid Marco would hang around and then Giovanni wouldn't show up for some reason she didn't understand.

This had to be good-bye. At last. She raised her hand in a half wave, half salute, grabbed her replacement suitcase and went into the store. Be calm, be casual, she told herself. And whatever you do, don't look back to see if he'd left. That would show that she cared too much.

First she went to the tourist information desk and asked for a room anywhere in the area. She wanted to be near the ruins, but she realized at this time of day, with so many tourists around, she couldn't afford to be choosy.

“For how many?” the clerk asked.

“Just one.”

“You are alone?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Was it so strange for a woman to travel alone? Did she have to explain about her divorce?

She nodded.

He flipped through pages of paper, presumably lists of hotels and rooms. She held her breath.

“I'll try,” he said. “But there are so many tourists in town tonight for the sound and light spectacle.”

“What?”

“Yes, it's very special. A, how do you say, drama, a presentation of a Greek tragedy in the Temple of Neptune. Twice a year only. What about tomorrow? Tomorrow I can put you in a very nice hotel.”

“No, I have to see the ruins tonight. Please, I'll take anything, a hostel, a bed and breakfast, anything. I've come all the way from California to see the ruins.”

He nodded. “If you can give me a few more minutes, Signora. Perhaps you would like to buy some souvenirs while waiting...”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“You may leave your suitcase while shopping.”

“Thank you. Grazie.”

She would buy some souvenirs. She would do whatever it took, if only the nice man would find her a place to stay. She would also check her e-mail. She went to the Internet cafe where she headed for one of the computer stations in the back of the store.

There was another message from Tim, but this time the whole thing was there on the screen. She almost fell off her chair when she read what he had to say.

Dan had been stood up at the altar. No one knew exactly why, but rumors abounded. Maybe his dental hygienist had found someone else - she'd been seen recently with her personal trainer. Or she'd run off with the dentist whose marriage had been rocky for years. Maybe they'd both taken jobs with Dentists Without Borders, that international charitable group that treated poor people’s teeth in foreign lands. Yet, someone else had seen Brandy at the airport on her way to her honeymoon alone.

Tim reported that Dan was overwhelmed with grief and shame. Anne Marie could imagine how mortifying it would be to be stood up in front of the whole town. Almost as mortifying as being dumped for a younger woman after a twenty-year marriage. Yes, she felt sorry for him, and although she knew it was uncharitable, she also felt he had it coming to him.

Anne Marie signed off, too overwhelmed by the news to check her messages from Evie and other friends. She sat staring at the screen saver, trying to digest the news. Hoping that Dan hadn't dragged Tim into his personal misery. Tim should be off enjoying a carefree freshman year, not worried about his father's disastrous almost-wedding.

Anne Marie felt someone was standing behind her. The sunburned skin on her shoulders tingled with awareness. Every nerve ending went on alert. She whirled around, remembering Marco's warning...and it was Marco. She should have known she hadn't seen the last of him.

“You frightened me,” she said.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “You look...disturbed.”