Her Italian Millionaire (35 page)

“What?” she said, picking her way through grapes to the edge of the vat.

“We have to leave,” he said. “I have to get to Rome today. Business.”

“What kind of business?” she asked, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. He didn't blame her; he hardly acted like he had a job. Little did she know she was his business.

“You know; travel business. More tourists, more work.”

She braced her arms on the edge of the rough wooden vat. “If you need any recommendations I can tell them what a good guide you are. How considerate, how attentive. How much you do to make sure the tourist has a good time.” There was a bitter note to her voice he'd never heard before.

“Look, I'm sorry about this morning,” he said.

“Why should you be sorry? Just another day at the office. Just another tourist to entertain.”

“No, Ana Maria, you are not just another tourist.”

“What am I, then?” she asked, her blue eyes icy cold. Yes, he'd hurt her. He should never have made love to her, not yesterday, not this morning. Not ever. What was wrong with him?

“You're a wonderful, lovely...I don't know enough words in English,” he said.

“Let me help you then. Naive, stupid, deprived, inexperienced...”

“No, no.”

“Never mind. I'm ready whenever you are. Is the car fixed?”

“No, I've arranged for us to borrow a tow truck from the garage. I'll have to return later for the Lancia.”

“We're going to Rome in a tow truck?”

“We have no choice, except the bus. It's not that far. Where's your ring?”

She held up her hand. “Here. Why is everyone so interested in this ring?”

“Everyone?” he asked, keeping his voice level with an effort. He wanted to shake her, to demand to know who else wanted the ring. Was it Giovanni? Someone else?

“You'd think it was valuable,” she said with a nervous laugh. It seemed she wasn't going to answer his question, so he put his hands under her elbows and lifted her out of the vat. She was wearing a short skirt that hugged her hips and a low-cut peasant blouse that, if he strained his eyes, he could see right through to her lace bra. How he could possibly be aroused again this morning, he didn't know. But he was. If she were someone else, just an ordinary tourist. If he were someone else, a real tour guide, well then... Even then it could never be more than a flirtation. She would return to the US, and he...what would he do after he caught Giovanni? He tore his eyes from the front of her blouse and looked at her feet. They were purple.

“Do I have time to wash my feet, or are your new clients waiting for you at the two-thousand-year-old coliseum in the hot sun, standing in front of one of the Greek columns to hear about the gladiators and the lions? Because if so…”

“Greek columns?” he asked.

“Doric, Ionic and Corinthian, some of each to honor the high culture that came before them. But you knew that.”

“Of course. If you know so much, why don't you take the tour for me? I'll take a nap.” He carried her shoes for her as they walked toward the house.

“Why would you need a nap? You slept in a bed all night.”

“Until you came over and seduced me.”

“I came in to get some sleep, not seduce you,” she said, turning her face, but not before he saw her cheeks redden.

He grinned. “I didn't mind.” He loved to see her get embarrassed. She blushed all the way to the low neckline of her blouse.

“It probably happens to you all the time,” she said tartly.

“Not often enough,” he muttered.

He followed her into the small bathroom back at the widow's house. He was taking no more chances. She sat on the commode, he kneeled on the floor. He took a sponge from the shower and a bar of soap. He held her foot in the palm of one hand and scrubbed with the other.

“Stop,” she said. “I'm ticklish.”

He put the sponge down, soaped her foot and used his hand to rub the ball of her foot, to tug on her toes and slide his fingers between them. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. She murmured something he didn't understand. She was the most responsive woman he'd ever met. The most sensual, the sexiest, and she didn't even know it. She was taking short little breaths. There was a knock on the door.

“Mi scusi, Signora. Apra, per favore.”

Ana Maria's eyes flew open. She could still feel it, the building of tension, the thrumming in her body, the awareness of his fingers, those clever fingers bringing her to the brink of delirium once again. Another minute and she would have gone over the edge. She would have shattered into a million pieces. Because Marco was washing her feet. She was panting, trying to fill her lungs with air. She looked at him. His eyes were brimming with awareness. She licked her lips. She tried to speak but her mouth was too dry.

“Tell her you'll be right out,” he whispered.

“Momento,”
she called.

“I don't know what happened,” she whispered as he dried her feet with a towel. She did know; she just didn't know how or why.

“You have very responsive feet,” he said softly, continuing to massage them, only this time with the towel. “Very sexy feet.”

“But I didn't know they were...I didn't know you could, that I could...”

“Just a few more moments,” he said. “And you would have.”

“Yes,” she breathed. She stood on shaky feet and opened the bathroom door. The maid was standing there, holding a bucket in her hand, wearing a simple cotton dress, her hair tied up with scarf. Her eyes widened at the sight of the two of them coming out together. Marco managed a polite smile and they hurried down the hall. Anne Marie cast a furtive glance over her shoulder. The maid was still standing at the bathroom door, a shocked look on her face. They grabbed their bags and left the house. Fortunately Marco had paid in advance for the room so there was no further delay. Obviously he was happy about that, since he had some overwhelming need to get to Rome that he couldn't or wouldn't explain to her.

The tow truck was an old one. The paint was peeling off the doors, making it difficult to read the name of the garage. The inside was dusty. Marco didn't seem to notice. He was filling the tank with diesel fuel when she remembered she had to call Evie's cousin.

“Use my phone,” he said, handing it to her.

She found the number and Misty answered.

“Anne Marie, where are you?” she said. “I've been worried about you.”

“I'm in a little town somewhere,” she said. “But I'm coming to Rome today.”

“Fantastic. You'll stay with me, of course.”

“No, I couldn't impose,” she said. “Besides, I have a reservation.” It wasn't true; she just didn't want to be beholden to anyone. And she wanted a hotel room to herself, a safe haven with a bathroom attached and not down the hall.

“Where are you staying?” Misty said.

“I...I can't remember the name of the place,” she said. “But I'll call you.”

“I'm having a party tonight. Everyone will be there. All my friends want to meet you. What perfect timing.”

“How nice,” she said politely.

“How is the candy holding up?” Misty asked.

“Oh...fine.” She'd completely forgotten about it. Again, she would have left it behind. “I'll bring it to the party.”

“Just tell me where you're staying and I'll come and pick it up. You don't know how much I crave one of those delicious Nob Hill chocolates. There's nothing like them in Italy.”

“There isn't?” There went her plan to replace the eaten candies. “Don't worry; I'll be there soon - with the candy.”

She hung up and went with Marco to the wine cellar, where she retrieved the chocolates. The box was cool, so hopefully the candy would retain its shape and taste until safely in Misty's hands - or mouth.

Once in the tow truck, her seat belt fastened and Marco at the wheel, she opened the box of chocolates once again. They appeared to be as good as new.

“Don't eat too much,” he cautioned. “We'll be in Rome for lunch. Once we hit the Autostrada, we'll make good time.”

“I told Misty I had a hotel, but I don't.”

“I have an apartment there,” he said. “You could even have your own bed.”

She slanted a glance in his direction. His eyes were on the road; his expression told her nothing. Did he not want to share a bed with her? Did he have a girlfriend in Rome?

“Thank you, but no thank you.” It was time to break off with Marco before he broke off with her. The more time she spent with him, the more she wanted to spend more. He made her laugh, he made her feel like the sexiest woman alive; but probably made all the women in his life feel that way. And she was going back to America in two weeks.

“You mentioned the convent where your sister is. I think I'd feel safe there, if they have any rooms for rent.”

“It is safe, and a good value. I've only been there once, when Isabella first went there. The rooms are simple but clean, and I remember the roof terrace has a view out over the city. I'll be going there anyway to see my sister.”

She nodded, leaned back and closed her eyes. The next thing she heard was a cacophony of horns blowing. Diesel fumes filled the air and a cloud of smog hung over the city.

She sat up straight. “This is it? We're here already?”

“This is it. It's a great city, but it's not an easy city. Not a safe city for a woman alone. I know the city and I'll take you wherever you want to go. Not just the Coliseum and the Vatican and the Trevi Fountain, I can also take you to the old medieval city and the Trastevere. Unless you have other plans. Someone else...”

“What about your urgent plans?”

“They can wait.”

They'd had to leave immediately to get here quickly, and now suddenly he had time for her? It was too strange. But a tempting thought. Forget Evie's cousin, forget her party. Wander the back streets with Marco. Why not? Because she had to deliver the candy.

“There's just one thing. I promised Evie's cousin...”

“The chocolate lover.”

“Yes. I promised I'd go to a party at her house tonight. Maybe we could just drop by, if you don't mind. I'll say hello, deliver her candy, and then we can go off to see the sights.”

He nodded and a few minutes later he climbed a hill and passed a small church. He pulled the tow truck up in front of the convent of the Sisters of Santa Theresa.

Marco looked up at the gray stone building, remembering the one and only time he'd been there, two years ago. How he'd demanded that Isabella leave and come home. She refused. She'd just been ditched by Giovanni, who had promised to marry her and she was devastated, convinced the convent life was the answer to her problems. They'd had a huge fight about it. He'd said some things he regretted; so had she. He hadn't spoken to her since.