“I’ve got you, signorina. You’re safe.”
“Safe? Who are you?”
I pushed my hair out of my eyes and looked up to see a man so outrageously handsome, I stopped breathing. This guy should be in the tourist brochure with the caption, “Monterran men are to die for.”
Mysterious dark eyes filled with a concern that surprised me dared me to pull away from him. I couldn’t. I was too startled to resist him.
“Are you hurt, signorina?”
“No, I’m good,” I managed to say, even if I wasn’t. My knee hurt like hell, but I’d never let this Monterran stud muffin see me sweat.
“Your eyes tell me differently,” he said. Warm, smooth caramel sliding down rich chocolate cake came to my mind when I heard that voice. Deep, full, and oh so sexy. He held me so close, his hot breath tickled my ear. If I wasn’t in panic mode, I would have sat my butt back down on the cold steps and just stared at him.
Ripped T-shirt wet with sweat.
The festival logo, Fairy Tales & Magic, sprawled across his muscular chest. Arm muscles bulging, tight jeans, and black leather hobnail boots. His rugged appearance made me curious to know who he was.
Scratch that. I was more than curious. Was he real? Or did he appear out of the mist from another time? Or a hole in the sky? He had an air about him that reminded me of a rogue from a novel. His longish hair was a maddening deep color of midnight and was tied back by a piece of black leather. A wayward lock curled over his forehead. I can’t tell you how much I wanted to wrap my fingers around it, but I’d never be that brave. He was way out of my league, but I could dream, couldn’t I? His features were sculpted at sharp planes with a strong jaw. I liked that. He came across as a man of action and God knows I needed help.
Imagine meeting such a man when you’re in the worst possible situation. My sister was missing and all I wanted was to find her, but I couldn’t turn away. I hate to admit it, but I was so attracted to him it made me uncomfortable. He was the kind of man you daydream about taking you in his arms and kissing you while you’re indulging in a chick flick and spooning double mint pistachio ice cream into your mouth.
Not held captive in his arms.
Good Lord, did life as I know it ever walk a straight line?
I wanted to melt into a lovely puddle of cream, but reality kicked in. I didn’t know this man. He could be a kidnapper or a thief. Or both. I remembered the story the lady sitting next to me on the plane told me about her experience in Rome.
How an aggressive porter grabbed her suitcase and ran off with it.
I swore that wouldn’t happen to me, no matter how good looking he was. How fascinating a voice he had that could send me down the rabbit hole and make me never want to crawl back up.
My whole life was in that suitcase.
My silks. Long, trailing fabrics.
And my costumes. Sequins and satin. Glittery and oh so pretty. Emma worked long into the night making those costumes. Sitting by the open window, listening to the sound of the elevated train rumbling by, the neon lights from the bar across the street guiding her careful stitches. She had clever hands and a kind heart. Her costumes were works of art. She had a passion for the costumes she labored over, sewing on sequins and shards of mirrors stitch by stitch. erI couldn’t let anyone take that away from her. I had to find her and that meant tamping down my silly, romantic notions.
I pulled away from him. “Sorry, but my dance card is full,” I joked. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”
“Signorina,” he repeated with that voice again. I steeled myself against temptation and didn’t back down, but he grabbed my old suitcase and wouldn’t let go. “Let me help you.”
“I’m a big girl. I can take of myself,” I insisted, mentally kicking myself in the butt for letting him in on my turf. He kept tugging on my case. “Let go, please.”
“Are all American women so independent?” he said, teasing, but he didn’t let go.
“It’s in our DNA.”
He shook his head. “Scusa, but even if this is true, I can’t let you go. It’s against my Monterran code not to help a damsel in distress.” He smiled. “It’s in our DNA. Besides, you’re a guest in my country and must be treated accordingly.”
I bit my lip. I wanted to give in, but I couldn’t. Something about this independent streak I have makes me take a step back and not trust anyone. It comes from the fact I grew up always having to be the one who handled everything. Mom left us, Dad hit the bottle, and Emma cried herself to sleep at night. It always came down to me. You learn quickly not to depend on anyone but yourself.
So you can understand when I said, “I don’t need any help.”
“I must insist—”
“No—”
I should have seen it coming, not acted like I owned the moment because I didn’t. I was scared I’d never see Emma again and you have no idea what that did to my brain. I was totally freaked. Panic had set in and I wasn’t thinking straight. How could I with this Monterran superhero breathing hot and heavy in my face? I’d never seen such arm muscles on a man. A Greek sculpture couldn’t compete with this guy.
With a steely look in his eye that made my heart beat faster, he gave my suitcase a good, long tug and oh, God, did nightmares happen in the daytime? He tugged so hard, the cracked leather straps broke and my suitcase snapped opened and out spilled my costumes.
Everywhere.
Leotards covered with rhinestones, faux jewels and synthetic flowers, my flowing white satin cape, silks in a colorful palette of red, purple, and gold.
And a gold-beaded, purple bra.
With long, hanging pink fringe.
“You’re an artiste?” he asked, interest sparking in those eyes that set me back a step, then two. Hed bent down and picked up the bra, his very sexy lips curving into an amused smile when the pink fringe brushed his lips. I was a heartbeat away from passing out. A sudden thought hit my pleasure zone. Why did he have to have such a sexy, kissable mouth?
I moaned, he laughed, a full hearty laugh that would send shivers down any woman’s spine. Mine it sent oceans. He looked like a pirate examining his booty. I haven’t been this close to wetting my pants since third grade.
But I’m no pushover. I’ve learned to survive on the streets. I can handle myself in a bad situation. Discourage wandering hands on the El, outrun a mugger, and defend myself with a few well-placed kicks to the you-know-whats if I have to. But I never learned how to deal with a gorgeous man sniffing my beaded bra.
I wanted to die.
“I’m here to perform at the festival,” I stammered, loving how he said artist with his did-any-man-have-the-right-to-sound-that-sexy accent.
He smiled big and showed his teeth. White. Perfect. I expected no less. “Then we have something in common, signorina,” he said, “besides our mutual admiration of your undergarment.”
“Oh?” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“I’m also working at the event.”
“Really?” Not exactly sparkling dialogue on my part, but it gave me a moment to study him without being too obvious.
By the looks of his strong shoulders and muscular build, and sweaty T-shirt, I figured he must be on the crew setting up the tents at the festival grounds for the exhibits and performances. A wooded area “so beautiful and filled with poplar and tall oak trees,” according to the brochure the Monterran travel office sent me, “it hasn’t changed since the fifteenth century. Lacey green moss hanging from the trees and the bubbling sounds from the running brooks make you feel like you’re living in a beautiful dream.”
This guy was no dream. He was flesh and blood. I imagined him slinging a fifteen pound hammer, pounding stakes into the hard dirt, and I almost had a heart attack.
Who doesn’t love a man that strong?
“If you’ll hand me my bra—I mean, costume,” I stuttered, forcing myself to lower my eyes, “I’ll be on my way.” My cheeks flamed, but it was no worse than the shaky tremor in my voice. Gone was my bravado. I sounded like a squeaky kid asking for her bubble wand back.
“I don’t wish to embarrass you, signorina,” he said, “but I assure you it is my pleasure to assist you.”
What happened next no one would ever believe. I’m not sure I would, and I was there. This handsome Monterran turned around and stood guard while I carefully placed my silks and costumes back into my suitcase. I was grateful he kept curious onlookers from embarrassing me any more than I already was. The best part was, I got an outstanding view of his tight butt without him knowing it.
Could a girl ask for anything more?
“Grazie, signore,” I said, trying to speak his language. I work in a mama and papa pizza joint on the weekends. The free pizza feeds us when the bills pile up and I learned enough Italian to get by.
“Please,” he said, turning and smiling, “call me Ricco.”
“Ricco,” I said, liking the way it twirled on my tongue. It never occurred to me to tell him my name and he was too polite to ask. My mind was elsewhere. No more time to waste acting like a love struck teenager. Emma was missing for at least twenty minutes now. I was being stupid not to accept his help. I decided to take a chance and go for it. “There is something you could help me with.”
“Si?”
“It’s my sister. She’s missing.”
“What?” Ricco lost his smile. He looked shocked. “Here in the train station?”
“Yes. She wandered off and I can’t find her. I’m worried sick.” I didn’t try to hide my panic, my voice choking up.
“Ah, now I understand why you’re so upset, signorina.” He thought a moment. “I think I know where she might be.”
“You do?”
“Si, little girls often become enchanted with the play castle located in the garden outside the train station. I believe we may find her there.”
“Castle?”
“It’s a replica of the Monterra family castle. Allow me to show you, signorina.”
“Well…”
I snapped my old suitcase shut and tied the straps together the best I could. I wanted to go with him. Besides, I had no one else to ask for help. No one but the two of us stood on the platform.
I looked again at this gorgeous man. What was stopping me from going with him? Pride? Fear? Or my own stubbornness to become involved with anyone even for a little while?
I opted for the latter, but I had my reasons for flying solo.
Then again, Ricco was right. I was a guest in his country. It would be rude not to let him help me. Maybe he was part of the package deal. A knight in Monterran armor to make you believe you were part of the fairy tale. If so, I bought into it, hook, line, and sink me.
“Lead the way, Sir Galahad,” I said, all smiles.
His brow furrowed, like I’d hit a nerve. “You know who I am?”
“Of course. You’re the hero in the fairy tale.” I pointed to his T-shirt, Fairy Tales & Magic.
He smiled. “Then I shall do my best, signorina, not to disappoint you.”
What did he mean by that?
I didn’t know what to say. No snappy comeback, just a whole lot of sister angst, hoping he was right and we’d find Emma at the play castle. He picked up both suitcases and headed off with them. I followed close behind him, trying not to stare at his arm muscles bulging under the heavy luggage. He barely drew a breath. As if the two suitcases were filled with air, not everything two females could cram into them. A giddiness I never expected hit me. A strange sort of relief that I didn’t have to do this on my own. That we’d find Emma safe without me turning into a crazy person.
I stuffed my tough girl image into my back pocket and blew out the breath I’d been holding. I had no choice but to trust him.
I was either a fool.
Or Monterra was a magical place after all.