RACHEL SET HER half-empty flute down and walked away. She’d only had a couple of sips but the wine was going to her head, making her emotional, which of course didn’t make it easier to think.
It was also easier to be logical when she wasn’t standing close to Giovanni. He was too beautiful, too much like a model she might have admired in the pages of a glossy magazine with his high cheekbones and strong chin and firm mouth that kissed far too well. He had a face that made her melt, but unlike Antonio who was laid-back and friendly, Giovanni was hard and reserved. Shuttered. He exuded intensity, confidence and power, things she could handle when sitting at a conference table or on the phone in a long-distance call, but not close to her, not when Giovanni made the power feel physical, masculine, sensual.
Even now, standing across the room, she could still feel him, his energy hot and simmering, electrifying the room. Electrifying her.
She didn’t think she’d ever met a man who’d filled a room the way he did, owning the air and space, swallowing all the oxygen so that she couldn’t breathe.
Most troubling of all was that a small part of her had almost enjoyed the intensity, and that same part of her was humming with awareness. She’d never admit it to anyone but she’d been drawn to his energy and the shimmering heat surrounding him—even though the heat and energy could obliterate her.
Her brain was warning her off, telling her that he was too much for her. Too hard, too confident, too dangerous. Her practical side understood that he didn’t care for her, and that he wouldn’t protect her, that nothing good would come of allowing herself to be intrigued by him.
But she was already intrigued. She was fascinated and curious and drawn to him...
Standing next to him moments ago, she wanted him to touch her again. She’d wanted him to reach for her and cover her mouth with his and make her feel what she’d felt earlier.
If that wasn’t crazy, she didn’t know what was.
No, crazy was the fact that she didn’t like him, or admire him, and yet she still wanted him to touch her again. She wanted to feel more. Even now, with sofas and tables and armchairs between them, she was still responding to him, the very thought of him kissing her again making her shiver inwardly, making her ache.
“Why do you want the paparazzi to think the baby is ours?” she asked, her voice low and husky.
“It’s simpler.”
“It’s actually not. It is going to be far more work trying to convince people that we were a couple and we had a baby—”
“They already believe it.”
“But I don’t like that story!” Heat rushed through her, the heat so strong that her skin prickled and burned.
“I don’t like it, either, but given our choices, it’s the better one.”
“Why? How?”
“This version deflects attention away from Antonio and Juliet. We can protect and preserve their memory, allowing the mistakes of the past to fade—”
“Antonio and Juliet had a baby. Why is that such a travesty?”
“They weren’t married, or even serious. It was a brief affair, a sexual fling—”
“I disagree. Juliet loved your brother, deeply.”
“I’m sure she wanted to be convincing.”
“She really did care, Giovanni.”
He shrugged. “Maybe as much as she could care, but either way, she was ultimately selfish and destructive and not someone I want associated with my family.”
Rachel recoiled. “That is incredibly harsh,” she breathed, putting a hand to her middle, trying to calm herself, not easy when her stomach did wild flips. Juliet hadn’t been an angel. She didn’t have many altruistic bones in her body, and yet she wasn’t the devil incarnate. She’d been complicated and had had aspirations—aspirations Rachel didn’t understand—but when all was said and done, she was her sister, her younger sister, and it was painful to hear Giovanni’s brutal denouncement. “You met her then?” she asked.
“No. But I know a great deal about her, and women like her.”
His scathing tone made her see red. Her chin jerked up. “Juliet loved him—”
“There was no love. I can promise you that.” Gio’s light blue eyes narrowed, his full mouth firming. He looked hard and darkly handsome, arrogant and utterly unapproachable. “Your sister saw her opportunity to make a fortune and took advantage of the situation.”
“I am absolutely certain Juliet didn’t know he was ill. I didn’t know he was ill, and I was the one that introduced them.”
“You’re responsible.”
She thought for a moment he was joking, or teasing, but there was no softening of his features, or flicker of warmth in his eyes. “Do you need to blame someone? If so, yes, blame me. It’s all my fault. I did it. The love affair, the pregnancy, the tragic loss of two beautiful people—”
“You’re not helping.”
“I’m not helping? What about you? Have you no responsibility at all, to anything other than your business, and your name, and protecting your brand? You say my sister was selfish—well, you are every bit as calculating and self-serving. It’s a shame you didn’t meet her. You and Juliet would have been a perfect match!”
“You are not that innocent, Rachel. You have played a significant part in this drama.”
“Did I? How fascinating.”
“I’d use the word despicable, rather than fascinating, and it makes me wonder how many other men did you introduce her to? How many of your clients did she date?”
“That has no bearing on Juliet and Antonio’s relationship.”
“I think it does. You were her matchmaker, weren’t you? You’d introduce her to your wealthy clients, helping her to land a rich husband.”
“I never played matchmaker. Not once. Antonio and Juliet met because your brother and I were out discussing the plane delivery schedule over a drink and she walked in, and so yes, I introduced them, but it wasn’t planned.”
“So she never dated any other of your clients? And think carefully about your answer, as your credibility is on the line. You weren’t the only one to hire a private investigator. I know all about her dating history.”
Rachel drew a rough breath, shaken. “What do you mean?”
“She’d been on the hunt for a rich man for years, and she used you fairly frequently for introductions—”
“It may have happened once or twice, but it was by chance. I never set out to introduce her to any of my customers. It was always by accident.”
“You expect me to believe that?” He crossed the room, closing the distance in long livid strides. “Come on. Be serious. Tell me how it really worked. Did you get a percentage? Were you ever offered a piece of the action?”
She backed up into a bookshelf, and then could go no farther. “How can you say such a thing? What is wrong with you?”
“It struck me just now that you are part of the game. I suspected it—”
“You’re wrong. I’m not playing a game. There is no game. There is just a baby boy that needs our help.” She drew a short sharp breath, face hot, her heart hammering so hard she felt like throwing up. He was awful. Beyond awful. “Good night,” she choked, putting down her glass and racing from the room to climb the white Carrera marble stairs as quickly as she could.
She heard Gio’s oath as he followed.
She ran faster, but his legs were longer and he reached her just before she reached the next floor, his hand circling her wrist, stopping her progress. She teetered on her heels.
He put his hand on her waist, turning her around. “Where are you going? What are you doing?” he growled.
She was out of breath and close to tears. “I’m not going to stand there and listen to you make ugly accusations. You have a twisted view of the world, and I refuse to be dragged into—”
His head dropped, his mouth covering hers, silencing the words. She stiffened, but he pulled her closer. Her lips parted to protest and she tasted the warm sweet wine on his breath and could smell his fragrance and the mixture was delicious. He smelled delicious.
Funny how she disliked Giovanni so much and yet she loved his kisses...
He made her feel beautiful and desirable, and in his arms, with his mouth on hers, his body pressed against her, she felt wonderfully alive. Almost too alive. Fire streaked through her veins, making her hum.
She’d always felt this way on the inside, deep down, but no one had ever brought it out in her, or seen her as anything but practical and pragmatic. And cold.
But she wasn’t cold. Her feelings were strong and they went so deep. She’d spent her life trying to hide the intensity of those emotions, but Giovanni had somehow discovered them and he knew just how to use them against her.
She didn’t know if he felt her shudder, but he drew her even closer, his lips parting hers, his tongue caressing the softness of her lower lip, and then stroking deeper, sweeping her mouth, electrifying her nerve endings, making them dance.
Was it terrible that she liked the way he touched her? That she welcomed his arm around her waist and his hand sliding low on her hip?
She welcomed the crush of his chest and the sinewy strength of his legs. He was hard and commanding, and nothing had ever felt so exciting, or quite so right.
No kiss had ever felt so good. She felt good. Brilliant, and beautiful, and fiercely alive, tingling everywhere. It wasn’t real; it couldn’t be real. Men loved Juliet, not her. Juliet fascinated men with her physical perfection. And Rachel was so far from perfect...
The thought stopped her, ending the magic, reminding her of who she was, and who he was, and why he was here.
She pulled back, breathing heavily, body still exquisitely sensitive, to look up at Gio. “We shouldn’t do this.” She struggled to speak, her voice low and hoarse. “It won’t help.”
He stared down at her, his brilliant eyes studying her intently, taking in every inch of her face before reaching out to trace one of her eyebrows and then the other. “Bella donna.”
She blinked, unable to think of anything but the stroke of his finger along the arch of her brow. It felt good to be touched. Everything inside her was warm and aching, tingling with need. She’d forgotten that she could feel need. And desire.
Maybe that’s why the desire was so strong. Maybe she’d gone too long without feeling anything, and now she was feeling, and it was intense. Her entire body trembled. Her lashes closed as he caressed her jaw, his thumb stroking along the jawbone and then over the fullness of her mouth. Waves of pleasure rippled through her and she couldn’t suppress the shudders. It was embarrassing, feeling so much, wanting to be kissed and touched and pleasured.
She swallowed hard and opened her eyes, her gaze locking with Gio’s. His eyes were hot, bright, and the intensity in the depths burned her. He wanted her, too.
It was a heady realization and it rocked her, bumping up against her confidence, or lack of. She could maybe pass as a decent kisser but she wasn’t experienced, and she didn’t have the first idea how to please a man.
Furthermore, she shouldn’t be thinking of how to please a man if that man was Michael’s uncle, billionaire Giovanni Marcello.
“We’ll both regret this tomorrow,” she said, keeping a hand on his arm because she didn’t trust her legs, or her balance. “It’ll make the discussions more difficult.”
“You were the one that said it would be better if we liked each other.”
“I didn’t mean physically.”
“You can love a child, and still be a beautiful woman.”
“I don’t have affairs and flings, Gio. I’m not looking for a relationship, either.”
“But you don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Heavens, no,” she choked, face hot. “I’d never kiss you if I did, and I haven’t had a relationship in years.” It was more than that. She hadn’t ever had a serious boyfriend or a first lover, but she wouldn’t confess the entire truth. It’d be too mortifying if he knew.
“Why not?”
“For the same reason you prefer to live here, instead of Rome. I’m a solitary creature. I like my space.”
“Even though I barely know you, I have to say I don’t believe you.” He ran a fingertip over her cheekbone and then around her ear. “You strike me as someone who very much needs people. Provided they are the right people.”
She was lost, looking into his eyes. He was right. She did need people, good people. It was hard being responsible for everyone and everything. Hard having to be the grown-up, from a very young age. But she’d rather be the grown-up and do the right thing, than be impulsive and hurt Michael and the need for stability in his future. “I agree with you,” she said, drawing away. “But I also know that you aren’t one of those people for me.”
He gave her a look she couldn’t decipher. “I’m not in the habit of arguing with women.”
“Good.”
“But I’m going to prove you wrong.”
Her heart did a funny little flutter that made her breathless and hurt all at the same time. “Please don’t. I’m only here for a few days. Let’s focus on Michael. He’s what’s important.” She climbed one step and then another until she reached the landing, and then paused to look down at Giovanni. Her heart did another painful beat. “Tomorrow let’s sort this out for his sake, please. I need to return to Seattle.”
“Is that the best thing for Michael? Or the best thing for you?”
She frowned. “It’s the best thing for both of us.”
“I’m not sure anymore that it is.”
Her heart fell. She was right. He was changing his mind. He wanted Michael to stay here. He wanted Michael in Venice. Her eyes stung and her throat ached.
Before she broke down in tears, or said something she’d regret, Rachel fled.
* * *
Gio stood on the marble stair and watched Rachel disappear down the hallway, her footsteps practically flying in her need to escape.
He exhaled shortly. Tonight had not gone as planned, and what had taken place in the library, that was wrong. He knew he was at fault, too. The entire scene weighed on him. His stomach felt like he’d been chewing on rocks and glass.
He didn’t understand how he’d lost control of the situation so fast, and so completely. One minute they were discussing the newspaper headlines, and the next they were battling about ambitious Juliet whom Giovanni loathed, and then somehow Rachel was part of the fight and at the receiving end of his frustration and fury.
He didn’t actually believe Rachel was Juliet’s matchmaker, and he certainly didn’t think she’d benefited in any way from Juliet’s schemes, but Juliet was as amoral as they came. To pursue a dying man? To deliberately get pregnant, not caring that you were creating a life where the child would never know his or her own father?
Gio was far from perfect. As Rachel had said, he was driven and ambitious, but there had to be a line one didn’t cross. Juliet had no such scruples, and she’d needlessly complicated Antonio’s final year, creating pain not just for Antonio, but the whole family.
But tonight his frustration wasn’t with Juliet. It was with himself.
Why was he so intent on provoking Rachel? Why did he want to test her, tease her, draw a response from her?
What did he want from her?
But that was actually easy. What didn’t he want from her?
She’d woken him, and the desire consumed him. It had been far too long since he’d felt emotion, or hunger, and he felt both now.
He wanted her. And he would have her.