by Carol Grace
But there was someone out there who wanted the diamond as much as he did. Whether it was Giovanni or his assistant or his rival, it didn't matter. He had to call Silvestro. He had to stop giving in to his instincts and remember why he was here and why he couldn't trust her.
He walked past Ana Maria, picked up his clothes and told her he was taking his shower first. She blinked, bit her lip, then quickly arranged her face to hide whatever feelings she had. Shock, hurt, surprise, and maybe even anger. He couldn't blame her. He was hiding his true identity from her. But then, wasn't she hiding a diamond from him, hiding her relationship with Giovanni from him?
“Of course,” she said. “I'll get dressed. We don't want to be late for the crush.”
“Yes, the crush,” he said.
He called Silvestro from the bathroom.
“Where in God's name are you?” his boss asked.
“A small town. Does it matter?” he asked.
“Since you're supposed to be in Rome, yes.”
“I'm on my way to Rome.”
“How, by donkey? It's been many hours since I've heard from you.”
“I have everything under control. The woman, the diamond...everything.” Everything but his libido, everything but his lust.
“That's good to know. Because the word is that Giovanni is out of the loop. There's a new contact. An American.”
“My American?”
“Your American and another. They're working together.”
“What about Giovanni?” Marco asked.
“He's being squeezed out. He must be angry, and when he's angry he's dangerous.”
“He has a temper,” Marco said. Damn, if Ana Maria had really double-crossed Giovanni by giving him his yearbook with nothing but a note “Gotcha” inside, then he was after her now to get even and find the diamond. The diamond which Marco now believed was under that fake, cheap stone on her finger.
“She could be in danger,” Silvestro said. “But when you play with fire...”
“I'll make sure she gets to Rome in one piece with the stone,” Marco said. Remembering the second sense that told him somebody had tried to get into their room last night, he decided he shouldn't even take a shower without her. Which wasn't a bad idea. While Silvestro talked, he imagined standing in the small glassed-in stall with her. Her smooth, soapy hands on him. She'd lean against the wall, water cascading between her beautiful breasts. He'd kiss her while the water ran down her face. He'd taste her lips, her skin...Silvestro kept talking, but Marco's mind was somewhere else.
He heard himself say he'd be on his way immediately.
“Call me when you get there.”
Marco agreed and repeated that he'd keep Ana Maria in sight. But when he got back to the room, she was gone.
Chapter Fifteen
As Marco threw his clothes on, he called himself every name he could think of - scaricatore de porto, asshole, fool, and worse. He'd walked out on her after mind-blowing sex without a kind word, and what did he expect? Did he think she'd sit there waiting for him to come back and ignore her again? She had pride. She had guts. And she had no patience with him. The worst part was that he usually knew better than that. He knew women wanted pillow talk and he easily gave it to them. But Ana Maria was not his usual woman.
He ran down the stairs and out onto the street. He followed the crowd and the noise to the town square and the huge vats where the townspeople were stomping the grapes. The sun was bright, the air was full of cheering from the spectators and the earthy smell of ripe red grapes.
He scanned the crowd and finally he saw her in the center of one of the wooden vats. She was laughing and jumping up and down on the grapes in the middle of a noisy crowd. She was holding hands on both sides with men who looked like villagers, right out of a tourist's dream. His muscles tensed. She was so vulnerable. He should have been in there with her. He should have been stomping grapes and holding her hand. He should have been laughing with her. But he wasn't.
He smiled in spite of himself at her high spirits, picking out her laugh in the din, wishing he didn't have to take her away and put an end to her fun. What if she wouldn't come? What if she insisted on staying here, to flirt with the locals and go to Rome on the bus without him?
When she saw him, she stopped stomping and stared at him until he clenched his fists in frustration. Then she turned away, continued her work, and laughed even louder. She made it very clear she didn't need him to have a good time.
He left her there, went to the garage, and told them he had to have his car. They said the fuel pump hadn't arrived. He said he'd come back another day and get it, but he had a have a car now, any car. The best they could do was to rent him one of their old tow trucks.
“Will it get me to Rome?” he asked. He was in no position to bargain; he was also in no mood to take the bus.
“Certo, signore,” the owner said.
Marco held out his credit card, signed the papers, and went to find Ana Maria. She was still there, stomping and laughing. This time he walked up to the vat and called to her.
“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 t
hem. 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.
He had no idea what to expect today. He didn't want Ana
Maria to witness another fight between his sister and himself.
The nun who answered the bell gave them an angelic smile and told them she had a room for la signora, “con vista” - with a view of the surrounding hills. Marco carried Ana Maria's suitcase to the small, white-washed room with the narrow single bed and sink, and then they went up to the terrace. He knew he was postponing the inevitable meeting with his sister, but he wasn't ready. Maybe he'd never be ready. Maybe Giovanni had already been here. Marco could only guess at what mayhem he could have caused.
The terrace was empty. It was high above the chaos that was Rome. There were graceful cypress trees beneath them and the scent of pine in the air. Ana Maria leaned on the railing and smiled at him.
“It's wonderful. I want to see it all.”
“Marco.” He turned. So did Ana Maria. His sister was dressed in a plain gray dress, her hair pulled back behind her ears. She wore sturdy black shoes, but nothing could hide her natural beauty. Her dark curls escaped in tendrils from the scarf on her head, her dark eyes were luminous and shone with pleasure. The cold lump that was his heart softened.
When she smiled at him, he felt a huge surge of relief. Just one look and he could tell everything was fine, unless Giovanni had something to do with that smile. If he did, he'd have to kill him. She ran to him and hugged him tightly. Tears ran down her face.
“You came. Nonna said you would.”
“Of course I did. How are you, Bella?”
She held out her arms and stepped back. “As you see. Marco, you won't believe what has happened.” She peered over his shoulder. “You're not alone.”
“Ana Maria, I want you to meet my sister, Isabella.”
Ana Maria held out her hand, but Isabella ignored it and hugged her too. Then she stood back and looked her over.
“My clothes,” she said and laughed delightedly.