Five more days, bitch.
Alice glared at the text message and read it in silence twice before blinking. Somehow Buck got hold of her cell phone number. Creepy. Clenching her phone, she tried to swallow, but her tongue got stuck at the roof of her mouth.
“Everything okay?” Lorenzo, who sat across from her in the limo, asked when the vehicle stopped by the curb.
“Yeah.” She slapped on a smile. “Just a couple errands my mom has to run for me while I’m away.” Deleting the message, she slid the phone in her bag, unwilling to let Buck ruin her day. He would get his money in five days. And then, she would finally have peace of mind. Otherwise, she’d be the one with stress-related health problems instead of her mom.
The driver opened the door, and Alice slid out. Lorenzo exchanged a few words with him, and the nice man nodded, then vanished out of sight with the limo. They were in a narrow street surrounded by souvenir shops. Italian, Greek, and English dialogues swirled around them. Tourists snapped pictures and mused over the sights.
Upon hearing the romantic story she had fabricated like a pro, Viola had insisted Lorenzo show Alice the Blue Grotto. Why? she wondered. Probably because Viola bought the fairy tale and wanted them to have a good time on the island. Alice had picked up a slight hesitation on his part. Maybe the others hadn’t noticed it, but she had. Why would he bring her here to pretend to be his fiancée and not want to spend time with her? In the end, he’d agreed and accepted the ride to this place.
“Are we close?” she asked, twisting her hands together.
“We have to take a boat. Haven’t you heard about the Blue Grotto?”
“Yes.” She remembered the pocket guidebook she’d read on the airplane. “Why didn’t you want to take me? Were you afraid I was going to skinny-dip in front of all the tourists and cause an international scandal?”
Lorenzo frowned as he tried hard to keep a straight face, and then he burst into hearty laughter. A laughter that shed years from his face. A sound that made her lady parts roar.
“No.”
“You should thank me. I saved you over there, you know? I told a woman who’s bitter and heartbroken that there’s hope. There are still decent guys in the world,” she said, the pride evident in her voice. A sense of empowerment had washed over her when she had fabricated the story and gotten a beam of approval from Viola.
He shoved his hand in his hair. “I don’t know if that’s a bigger lie than us being engaged.”
“Are you serious? You’re a dude. You should be defending your own kind.”
“I was talking about me.”
“You’re not decent? I’ve seen you with Cara. That girl has you wrapped around her little finger.”
“My daughter is the only one I’m willing to sacrifice for,” he said firmly.
“Jeez. I bet you make your dates feel really special.” She quickened her pace to keep up with his powerful strides. A part of her begged to change the topic, but the part that always won…didn’t. “Besides, since when do you have to choose between being a decent parent or a boyfriend or husband material?”
“Since always. Isn’t that what you do? Choosing to care for your sister and sacrifice for her?”
“Yes, but she’s my family. I love her, and I can’t leave her alone.”
“No need to get defensive. Just an example that when emotions get involved, it’s hard to keep a distance. I guess you and I both already have our hands full with family commitments.”
They walked to the dock, where they got in a speedboat. Alice’s hair whipped about her head, and she spent much of the ride attempting to keep her hair from her face. An oversize straw hat would have been perfect. Maybe a hat could also help her divert her attention from him. She could use a distraction, too. God. The man was exquisite. There was no denying he was a jerk, but as the sun hit his features, a surge went through her. The speedboat pulled up alongside a small rowboat. “It’s to go in the grotto. The entrance is very narrow,” Lorenzo explained.
He stretched out his hand to help her get in the rowboat, and she took it. A tingly, delicious sensation teased her palm and shot up her arm.
“You can’t sit upright,” he whispered, and she leaned down. The boat inched toward the entrance of the cave, the rough surface a hair over her forehead. Her back rubbed against his chest, and she quivered. “Cold?”
“Just worried something will poke me.”
“Nothing will poke you…unless you want it to.”
Huh? Mr. B, Lorenzo Baldi being cute? Better not give it much thought. Rays of sunlight shone through the small underwater cavity they had just slid passed, casting a brilliant blue reflection that illuminated the entire cavern.
“Gorgeous,” she managed to push past her lips.
The guide said a few things in Italian, to which Lorenzo only nodded.
“Touch the water.”
Leaning over the boat, she dunked her hand in the cold water, and when she removed it, a shade of blue glowed on her fingers. Entranced, she moved and flexed her fingers. “Wow.”
He immersed his hand and lifted it so it was a couple inches from hers. The slight tremble of his fingers didn’t go unnoticed, and she doubted it had anything to do with the temperature. She parted her lips, and when her eyes found his, a jade light flickered.
The inside shudder would have made her lose her balance if she weren’t already sitting. She moved on the wood bench and, restless, closed the gap between their hands and felt his hot palm plastered against her flesh.
Move your hand. She wished she could speak her mind, but as she raised her eyes to his, she wasn’t sure if that would be a message for her or for him.
He clamped his lips shut, closed his eyes, and threw his head back as if he were wrestling an invisible demon. A tingle shot up her arm, prickling her skin. Her stomach was like a hot-air balloon. If she knew better, she’d edge away from him. Slowly. Yank her hand away and say something superfluous to erase the air stolen from her lungs. Yes, that was her plan.
She motioned to move her fingers, but he outsmarted her and intertwined his fingers with hers, his grip firm, his skin hot. He snatched her to him and captured her lips with his.
She granted him full access, and his tongue slipped inside her mouth, sweeping through hers in relentless pursuit, exploring her dark recesses as his grip on her tightened and threatened to burst the balloon in her stomach. A current of electricity coursed through her, charging her from scalp to toes. The kiss intensified, his mouth searching, claiming hers. Never in her whole life had she experienced a kiss so…thrilling. Addictive. Perfect.
He cupped her neck, rubbing his thumb on her sensitive skin. A trail of goose bumps rose on her flesh, and she pressed her legs together, the pulse of her damp sex growing faster. Stronger.
Even in her most creative fantasies involving Lorenzo, he hadn’t been such an amazing kisser. Reality beat anything she’d imagined. Reality was—
“Signore.” The voice from the tour guide was like a whisper from faraway elevator music. Their kiss slowed, and the young man produced a sound that blended an intended cough with a chuckle. “Signore,” he repeated, and went on to say a couple things in Italian.
Lorenzo slid his hand off her neck, and a draft of cold claimed her. Or maybe it was just her embarrassment speaking. The end of the kiss hit her hard, her lips still tender and searching for his. He gave her a glance before sighing.
Wow. What was she thinking? Having a planet-size crush on him was one thing, but acting on it was insane. Casual flings suited her because they provided a temporary sense of freedom and control, with a break from having to babysit not just Cara, but her family members, too. The affairs also ended quickly and, besides the one involving Joshua, where she got too involved and tried to break the mold, most of them were problem free.
If she answered to the urges her sex was shamelessly darting at her…all would change. How would she be able to pretend none of this ever happened? God. She lifted her hand and
covered her mouth, trying to keep from voicing her fears. If they addressed that sexual tension, their relationship would shift for sure. Never mind the fact that there was no way she would be able to act normally around him; she didn’t think she could keep a sexual relationship with him casual.
She would be vulnerable, and her family would be the ones to pay—again. She could find herself jobless and her sister once again without health insurance.
“Alice,” Lorenzo whispered. “You have to lean back again.”
Oh. She blinked and realized the boat was close to the entryway. Maybe that was what the tour guide was telling them. Lorenzo bent back so she could do the same, but this time when her back joined his chest, her pulse raced. A cold sheen of sweat slicked her forehead.
The bright skies and blinding sun greeted her as they left the cave. She tugged on the hem of her shirt, searching for protection against herself and what she really wanted. “Wow. What was that back there, huh?” she said.
The tip of his lips curved into a hint of a smile, and he stared at her. She swallowed hard and tried to yank her attention away from his sexy mouth and up to his eyes. Shudder. Bad idea. The green emeralds darkened, and flickers of gold glowed in his irises.
She cleared her throbbing throat.
“I stepped way over the line, Alice. I apologize.” His lips thinned, the smile gone, and he looked ahead. The drumming of his feet on the boat betrayed his casual tone. “What happened…that wasn’t me.” He slipped to the edge of the bench, his weight almost tipping the boat to one side.
“Don’t sweat it, Mr. B.” She waved it off and hoped he didn’t notice that her hand trembled. “When in Rome, right?” She winked at him, then shifted on the bench and crossed her legs. That wasn’t him back there. But nothing had ever made her feel quite like herself as that insane kiss—a truth she would have to bury, for everyone’s sake.
Chapter Four
“Coffee will be served in the drawing room,” Rogerio announced with the reverence of a political news insider. The dozen guests occupying the long table nodded and, without making much fuss, pushed their chairs back and got to their feet. Viola murmured something, and a couple of them laughed.
Lorenzo offered his hand to help Alice out of her chair, but before his fingers reached hers, she managed to do it on her own. Since that boat ride a few hours ago, things had changed between them. An invisible armor of protection shielded her from saying the things he thought she would usually say.
Her outfit didn’t have the crystals or beads adorning the clothes of the other women at the dinner party. Instead, the flow of the matte black fabric seduced him as it draped over one shoulder, cascading down her body and hinting at all the curves, the roundness of flesh the other women probably fought hard to conceal.
His libido stirred, and he inwardly cursed the bad timing. Not that there could be good timing when it came to Alice. What had gotten into him? To give in to temptation and kiss her? She was off-limits. Why was it so hard to follow that simple rule?
As they headed to the living room, a neutral smile formed on her lips. A smile as fake and calculated as Joan Smythe’s breasts. They all sat on the buttery leather sofas, while Rogerio rolled in a cart filled with a variety of biscuits and coffees, port wine, and brandy.
“Lorenzo, you are incredibly successful. I’m surprised such an unknown artist sparked so much interest in you. Do you care to share why?” Viola asked before she lifted the port wine to her lips.
Paul leaned forward on the seat, his lips thinning into a smile. Of course Mr. Pretty Boy would pay close attention to the conversation. Lorenzo just hoped that’s all he did.
“Ever since I saw them at your ex-husband’s place, I just knew I had to have them.”
“To sell them, naturally.” Paul stirred a small silver spoon inside the steamy cup of espresso that the butler had just served. “Maybe to Carlo?” Paul added, with a chuckle.
“Only if he wants to drop from the race.” Viola’s cautionary tone reminded him of her non-negotiable rule. The buyer was forbidden to sell the paintings back to her ex-husband.
Lorenzo tugged at his collar. Alice sat next to him, maintaining the same semi-distant facade she had in place since the damn kiss. Shit. If she continued like this, the other guests would become suspicious, and then what? What if they found out their relationship was a sham? That the nanny blackmailed him to get money for God knew what? How could Viola trust him enough to do business with him? “No. I’d like to keep them.”
“Interesting. Why?” Viola set her glass of port wine on the coffee table.
“I believe some things should be kept and not sold.”
“If Viola followed this train of thought, she wouldn’t sell you the art,” Paul said, with a light chuckle at the end. His wife, Joan, gave him a pat on his knee, obviously egging him on. Lorenzo balled his fingers into a fist. Maybe he had underrated his opponent. Whatever. Paul was good, but he was better.
“That’s different. I fell in love with the art, and I’m interested in paying for it. She wants to get rid of the memories of who it came from.”
“Fell in love with it? Never took you for a romantic, Baldi.” Paul winked at him.
“You would be surprised,” Alice said, her amused tone slicing through the tension.
Lorenzo fought the hot wave claiming his cheeks. This couldn’t be happening. When was the last time he blushed? Never. The memory of the kiss, his tongue melding with hers, the erotic sensation surging in him, flashed across his memory again, and he caught himself tapping his foot on the floor, restless. He needed to distance himself from that image, and worse, from her.
She assessed him, her eyes twinkling. What the hell am I doing? Did she remember it, too? The black dress she had on was a tad more discreet compared to the other colorful outfits he had seen her wearing. Discreet maybe, but not less sexy.
“We are discovering all kinds of little secrets tonight, aren’t we?” Viola said.
Alice leaned toward the coffee table to reach for her wine, and his eyes followed her movement. When she sat back and squared her shoulders, she darted him a glance, and he swallowed. Hard.
Viola turned to him. “So tell me, Lorenzo, do you live in Austin full-time? I would imagine Chicago or New York would be more appealing to an art dealer such as yourself.”
“True. After my wife died, I decided to stay in Austin because I didn’t want to add more stress to my daughter, Cara,” he said truthfully. “I travel to New York City often, and have bought a duplex there recently. In a matter of weeks we should be moving permanently.”
The crash of a glass hitting the ground distracted him. Alice cleared her throat, bending down to pick up the pieces of glass. “Crap. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, my dear. These things happen,” Viola said in the type of voice one used to soothe babies. “Rogerio. Per favore.” With a swirl of her fingers, she called the butler, who dashed to the area and gestured for Alice to stand back.
Lorenzo strolled to her side and squeezed her shoulder. “Yes.” The contact of his fingers with her soft skin was too good, and his hand loitered, making tiny abstract patterns under her hair. The flush on her face got redder, and she widened her eyes.
Viola changed the subject, delving into politics, and the guests followed her cue. Lorenzo watched Alice’s profile. Yeah, he hadn’t talked to her about his plans, but she’d agree, wouldn’t she? After all, it’s not like she was married and had small kids in Austin. She would probably love the idea of living in the big city for a while, and she would be the perfect solution for his problem. Besides, what single, unattached woman in her twenties wouldn’t want to live in New York City and discover all that the Big Apple had to offer?
When the others started retreating to their rooms an hour later, he decided it was time to talk to Alice. Ever since the kiss, she had been fidgety, and that wouldn’t do him any good. Before she reached the curved stairs, he nudged her elbow and ushered her outside. “Let’
s talk,” he whispered.
“All right.” She followed him in silence, which was not like her. Was she mad at him? Either way, outdoors would be a much safer place to set things straight than in their room—as spacious as it was, it was all too intimate now. The image of the big bed wasn’t lowering his blood pressure.
They strode through the manicured gardens. When they reached the wooden stairs leading to the beach, Alice removed her shoes and carried the pair in one hand while the other lifted the hem of her black dress.
With each step she descended, her hips swayed, the tips of her hair dangling from her shoulders, and he watched, attuned to every detail. He touched his lips, but besides dryness, there was nothing left from the kiss that afternoon. The memories, which swayed back and forth in his mind like a pendulum, had to suffice.
By the time they reached the beach, a line of sweat beaded his brows, and he undid two buttons to ventilate the scorching heat sweeping over his body.
She let the shoes slide from her fingers and fall to the sand. With her hands perched on her waist, she faced him. “What do you want to talk about?”
“What’s wrong?”
She sighed and dropped her hands to her sides. “You should have told me you were going to lie to them about going to New York. That way I wouldn’t have made a fool out of myself.”
Why did that matter? He shrugged. “I wasn’t lying.”
Her eyes widened. “Say what?”
It was his turn to sigh. “Why so surprised? It makes sense. I was going to tell you. I was hoping you’d come with me. It would be just like it is now, with Cara, but in another city.”
“Really?”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yes. I can only do what I do because of you.”
For a moment, she stared at him in silence. With arms folded on her chest, she didn’t seem the least bit interested in going anywhere with him. “Thanks, Mr. B, but I can’t go with you to New York.”
A Weekend of Misbehaving Page 5