Your Scheming Heart

by Kress, Alyssa

  "A cage." Francesca's nostrils flared alarmingly. "This is what you are going to call it in your magazine article? No! You are not going to write about my house, at all, are you? Idiota!"

  Sabrina wasn't sure who Francesca thought was the idiot, Sabrina or herself. In any case, the older woman gestured wildly. "You must leave now. I give you enough for your article."

  But she couldn't leave yet, not if Vincenzo hadn't had enough time to switch the paintings. To make matters worse, Francesca began to stalk back toward the house. If Vincenzo were still occupied in the storage room, he'd be plainly visible to her once she got back to the courtyard.

  "No, really," Sabrina claimed frantically, following after the woman. "We're writing about your house."

  Meanwhile Francesca was heading straight for the courtyard, and Vincenzo.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  With her heart pounding, Sabrina ran after the woman. But short of tackling her, she didn't know what she could do.

  She was about to scream, hurtle herself to the ground, anything to create a diversion, when Sabrina saw Vincenzo himself standing outside in the courtyard. His camera bag was slung over his shoulder and a suspicious glint was in his eye.

  Sabrina recognized the triumphant gleam of a successful hunter.

  Relief nearly brought her to her knees. He was safe...at least from immediate apprehension. But she still had to get him out of the country. Him and that damn painting of his.

  "Out," Francesca ordered.

  Vincenzo's underlying smile wavered.

  "We're on our way." Sabrina linked arms with him. "Come on, Nick. We just outstayed our welcome."

  "Indeed," Vincenzo muttered dryly. His smile returned.

  "Let's go," Sabrina ordered, wanting him gone before he broke into hard-to-explain hilarity. She steered him back into the house through the French doors.

  "Out!" Francesca thundered.

  "Not a moment too soon," Sabrina muttered, hustling them through the living room.

  They left together through the front door before Francesca could order their exit once again.

  An excited energy sizzled around Vincenzo as they hurried toward the rental car. "I'll take the keys." He threw his camera bag with surprising negligence into the back seat of the car, then slammed the door and looked over at her. A potent male force pulsed off him as he approached Sabrina and reached for her purse.

  "I don't think you should be driving...in your condition," Sabrina cautiously pronounced.

  Vincenzo merely smiled and extracted the car keys from her purse.

  Sabrina had been right. He was in no condition to drive. As soon as they exited the front gate, he began to accelerate. He moved up to a wild, celebratory speed, saying nothing, but grinning widely. Then, just as suddenly, he slowed, pulling dizzily off the road to a stop.

  "What are you—? Oh—!" Sabrina exclaimed, as he leaned across the gearshift to kiss her. It was a rough, exuberant kiss, hard and possessive.

  "Now I know why you do this," Vincenzo declared, releasing her. He laughed. "So exciting!"

  "You nearly got caught." And she'd nearly had a heart attack. Sabrina gave him a sidelong glance as he pulled the car out of the weeds and onto the pavement again. "You did make the switch, didn't you?"

  His teeth showed happily. "I did."

  "It's not over yet," Sabrina grumbled. Her fingers gripped the dashboard as he went barrelling much too fast down the narrow country road. "We have to cover our tracks."

  She didn't add that they needed to make sure Vincenzo got on a plane before Lise and Darrel figured out he had the painting. Why get into that? Sabrina had it all worked out. Once Vincenzo was in the air, Lise couldn't steal his painting from him. Thanks to the Swiss bank account, Sabrina would be able to pacify Lise for that loss. They'd all end up smelling like roses.

  Well, okay, sure, Sabrina's goal of revenge against the Castlewrights would be put at risk. By giving Lise her condotierre money, Sabrina was trusting rich guy Sylvio to come through with the two hundred and fifty grand he'd promised her for sending Vincenzo home within the week. But the risk was worth the gain. Vincenzo would be safe and Sabrina's conscience would be clear.

  "We need to go back to our hotel," Sabrina instructed Vincenzo. "Very formally check out, as if we have nothing to hide."

  "Naturalmente. Whatever you say, Sabrina."

  Whatever she said. Sabrina felt yet an access of completely inappropriate sorrow. What she proposed was only logical. In less than an hour she'd be bidding Vincenzo goodbye...forever.

  Meanwhile, there was a peculiar smile on Vincenzo's face. "Bene," he said. "We go back to our rooms at the hotel."

  ~~~

  Vincenzo picked the very worst time to lose his compliant attitude. Just when Sabrina needed him to get up and go, he decided to dally.

  "I would like to shave before we pack," he remarked as they walked into their connecting hotel rooms. He dropped the camera bag by the wall of Sabrina's room in a surprisingly cavalier manner and rubbed his stubbled chin. "It hasn't been easy living with this."

  "You don't have time," Sabrina told him, following as he walked through the connecting door to his own room. Couldn't he get it through his head? "You're a criminal now, Vince."

  He shrugged, at the same time unbuttoning his shirt. "There can be no danger so soon. Mrs. Miller may never notice her painting has been switched—and certainly not before she tries to sell it, which will not be this afternoon."

  Watching in frustration as he peeled off his shirt, Sabrina could think of no good reason to argue that they both had to skedaddle without delay.

  Shooting her a glance, Vincenzo's lips curved dangerously. "Perhaps you would like to shower with me, amante, hm?"

  "What?"

  He swaggered toward her. "I would enjoy that very much. Maybe I could even see that you enjoy it, too, eh, tesoro?"

  Sabrina was quite sure he would see that she enjoyed it, too. The man was a master with his hands—hands that were even now catching her around the waist, pulling her toward him.

  With her hips held against his, he brushed a kiss under her ear.

  That soft little kiss sprang like wildfire through her veins. "Vince..." They couldn't do this, he had to leave... At the same time she was going through this analysis, though, Sabrina finally admitted why she couldn't explain to Vincenzo exactly why they were in a hurry. She didn't want to admit to him her original plan to betray him. She certainly didn't want to admit it when he was pressing kisses down the line of her jaw, trailing a line of desire in their wake.

  "Sabrina." With a light nip on the side of her chin, he pulled back enough to look down at her. His eyes were dark fire. "Let us both take off all our clothes," he whispered.

  A broken laugh escaped her. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you meant to seduce me."

  He didn't say anything then, just kept looking at her.

  That's when realization hit Sabrina, like a tidal wave. The painting. Vincenzo had his painting. He'd fulfilled his duty, done what the Madonna had asked of him, and now—

  Now he really did intend to seduce her. All the way. Finally.

  The look in Vincenzo's eyes burned Sabrina all the way to her center. They could do this, she could have him—at least once.

  But Darrel had to be close by. She and Vincenzo had been staying at this hotel for six days; Lise's guard dog must have found them by now. If Sabrina wanted Vincenzo to keep the painting, she had to get him out of here, pronto.

  Smiling, but with her heart pounding, she lowered her eyes. "Ah, so that's the idea." She pressed her palms to his chest, but closed herself away from the enjoyment the touch gave her. "You take your own shower, Vince. I'll, ah, get ready out here." While he was in the shower, she'd pack his clothes and call a cab. By the time he got out, it'd be a done deal.

  It was just as well they never taste this particular fruit, not if it had to be the last taste.

  "Shy, amante?" He brushed his finger over her chee
k with a smile. "Very well. I will shower by myself."

  Sabrina suppressed her sigh of relief until the bathroom door closed after Vincenzo. Then she got to work. Hurrying furiously, she lugged his suitcase out of the closet and threw it on the bed. She whirled toward the dresser and jerked open the top drawer.

  Vincenzo wouldn't be happy with the way she was mauling his designer clothes, nor would he be pleased she was going to haul him down to the lobby instead of into bed. But at least he'd be safe. His painting would be safe.

  She was in the process of stuffing a silk shirt under his alpaca sweater when a furtive sound filtered through the open connecting door to the next room.

  Sabrina froze. Someone was in there. She had a bad feeling it wasn't the maid.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Frozen, with her hands full of Vincenzo's fancy clothes, Sabrina strained to hear what was going on in the next room. Through the open connecting door came the sound of a heavy footfall, then the slide of a closet door.

  This was definitely not a maid.

  Silently, Sabrina cursed herself, even as she moved as quietly as possible to look into the room.

  Just as she'd feared, Darrel was in there. He was wearing a too-tight T-shirt and dark jeans, quietly taking the place apart. Just then he was squatting beside the bed, peering under the mattress.

  Everything would be okay, Sabrina assured herself, trying in vain to quell her panic. She had all the numbers to the Swiss bank account now. With that money she could fix this, make sure Vincenzo kept his painting. Stepping inside, she quietly closed the door between the two rooms behind her.

  Hearing the click of the door, Darrel looked up. A wide grin immediately spread over his face. "Well, well, well." His gaze took in the dress Vincenzo had mussed a minute before. "This is a pleasure."

  "I want a meeting with Lise," Sabrina declared, ignoring his leer. "I have a new bargain to propose."

  "Yeah?"

  "I'm willing to pay her a considerable sum," Sabrina went on, determined to keep her calm. "But the mark keeps the painting."

  On his haunches, Darrel sneered.

  "You'd better tell Lise," Sabrina warned. "Or she won't be happy."

  "You have the painting, then," Darrel guessed. His gaze swept the room. "Where is it?"

  Before Sabrina could recover from her gaffe, Darrel had spotted the camera bag. With the instinct of a longtime bully, he gave a small laugh and leapt for it.

  In horror, Sabrina watched him throw the bag on the bed and pull open the zipper.

  "Aha!" he exclaimed triumphantly, and drew out the rolled-up painting. "Look what I found."

  "You can't take it!" Sabrina stepped forward.

  Darrel turned to look at her, his gaze speculative. "This painting must be worth more than you originally thought."

  Sabrina forced herself to stop and look calm. Crossing her arms over her chest, she said, "Tell Lise I'll pay her a hundred thou for the painting."

  Slowly, Darrel straightened. "I'm gettin' mighty interested." His eyes turned hard. "In just how much this thing is worth to you."

  Bile rose in Sabrina's throat. "Just tell Lise, Darrel."

  "Maybe I don't have to tell her anything." Tossing the painting onto the bed, Darrel began to stalk Sabrina. "Maybe you and I can work out a deal, just between the two of us right here."

  "You can't work a deal without Lise." Sabrina shrank backward as he approached.

  "Why not?" he smiled crookedly. "I have before."

  "That's a stupid idea." Sabrina winced as she hit a wall behind her.

  "What happened, Sabrina? Get too chummy with the mark?" Darrel tsked. "This guy must be a magician. I've never seen you like this." With one arm he caged her against the wall. His eyes ogled her breasts beneath the new wool dress. "No, I've never seen you like this," he repeated, throaty.

  This was her own fault. Sabrina knew that. She also knew that she might get a surprise jab at him, but it wouldn't gain her enough time to escape completely. Nor would she save the painting.

  But it was worth a try. She gathered herself even as Darrel bent his greedy head forward. She'd send knee up between his legs. That ought to buy her a second. Still, she tensed against his certain retribution.

  It never happened.

  With the sound of a quiet little click, Darrel stopped dead. The eyes that had been half-closed in triumph opened wide in terror. "Sabrina?" Darrel whispered.

  It took her a moment to realize what had stopped him. A wicked looking switchblade rested against his neck, right next to the jugular vein.

  The blade was held with stunning competence by Vincenzo, who had his other arm under Darrel's chin. With a face of hardened steel, Vincenzo released a scary-soft stream of threats in Italian.

  Sabrina could only stand stock still, amazed.

  "Sabrina?" Darrel choked. "J—just how crazy is he?"

  "Very crazy," Vincenzo interrupted himself to reply.

  Darrel squeezed his eyes shut as the knife edged closer against his skin.

  Slowly, Vincenzo pulled the man away from Sabrina. "You touched my woman," Vincenzo said, with eerie calm. "Now you die."

  "No!" Sabrina exclaimed. She met Vincenzo's outraged glare. "No, you'll get yourself into all kinds of trouble doing that, Vince. You aren't even a citizen— I can't let you."

  With the blade kept firmly against Darrel's neck, Vincenzo fixed his dark gaze on Sabrina. For a horrible moment she was afraid he thought she was defending Darrel. But then he spoke. "I don't want this schifoso bothering you again, tesoro."

  Sabrina closed her eyes. She wanted to accept his faith in her, and this protection, but she didn't deserve it. She confessed. "All he wants is the painting."

  "That was the deal?" Vincenzo addressed the question to Darrel.

  "Yes," he croaked out. Big as he was, he remained completely submissive in Vincenzo's deadly embrace.

  Eyes wide, Sabrina watched Vincenzo, wondering what he made of this.

  But Vincenzo simply nodded. "Fine. If that was the deal, then you will take the painting. But you—or your employer—will never come near Sabrina again. Do you understand?"

  "I understand," Darrel moaned.

  "I do not think so," Vincenzo countered. He shifted the knife in a way that made Darrel close his eyes. "I do not think you understand. You see, I have people everywhere. They watch you. They watch your employer. You understand this? And if either one of you comes near her—" Vincenzo paused, and Sabrina saw a thin line of red trickle down Darrel's thick neck. "I kill you first. I do not ask questions. Now, do you understand?"

  Sweat beaded on Darrel's forehead. "Yes," he whispered. "I understand."

  "Go," Vincenzo said, releasing him.

  Wiping a hand against his bleeding neck, Darrel stumbled to the bed where he'd dropped the painting. Sabrina watched as, without even glancing at the thing, he stuffed it into a khaki knapsack, then hurried out the door.

  She stared at the closed door, incredulous and horrified. "How could you?" she whispered. Vincenzo had just let Darrel go—with his precious painting.

  "It is nothing to be alarmed about." Vincenzo, behind her, sounded bizarrely matter-of-fact. "Nicolazzi are taught to take care of themselves. No ransom will be paid, you remember."

  Sabrina turned to find her companion casually wiping the blade of his knife against the silk pajama bottoms he wore.

  "That isn't what I meant, although I have to admit, your skill with that thing is...surprising."

  Vincenzo smiled smugly as he flicked the blade back into a retracted position. "Then, what did you mean?" He looked down at her with utter innocence.

  "Vincenzo, you just gave the painting away!"

  He tilted his head, apparently considering this fact. "I did not give it away. I traded it."

  "For what?" He should have been furious with her. Sabrina expected it; she deserved it. The fact that he was behaving with such cool had her nerves stretched.

  Vincenzo threw his closed knife o
n the bed. "I traded it for you. For your safety."

  With her mouth open, Sabrina stared at him. For her? "That's ridiculous! Don't you understand?" Her jaw went tight. "I'm the one who made a deal with Darrel and Lise. I'm the one who told them about the valuable painting, who let them know where it was. It was me. You should have been holding that knife on me."

  He just looked at her. She waited for understanding to finally hit, for contempt to come into his eyes. "From what I heard," he said at last, "you did not appear in any way inclined to give him that painting."

  "No, but—"

  "As a matter of fact," Vincenzo barrelled on, "you behaved in a most reckless fashion, risking your own life to save that miserable painting."

  Her chest heaved as she struggled to get air into her lungs. "It's your painting. You need it—"

  "It is a rotting piece of canvas," Vincenzo spat out. Stepping toward her, he grasped her shoulders. "I don't need that. I need you."

  Sabrina looked up at him, miserable. "You lost the Madonna because of me. For four years—four years!—you've been looking for that painting."

  A slow smile eased the tension in his face. "You do not understand." He briefly let go of one shoulder to tap her nose. "And I am slow, too. I should have understood that night I met you in the airport. You looked so very like the Lady. It...jumped out at me. Caught me." He massaged her shoulders with his handhold. "But I was too set in my thinking to understand. And you were distrustful. You didn't even like me. How was I to know?"

  Something was gravely wrong. Up until the night before, Vincenzo had been obsessed with obtaining the Madonna della Montagna. He'd been driven by a religious fervor fueled by guilt and grief. Hadn't he? "Vincenzo, you aren't making any sense."

  Instead of turning properly grave, Vincenzo let his lashes fall and his smile turn seductive. "Am I not? Well, perhaps no. Not yet." He pulled her toward him, his mouth lowering. "Maybe in another minute I will."