by Gina Kincade
A chance to get to know each other better.
A chance for him to enjoy watching her eyes light up with laughter, to watch that delicious mouth he'd just kissed, and maybe, a chance to fantasize about doing something more than kissing.
Not that he could seriously think about carrying this any further. That would only inflame his conscience, to seduce her at the same time he was plotting to unmask her.
She didn't answer his question, keeping her face averted.
Damn. He would have to apologize. Even though he was sure he was right about her masquerade, they'd been having a fun day and he'd spoiled it. Sure, he knew he'd said that to put some distance between them, but now that the distance was here, he realized it had been a mistake. He wanted her warm and friendly and laughing.
"I'm sorry I made that crack about Lessie," he said, touching her arm. "I won't mention her again today."
"Me, you mean," she said through her teeth. "Which will be hard to do since you are actually with me."
"Umm..." He could scarcely agree to that. "Let's shelve the topic for now. Aren't you hungry?"
"Is there any way to avoid these photographers?" A couple more flashbulbs had gone off in their faces. "Why are they photographing us anyway?"
"I thought there'd be fewer up here," he said. "Anyone can be at the bottom of the mountain. But the paparazzi up here have to be skiers to get here. Which, of course, some of them are." The more dedicated ones. The ones who made a living at it, and would upload their pictures before the day was done.
"Do they follow you everywhere? Is your title really that interesting?" Alessandra unzipped her jacket, pulling the tab down to just about the top of her breasts. He had to suck in a deep breath to prevent an erection from straining his pants. Just that simple move aroused him as it forced him to picture how she'd look if she kept on going.
"Uh..." He had to force his mind to focus. What had she been talking about? Ah, the paparazzi. "They're often around. I try not to give them interesting fodder." Liar, liar, pants on fire. He knew Alessandra would provide a beautiful picture. The contrasts among her dark hair, blue eyes and the red ski suit were striking.
"Try to ignore them," he said. "We could eat in the dining room, where they have menu service, but the cafeteria line will be shorter, and leave us more time to ski."
"The cafeteria sounds good." She picked up a tray. "As long as I can have one of those waffles for dessert."
He laughed. "Sweet tooth, huh?"
Her gaze swept coolly over him. "For food, yes. When it comes to...other things...I go for something tart...a challenge, you might say."
This time, he hid his smile. He didn't mind that she intended to fight back when he was a jerk. He'd never liked pushovers.
He also liked the fact that she really didn't care whether they went the fancier route for lunch or not. He was forcibly reminded of some women he'd skied with who would have been mortally offended at the idea that they should carry their own tray.
They bought their food, moved out to the deck, and sat side by side, so they could both face the sun.
"This is wonderful!" Alessandra spread her legs slightly, presumably easing the pressure from her ski boots. She threw her arms wide, and tilted her face up to the sun. Raul wanted to groan. But he could tell she was oblivious to the effect her actions were having on him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Raul could see some of the paparazzi snapping away. He stilled his conscience. He should feel guilty for exposing her to the papps, but he knew for a fact she couldn't be Adela Ranieri's granddaughter. He had to find out who she was and disprove her claim.
He had no other alternative.
He'd have to worry about his conscience tomorrow.
Today, he was happy just to sit here with her. The hamburgers were hot and juicy, his beer cold. They'd have a great afternoon of skiing and then he'd take her back to the city and ponder his next move.
With any luck, she'd never know that while she was out skiing, Stephano was visiting the old guy with whom she was staying.
Chapter Eleven
"I've come to speak to you about the young woman currently living with you." Stephano diCarlino held out a business card to Tem. "I represent the interests of the Stirling family."
Tem accepted the card gingerly, as if it were some kind of poison. He could still close his front door in the man's face, and he was sorely tempted to do so. But he knew that wouldn't be a permanent solution. The game always had to be played to the end. He didn't know the truth about the masquerade that Nona's granddaughter was engaged in, but he knew that outright defiance would never win the day against a powerful family like the Stirlings. If he and Alessandra were forced to fight, they would have to do so subtly. "By what right do you question me about a visitor in my own home?" he asked.
"Is this your home?" Stephano's tone was mild, but the threat was there.
Tem stood silently for another moment on his front doorstep. Then he turned, without answering, and led the way into his house. Stephano followed, closing the door quietly. Tem let himself down slowly into his chair, as if an unseen pain were restricting his movement. But he knew the greater pain was in his heart. Although, in fact, the correct word wasn't pain.
It was fear.
He gestured to the other worn chair, and his guest walked over and sat down, placing his large briefcase on his knees. Rosie, who'd followed every move of Tem's, out to the front door and back, now turned her head from one man to the other. Then she padded over to the guest, and laid her head on his knee.
Surprise flickered through Tem, but he didn't have time to analyze the dog's welcome now. "What would you like to know?"
Stephano patted Rosie's head. "What is her name?"
Tem allowed himself a small smile. "Rosie."
Stephano's lips tightened. "The woman."
"I don't think circumlocution will get you where you want to go, Herr diCarlino. You know her name."
Ignoring Tem's comment, Stephano continued his questions, shooting them like bullets into the room, where they seemed to ricochet off the walls. "When did you first meet her?"
"Five days ago when she appeared on my doorstep."
"Never before?"
Tem shook his head. "Never."
"Why did she come to your home? What did she want?"
Tem paused, allowing a frown to show. "What is this all about? How is it your business why Alessandra is here?"
"Why are you so defensive?" Stephano shot back.
Tem grimaced. "Spoken like a true lawyer. You put me on the defensive, and then ask why I'm there."
Stephano waited silently, petting the dog.
Tem finally spoke. "Alessandra is a family friend. That's all you need to know."
"Can you vouch for her identity?"
"I see no reason to doubt her." Tem shrugged.
"That's not an answer." Stephano's voice was sharp, for the first time since he'd arrived. "If you can't vouch for her, she may be an impostor. We have a duty to verify her claim."
"We?" Tem asked gently.
Stephano flushed, his fair skin betraying him. "As I've stated, I represent someone else."
"Why is this 'someone else'—the Stirling family I believe you said—interested in Alessandra?"
Stephano hesitated, focusing his attention, apparently, on smoothing his hand over Rosie's head. When he finally spoke, he sent his words out carefully. "She and the Stirlings share an interest in the same piece of land."
Tem stiffened. The Stirlings wanted Nona's property? Why? It was out in the country, surrounded by majestic mountains, a beautiful piece of land, but isolated. The nearest town was merely a village, and not overly interesting.
"Impossible." The word flew out of him. "The land has virtually no value."
"On the contrary, the land your protégé is claiming is quite valuable. I have here the documentation for acreage surrounding the property in question, for which Raul Winthrop, a member of the Stirling family, pai
d approximately one hundred million euros."
Tem gasped, unable to stop himself. That was the kind of money which would cause men to do evil, if necessary. Fear wrapped itself more tightly around his heart, silencing his ability to speak.
"I would say that's good motivation right there to attempt a false claim," Stephano said.
"No," Tem murmured, almost to himself. "No. The value of the land to Alessandra is sentimental, not monetary."
Stephano's lips twisted. "I admire her forethought in saying so."
Rosie whined suddenly, and lifted her head. She padded back to Tem, who reached out a hand, grateful for her warmth. For he suddenly felt cold. He knew many things, especially with respect to the hearts of men and women. But dealing with officialdom was not his forte. He'd never been trained to think about numbers, and words on papers, and computer bytes.
He concerned himself with human rules, the ways in which people should interact in order to live their lives as well and as fully as possible here on earth. Together. In shared humanity.
Tem shook his head once, as if he would demur, but he only said, "Why would the Stirlings want that land?"
"They have a vacation home on adjacent property. The children spent a good part of their childhoods in that home."
Tem’s eyes narrowed. "That’s not a reason to buy more land."
For the first time, Stephano looked slightly uncomfortable. "The Stirlings have business interests in the land, as well. They will not stand by and watch an impostor claim it."
"When you speak of ‘The Stirlings’," Tem said, watching his guest carefully, "you mean Raul. Is that why he’s been pretending a romantic interest in Alessandra?"
"I’m not sure he’s pretending," Stephano blurted out, and then shook his head. "Forget I said that. The issue here is not why they want the land. The issue is whether or not your house guest is who she says she is."
Tem didn’t know what to say. He didn’t detect evil in Stephano. The man might be calculating, he was definitely intelligent, and loyal to his client, but he wasn’t murderous. Yet, Tem was sure Stephano was prevaricating. He was equally sure that he’d never be able to prove it. He smoothed his hand over Rosie’s head, and the dog whined in appreciation.
What could he say that would help Alessandra? That could be Tem’s only goal. In the face of his silence, Stephano spoke again. "I like Alessandra. I have no desire to embarrass her. But I will use the law if necessary to thwart her claim, if it’s false."
Tem lifted his hand from Rosie, deciding to go on the offense. "What would be my motivation in supporting Alessandra’s claim if it were false?"
"Do you support it?"
"Like I said, I have no reason to disbelieve her. She is a Romany, I will vouch for that."
"On what basis?" Stephano raised his brows.
"Of course, there is a physical resemblance. The dark hair, the willowy body."
"The blue eyes are not from the Romany," Stephano interjected.
"No," Tem agreed. "Not generally. Her mother, though, was a blue-eyed blonde. But genes are tricky things. I wouldn't base any decision on her physical characteristics alone."
"What then?" Stephano leaned back in his chair, as if preparing to discuss the question at length.
"Alessandra has a Romany soul," Tem said firmly. "Just as her grandmother did. Just as I do."
"That's suitably vague," Stephano said, a hint of temper in his voice. "Does Alessandra have any proof that would support her position in a court of law?"
Tem gave the lawyer a sad smile. "Ah, and so we come to the real purpose of your visit. You want to know how strong her claim is."
Stephano clasped the lock on his briefcase, the snick loud in the quiet room. "That's a 'no' then." He stood up. "You understand, Herr Plamen that we will not halt our pursuit for justice."
"And you understand, Herr diCarlino, that justice wears many faces." Tem rubbed his forehead wearily before straightening and facing his adversary. "And I am not powerless."
Stephano nodded, and smiled gently. "Nor are we."
Chapter Twelve
As the light grew flat and gray, Alessandra and Raul took their last ski run of the day. She was glad to call it quits at his suggestion since she was pleasantly tired, although it looked to her like Raul was as fresh as he'd been at the beginning of the day.
A crowd of skiers swarmed around the base lodge, and she was happy to be out in the world, doing something fun. She'd worked so hard the past several years. Never had she enjoyed anything as luxurious as this trip she was on now, and she was determined to appreciate every minute of it.
"When we go inside to change our boots, do you want to grab something to eat," Raul asked, stepping on the back of his ski to release it.
"I'll have a soda, but—"
"Stirling!" A deep voice called across the crowd, interrupting her, although she doubted the speaker could see her since she couldn't see him.
Raul was taller, however, and he instantly spotted his friend. He raised his arm and called back. "What the hell are you doing here Devonwood, and on a work day too?"
In a moment, Alessandra could see a group of people walking toward them, skis over their shoulders. She figured they were British since the man who'd called out to Raul definitely had a snooty British accent. He must be the darker man who strode a little ahead of the group. Just behind him was a tall blonde woman wearing a hot pink snowsuit and a white hat framing her delicate features. She was trailed by another tall guy who bopped her on the head with his pole. All of them laughed.
The first man had reached them and he and Raul clapped each other on the back in that way men did.
"Who let you off your leash," the stranger said, "and why the hell are you skiing in Switzerland, when Austria has plenty of mountains?"
"Change of scenery, you know," Raul explained easily. "Devon, I'd like you to meet Alessandra Ranieri." There was just the slightest hesitation before he said her last name, but she heard it. "Alessandra," he continued smoothly, "this is the Duke of Devonwood, the real cheese as some would say, unlike me." He grinned.
"Pleased to meet you." The duke smiled and Alessandra felt a little dizzy. He was a very handsome, charismatic man. "I'm a teddy bear," he added, "not a dairy food."
The blonde woman poked him with the handle of her ski pole. "Grizzly bear, more like," she said. She turned to Alessandra. "I'm the bear’s sister, Sarah. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Devonwood then introduced the other man as his brother, Jack. All of them shook hands enthusiastically, and Jack said, "Hey, you all should join us for dinner. We've just been talking about where we'll go."
Raul glanced at Alessandra.
"I would love to," she said, "but I didn't bring a change of clothes for dining out."
"Perfect." Sarah, the pink-clad blonde, clapped her hands together. "I can dress you."
"Dress me?" Alessandra wasn't sure how to take that comment.
"It's my favorite thing to do! I have tons of clothes with me."
"She's not kidding about that," Devonwood interjected dryly. "She could have filled the entire Orient Express with her baggage."
"You should be thanking me," Sarah said. "Now we can all dine at the nicest restaurant in town and you won't have to complain about mediocre food and overly familiar waiters." She sent her brother a saucy smile, and he shook his head.
"I don't complain," he said mildly. "Merely, I have high expectations."
Sarah fairly bounced with excitement. "We could go to the Fleur d'Or. It will be perfect for all of us, and it's not far."
"I keep a jacket and tie in the limo," Raul said. "It's up to you, Alessandra."
"Please say yes." Sarah held her hands clasped over her chest like an eager child.
Alessandra felt awkward and out of place. She was the only one not prepared to transform herself from a skier to, apparently, a glamorous dinner companion.
"Do join us," Jack said with an easy charm. "Sarah is a fashionista. She
'd be thrilled to transform you like a modern-day fairy godmother."
***
The walkway to the Fleur d'Or was lined by eighty foot tall evergreens swathed in twinkling lights like Christmas trees. Overhead, a bower of lights sprinkled more golden light over them. They entered the restaurant, and Devonwood greeted the maitre’d formally, but Alessandra noticed they shook hands, and then the maitre’d slipped his hand into the pocket of his pants briefly. Then, even though they didn’t have reservations, they were all escorted to a large round table in the center of the elegant dining room.