Swept Away by the Venetian Millionaire

by Nina Singh

  He couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from her eyes. He tried to look away to avoid staring at her face too long, but failed.

  “Why don’t I believe you about that?” she wanted to know. The slightest hint of a smile graced her full, pink rosebud lips.

  “Bene. Perhaps because I’ve just made it up.”

  Her smile grew. “Nice try. You’re quite the gentleman. First you come to my rescue from a certain and tragic watery death. And now you’re trying to rescue my pride.” She glanced down at the soaking-wet fabric of the red shirt she wore. It now clung to her like a second skin and accentuated her feminine curves.

  What in the world had gotten into him? When was the last time he’d noticed a woman’s curves? Certainly not in the last two or so years. Not since Marina’s accident.

  An awkwardly silent beat ensued before she stretched out her hand. “Thank you, Signor...?”

  “Rameri. Vittorio Rameri,” he supplied as he took her hand into his. Her skin felt surprisingly warm for someone who’d just taken a plunge in dirty water. “I’m often called Vito.”

  “Hello, Vito. I’m Maya Talbot. From the great Commonwealth of Massachusetts. And I wish we hadn’t had this very mortifying meeting. Nothing personal,” she added after a pause, wringing out the tail of her shirt.

  Oh, but he was so very glad that they had met. Damned if he could put his finger on exactly why that was so. He only knew that today was the first time in a long while that he’d felt drawn to study the features of a woman. He wanted to examine further the way the sunlight brought out the golden specks of her eyes, how the dampness of her hair took it to a dark shade of ebony that framed her delicate chin.

  He wanted to think of how it would feel to sculpt what he was seeing before him. An instant desire to squash the urge rose in his chest. In his soul, he knew he wasn’t ready just yet. Not to handle clay.

  “I suppose I better get going back to my hotel,” she said as he continued to stare. If she noticed the way he was looking at her, she was too polite to mention it.

  “Are you alone?”

  Her shoulders fell. The question seemed to deflate her even more. He found himself intrigued. What exactly was her story?

  She shrugged and looked away before answering. “I’m afraid so. It’s just me. By myself. In one of the most romantic cities in the world. Go figure.”

  Now that was surprising. By the looks of her, Vito would guess she wasn’t often lacking for male companionship. “I see.”

  She dabbed a wet, trembling finger against his chest. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” she supplied. Vito guessed it had to be the alcohol that had her talking so freely to the stranger who’d just pulled her out of the canal. “I was supposed to be here with my fiancé,” she continued.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “But the...what do you call it? Bastardo? Yes, that’s it. He was a bastardo. I learned that word from the hotel housekeeper who brought a complimentary bottle of valpolicella to my room earlier.” She smiled at him.

  Well, that explained the early drinking. Maya Talbot was a jilted bride. Or almost bride, as the case might be. But had she had the whole bottle? Still, he felt a twinge of admiration at the fact that she’d decided to come solo on a trip that had obviously been planned to include a romantic partner.

  She twirled her fingers at him. “Well. Ta-ta. I should be going.”

  Vito reached for her arm before she could take a step. “Un momento.” He couldn’t just let her walk away. The woman was in no condition to be by herself in an unfamiliar city.

  She blinked at him in surprise. “Yes?”

  “Do you actually know where you’re going?”

  She blinked yet again before looking off into the distance to her left. Scratching her forehead, she turned to look the opposite way. It was blatantly clear she had no idea where she was. Let alone where she was going. “Well, I’m sure I can figure it out.”

  Vito weighed his options. Leaving her to her own devices was out of the question under the circumstances. For all he knew, she might actually trip and fall into the water again. He could offer to buy her a cappuccino at the café; clearly she could use the caffeine. But she was soaked to the skin. He doubted she’d be comfortable for long sitting in a wooden chair as wet fabric clung to her skin. Not to mention the attention the sight of her would attract from passersby. He could always load her into a vaporetto and send her on her way, but the likelihood that she’d get seasick was all too real.

  Based on some past benders he’d been on himself, he figured the thing she needed the most was just to be able to lie down until the effects of the alcohol passed.

  “Perhaps I can be of help.”

  Her eyebrows lifted over those dazzling amber eyes. “How?”

  “My place is just over the bridge.” He pointed in that direction. “We can go get you dried off and cleaned up.”

  She narrowed her gaze on him, suspicion clouding her features immediately. Not that he could blame her. She didn’t know him from the street vendor selling gelato a few feet away.

  “You expect me to accompany you, a man I’ve never laid eyes on before, to your apartment? Thanks, but no thanks.”

  He should have explained better. Fluency only got a person so far, it appeared.

  Shaking his head, he tried to explain. “Scusa. First of all, it’s not an apartment. I own an art studio near Le Mercerie. A public studio. Open for business. There’s a comfortable sitting area complete with a sofa for browsing patrons. I might even have some dry clothing for you.”

  She looked him up and down. “I doubt we’re the same size.”

  “I meant ladies’ clothing.”

  Relief and understanding washed over her features. “Your wife’s clothing, you mean.”

  Vito cringed inwardly at the word. Even after all this time, he hadn’t quite adjusted to the new reality that he no longer had a wife. And he never would again.

  He shook his head. “I don’t have a wife. But my models have been known to leave things behind.” Not that any kind of model had graced his space in the past several months.

  “Your models? What kind of studio are we talking about exactly? Are you a photographer? Or some kind of artist?”

  That was one way to put it, Vito supposed. Though, truth be told, he hadn’t been any kind of artist in quite a while.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SHE’D CLEARLY BEEN dining on cotton. Maya tried to swallow past the dry ash that seemed to be coating her mouth and tongue. All she managed was a squeaky croak.

  Water. She was in desperate need of water.

  Maya forced her lids open and winced at the pain behind her eyes once she did. For heaven’s sake. She hadn’t even had the whole bottle. Just went to prove what a lightweight she was. After all, wasn’t that a point that Matt had continually made? How often had he told her that she needed to let loose a little? To not be so constrained and proper all the time.

  Maybe if she had done so every once in a while, her tolerance level would be a little higher.

  Well, if he could only see her now. Sprawled out on a couch in what appeared to be the back room of an Italian art studio that she’d followed a stranger to. She could hear soft Italian voices from somewhere in the building. Two male voices and one female. Maya didn’t understand a thing that was being said. She heard the sound of a door open, then close.

  Maya struggled to sit up. She wore a soft cotton tunic of some sort. She vaguely remembered stepping behind a curtain to take off her clingy wet capri pants and tank top, nearly toppling over in the process.

  But she also remembered other things. Gentle, sympathetic chestnut-brown eyes. Wavy hair so dark it had reminded her of the moonless New England sky. A set of strong arms steadying her on her feet after helping to lift her out of the water. Who was he, exactly?

  She really had no idea of th
e identity of the man who’d brought her here.

  A gasp escaped her chest. How utterly mortifying. She’d left herself at the total mercy of a complete stranger. A stranger in a foreign city where she didn’t know a soul. No one would even know to come looking for her if this handsome artist man turned out to be a cold-blooded psycho killer.

  Maya bit back a groan. Definitely one of the dumber things she’d done. But it wasn’t as if she’d followed the man back to his private residence. Technically, she was in a public place of business. There’d even been browsers in here when they’d arrived after her drunken mishap with the gondola. Sure. Like that kind of reasoning would pass muster with Uncle Rex if he ever got word of any of this.

  Uncle Rex. She hadn’t technically lied to him and the rest of her family. She’d just bought herself some time, inadvertently doing the same for Matt. She’d concocted a vague tale about Matt running into some kind of emergency at work that would delay his travel and that he would join her in Europe as soon as he could. Just a small fib in order to postpone the nastiness that was certain to follow once she announced the demise of her engagement to the man her family considered to be the catch of the decade. Little did they know.

  Little had she known.

  Sudden tears stung the back of her eyes, exacerbating the pounding pain in her head. Fire burned behind her throat. All her earthly possessions for a drop of water.

  The universe answered her prayers.

  “May I come in?” she heard a masculine voice ask from the doorway. “I heard rustling. Figured you must be awake? Sì?”

  “That might be one word to describe it.”

  Her rescuer walked in carrying a tray of assorted plates and dishes as well as a steaming carafe. But the only thing Maya could focus on was the glass pitcher of icy water with wedges of lemon floating on top.

  “How do you feel?” he asked as he set his load down on the marble table between them.

  How could she possibly answer that? So many apt descriptions came to mind. Embarrassed. Ill. Thirsty. Out of her element.

  And to dig deeper, she was utterly confused as to what her future held now. A boring dead-end job. Her most significant relationship in complete shambles. Nothing to look forward to. She forced the thoughts away and focused her eyes on the man standing before her.

  Maya had to suck in a breath. Now that her gaze had cleared, she realized her memory of their initial encounter had not done the man justice. He was breathtakingly handsome. Tall and dark, with broad shoulders and richly tanned skin. He wore dark pleated dress pants with a pressed collared shirt the color of the Cape sky at dawn. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a print ad for expensive men’s cologne.

  She pulled on the collar of her smock. Dear heavens, in contrast to this stellar specimen of a man, she must look like a walking demolition site.

  Without waiting for her answer, he lifted the jug of water and began pouring into a clear glass with yet another lemon wedge at the bottom. So the man had mind-reading skills in addition to killer good looks. Either that or she looked as parched as she felt.

  She took the water gratefully with a shaky hand as she spoke. “I feel like I might have drunk too much on an empty stomach and then fallen into a river in front of a crowd of strangers.”

  He gave a playful shrug as she took a massive swallow of water. The ice-cold liquid felt heavenly as it poured over her thick tongue and down her dry throat.

  “Hey, these things happen,” he said, giving her a playful wink.

  Maya wouldn’t have thought she had it in her to laugh.

  Vito Rameri. See, she couldn’t have been too far out of it earlier by the canal if she remembered his name. Though it would be hard to forget the sole person who’d helped her out of a situation like that. An artist and a gentleman. Even the gondolier had taken off at the first opportunity. Vito was the only one who’d stayed to make sure she was okay. Which begged the question: Had she even so much as thanked him yet?

  She cleared her throat. “I don’t know how to thank you, Signor Rameri.”

  He cut her off before she could continue. “Please. Call me Vito. Signor Rameri is my father.”

  “Okay. Vito, then. I’m not sure what would have happened if you hadn’t come along.” She studied her fingers. “I don’t know how to pay back your kindness. I vow to find a way.”

  He waved a hand in dismissal. “Nonsense. Anyone would have done the same. We Venetians take care of the visitors to our city.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have had to take care of this tourist. Please believe me when I say that my behavior today was quite uncharacteristic. This isn’t how I normally behave. I’m not even much of a drinker.”

  “Clearly.”

  Between his accent and the absurdity of this conversation, Maya couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic. If so, he had every right.

  “I didn’t think I’d had that much. Only I hadn’t eaten anything since arriving yesterday and I guess I don’t know my tolerance too well.” Or lack thereof.

  “Alcohol on an empty stomach can certainly catch up with someone who’s not used to it.”

  She nodded. “Exactly. And I should have known better. It’s just that I’m dealing with an unexpected...disappointment.”

  “Ah, right. The bastardo.”

  She’d forgotten about that tidbit in their conversation. “Yes, that would be Matt. My fia—” she caught herself. “My former fiancé. As of about three days ago.” Though it seemed like she’d been dealing with the loss and betrayal for far longer.

  Maya didn’t think she could feel any lower. Between having to explain herself to this handsome Italian and the feeling of complete and utter rejection, her loser status was quite confirmed. And did the Italian have to be quite so good-looking? Why couldn’t she have been rescued by a balding, older, grandfatherly type? Would that have been too much to ask? Instead, her savior had had to come in the form of a dark and charming Adonis clad in Armani.

  Yet another way she’d failed at life. Another indication that she didn’t fit in with the accomplished, overachieving family she’d been taken in by after losing her parents. Both her cousins had ideal careers and relationships. Her aunt was a revered professor at one of Boston’s top universities. Her uncle a respected and successful business owner. And here she was, unable to enjoy a dream trip she couldn’t have even afforded on her own without the assistance of her grandmother.

  “Why don’t you tell me about it? While you eat. You mentioned you haven’t eaten since yesterday. It’s just criminal to go without nourishment that long in a city with such gourmet cuisine.”

  Her stomach growled in response to his words. She studied the food-laden tray he’d set down earlier. An elaborate antipasto plate with olives, several varieties of cheese and small glass bowls of various dipping oils. A crusty loaf of Italian bread looked like it had just been pulled out of the oven. Maya’s mouth watered despite herself. And bless the man, she could smell the rich aroma of strong Italian espresso wafting from the silver pitcher. In spite of the queasy roiling in her stomach, she really was quite famished.

  “You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.”

  “No trouble. I just stepped into the trattoria next door. I do it all the time.” He motioned to the food. “Go on. Eat. The bread won’t stay warm much longer.”

  Maya ducked her head. As much as she wanted to indulge in the mouthwatering array of goodies before her, she felt like a helpless child who had to be taken care of. It was enough that he’d pulled her out of the water then given her a safe place to sober up. He certainly didn’t need to be waiting on her, as well.

  Not that the child comparison wasn’t an adequate description. What she ought to do was to find her clothes, determine exactly where she was and make her way back to her hotel room overlooking the piazza. Then she should sit there and contemplate all the ways he
r life had gone so horribly astray.

  Still, Vito had been so kind to get a meal set up for her. It would be rude to turn it down. “Only if you’ll join me.”

  “I never turn down an offer to share a meal with a beautiful woman.”

  Wow. He really was a charmer.

  “It will give us a chance to talk,” Vito added, pulling up a chair to the marble table between them. “I get the feeling you could use a...how do you say...an ear lender?”

  That tickled a smile out of her. “Close enough.” She shook her head. “But I couldn’t do that. I’ve already taken up so much of your time and graciousness.”

  He released a long sigh, one heavy with a meaning she couldn’t guess at. Lifting the carafe, he poured steaming espresso into both their cups.

  “Trust me. At the moment, I have more than enough time.”

  * * *

  Why exactly did he care? Vito really had no business wanting to know more about the sad American beauty currently sitting in his back-room office. But he found himself genuinely curious.

  She called to him. Unlike anyone he could remember. Even Marina. A stab of guilt tore through his chest. Would he ever be able to think of her without the guilt eating away at him? Would her memory ever cease to tear him to shreds inside?

  Across from him, Maya sat sipping her espresso. The way she seemed to savor each taste made him want to capture the expression on her face. His fingers actually tingled with the desire to find his sketch book yet again. Twice so far this afternoon, when he hadn’t created anything in months. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that longing. No. Actually, he could. He could trace it back to the day his world had turned tragically upside down. And he had no one but himself to blame for any of it.

  He realized she was speaking.

  “I wonder if I should have even come.”

  “You were in no condition to go back to your hotel.”

  She bit down on her bottom lip. “I mean I shouldn’t have come to Venice. I should have stayed home. In Boston.”