by Annie Seaton
“I came over the crest and you were just there. I hit the brakes. You were very lucky I was paying attention. You were stopped in the middle of the road. It was almost too late to miss you and that’s why I hit the horn.”
“Everything’s too late,” she muttered. “That’s what the problem is.”
“Let me help you with your bike.” He towered over her as she stepped away.
“Oh for goodness sake,” Gia said. “I don’t need any help.”
“Are you certain?”
She bent to look at her bike and flicked him an impatient glance. “I’m quite sure. Now I have to go.”
Her bag was in the mud on the edge of the grass. Great.
“I’m truly sorry.” The man of the sexy voice held his hands up as he spoke. “I only want to help.” His voice was kind and tinged with a Northern regional accent, and she began to regret losing her temper, right up until he said, “—But you shouldn’t have been in the middle of the road.”
For Gia, it was the last straw. She would definitely be late for work. Her father would sigh and Gabriel would yell at her. The frustration of leaving a half-done landscape because she’d had to leave to go waitress added to her temper. And I forgot the olives.
This guy in his fancy car, with his fancy clothes, and his designer sunshades sitting above his perfectly shaven cheeks, took a few steps and caught up to her. The smell of that ridiculously expensive—well, she was sure it would be—cologne washed over her as she turned to face him.
It all combined to tip her over the edge. She shoved her finger into the guy’s chest. Into his perfectly pressed shirt, her finger hitting his rock solid chest—of course it was—he was damn near perfect in every other way. “Well, signore, you should watch where you’re going all the time.” She turned and gestured to the bike that lay on its side on the grass verge, the flat back tire now resting in a muddy puddle. “I had no choice. I was checking the flat tire.”
Knowing her tone was extremely impolite, she squared her shoulders, tipped her nose into the air, and turned away again, resisting the temptation to see whether Mr. Sexy Voice—and now she added to it in her head, Mr. Rock Hard Abs—was still watching her. If she could keep her temper fired, she’d be able to put up with her brother’s inevitable anger. If Gabriel said one thing about her being late, he could find another waitress for the night. And pigs might fly. She would never speak to her family like she’d just spoken to this stranger. Hmm. Maybe I should. It had felt good to say what she really thought, for once in her life.
…
Nic watched the retreating back of the little spitfire who’d just poked him in the chest. He could have been equally rude back to her—he’d been cruising slowly up the hill into the village, not speeding—but he’d never be so rude to a woman. Despite her rather dramatic tirade, he wouldn’t react. Nothing was going to interfere with his happiness over the next ten days. This was the first night he was incommunicado from the world of business. He would start painting in the morning. And best of all, he’d just had a text from Ben, his personal assistant, to say that two more companies had taken up the challenge to match his million dollar donation to l’Ospedalino, the children’s hospital in Florence.
So one little madam with a pissy attitude, dressed in rumpled clothes, had no chance of ruining his evening. He touched the spot on his chest where she’d poked him—right there on his tattoo. This young woman had reminded him of the gypsy artist who had given him the Coraggio design. The woman who had just disappeared around the corner was much younger than the tattoo artist, but she had the same jet-black hair and dark, flashing eyes. Same fiery attitude.
Her black curls had been pulled back into a messy ponytail, but a few stray strands had hung untidily across her face. Then her clip had come undone and her hair had tumbled out as he had held her. Glorious black curls. Guilt flooded through him. Instead of focusing on her well-being, for a moment, he’d enjoyed the softness of her skin and the whisper of her expelled breath against his neck.
Her clothes were disheveled, and there was a smear of dirt on her cheek near the edge of the square black glasses that framed her eyes. Beautiful eyes, even when they’d been flashing anger. It was that spark of anger that he’d admired most. Along with a hint of passion that spoke of a complexity in the young woman. It…intrigued him. Nic watched until she disappeared around the curve at the bottom of the hill. Making sure she really was okay. Long legs, a shapely butt, and a flash of bare skin where her shirt dropped off her shoulder, provided an enticing view. He should have offered her a lift, but in the mood she was in, he doubted she would have accepted. It was only a small village; he’d seek her out tomorrow and make amends, make certain she was okay. As he climbed back into the sports car, he frowned.
Koyaanisqatsi? He knew that. It was a movie that he’d watched years ago. The frown turned into a grin as he made the connection with their near miss.
A very interesting package.
Reconsidering his decision to seek her out tomorrow, Nic drove into the village, keeping his eye out for the young woman, but there was no sign of her. When he reached the crossroads before the piazza, he turned the car and drove back to the restaurant he’d passed at the edge of the village. He hadn’t tried it when he’d stayed at the villa before. Nic had spent his last visit planning the building work and hadn’t explored the surrounds of the village, but tonight he’d felt like taking the Morgan Roadster out for a spin and trying some of the local cuisine before he shut himself away from the world.
The restaurant was small, and he parked on a grassy expanse just off the road. He walked through the gate in the middle of the hedge that separated the parking area from an outdoor dining area. The umbrellas were up, but the tables were empty because of the light rain that had fallen when the brief storm had passed through the valley. A buzz of noise came from inside as he stepped into the foyer of the restaurant.
The maître d’ offered a friendly greeting before ushering Nic through the packed tables, past the buffet to a small table tucked into an alcove between a staircase and a large window that overlooked the scene he’d been admiring only minutes before. He took an appreciative breath of the fine aromas drifting through the restaurant. If the food tasted half as good as it smelled, he’d be in for a delicious meal… and a nice glass of fine wine. Light glinted off the racks of wine that lined the walls to waist height on each side of a staircase leading downstairs. Another staircase near his table led upstairs, and from the noise drifting down, it sounded like there was a crowd up there, too. A sign that the food would be good. The maître d’ pulled out the chair for him and then gestured to the other chair. “Or perhaps you would prefer to look at the view?”
Nic shook his head. “This will be fine, thank you.” He’d never been one to sit with his back to a room.
He sat and the young man flicked the napkin over his lap and passed him the wine list. “Welcome. My name is Gabriel, and I hope you enjoy your evening at our family restaurant.”
Gabriel was immaculately dressed; a sharp crease in his trousers and a snowy white apron covered his bright yellow shirt. “Would you prefer sparkling or still water while you wait, signore?”
“Acqua frizzante, per favore.” Nic looked down at the menu after Gabriel left. The selection was equal to the best restaurants he frequented when he was in Florence. The sound of raised voices coming from the small alcove at the base of the stairs caught his attention. A red velvet curtain hid one of the speakers from his view, but he could see the yellow shirt of the waiter who had seated him. The young man waved his arms, and his head bobbed with each word as if to emphasize his obvious displeasure. “Non solo sei in ritardo…Ma…dimenticavo…papa…sconvolto.”
Snatches of the conversation reached him. Not only are you late, but someone’s father was going to be upset. Staff problems; Nic knew all about them. But as long as they didn’t impact his meal, he didn’t care.
“You look like a…a hoyden.” Gabriel’s voice wa
s louder. “Now go and tidy your hair and wash your hands.”
“I’m sorry. If you don’t want me here tonight, I can go home.” The soft voice trembled and Nic shook his head. The poor waitress sounded as if she was on the verge of tears. If there was one thing he could not abide, it was bullying.
“No. We are too busy. I’ll just have to send Rosina to collect the olives you forgot.”
“I’m sorry. I told you I didn’t forget. I just wasn’t able to go to the farm. My bicycle has a flat. If I’d gotten the olives from Zio Luigi, I would have been even later.” The tone of the woman’s voice registered on Nic’s mind. A flat? And the voice sounded like that of the young woman who he’d almost run down. Brother? Papa? She certainly hadn’t looked like someone who belonged to an establishment as classy as this. Her soft, apologetic tones were very different from the voice of the woman who’d called him an idiota only a short while before. He shrugged and turned his attention back to the menu, but the voices continued.
“If you had left earlier, none of this would have happened. I knew I should have asked Louisa. At least I have one sister I can rely on.”
A large bear of a man with a white apron over his shirt hurried down the stairs and shot Nic an embarrassed smile before he too disappeared behind the curtain. His booming voice carried across the small space to Nic’s table, louder than both the others. “Gabriel, do not speak to your sister like that. Your voice is carrying all the way upstairs.”
And downstairs, thought Nic.
“But Papa, she is late again—”
“Enough, you will leave her alone. Now go upstairs and see to the customers.”
Papa is obviously the boss. Nic looked away as the young man shoved the curtain aside and hurried up the steps. Family businesses—the same everywhere. Respect the patriarch. When their father said jump, he and his brother jumped. Their Papa had insisted on rotating them through the company roles. His father had refused to allow him to go to the Art Academy in Florence and had sent him to work in the quarry the summer before he began his business degree. But it had backfired on the old man. Nic loved working with the raw marble as it was taken from the hillsides of Carrara.
The arguing voices faded into the background. They had so many new export contracts coming up taking a ten day vacation had been an indulgence that his father hated. But Nic didn’t care. His mother’s artistic genes might be the dominant ones, but his business degree ensured he could run the business as well as his father did. Since Mamma’s sudden death, Papa pretended she had never existed and threw himself into the business even more. It was so disrespectful to Mamma’s memory he found it hard to even speak to his father most days.
“Gia.” The man who was obviously their father spoke kindly. Nic unashamedly leaned across to listen. Maybe it was rude to eavesdrop, but he wanted to be certain the young woman was all right.
“I’m sorry, bella. Gabriel is stressed because we are so busy tonight. Calm yourself, and don’t let your brother upset you. We cannot have that, can we, bella? I will take the front section of downstairs, and you will only have a small section to look after. Please don’t be upset.”
“Thank you, Papa.” The subdued and meek voice no longer sounded like the woman who Nic had met up the road.
Perhaps I’m wrong. The curtain opened and the man walked slowly to his table. Nic caught a glimpse of a woman running up the stairs, but the large man blocked most of the view, and he couldn’t see if it was his gypsy from the road.
“Buona sera. Welcome to Giannino’s.” The man filled Nic’s water glass from the bottle he’d carried over. “I am Mauro.” He put the water bottle on the table in front of Nic and held his hands out widely. His handlebar moustache bobbed as he moved. “We are pleased to welcome you here.” He lowered his head. “I am very sorry for that altercation. My daughter is a little upset tonight.”
“No problem. I hope she is okay?” Nic leaned back and looked around when Mauro nodded. “You are doing a fine trade tonight.”
“Pfft.” Mauro waved one hand dismissively. “It is like this every night. We love our guests. Are you traveling through?”
“No, I am staying at the Casa Marmo for a few days.”
“Ah, the Baldini villa. Good to see it being rented out finally. That family has poured an obscene amount of money into renovating a place they never visit. And you know what? They did not employ one local tradesman. We are not good enough for the Baldinis. They think they bring the best from Rome!”
After Mauro’s disparaging comment, Nic wasn’t about to tell him he was a Baldini and that he’d directed the renovations himself.
Mauro looked over Nic’s shoulder. “Ah, bella, there you are. Here is my fragile little flower. Gia will take your order and ensure that you wish to dine with us again during your stay.” Nic smothered a smile as Mauro clapped his hands together and introduced his daughter with a flourish as he beamed down at her. “Have a good evening, signore.”
The young woman stepped around the bottom of the stairs and her gaze settled on Nic. It was his little gypsy from the incident on the roadside. The ugly black glasses still graced her face, but the rich black curls had been tamed into a sleek braid, and a rosy flush—he presumed embarrassment—tinged her cheeks. Her brother’s word was obviously law, despite her Papa running interference for her. Huge dark eyes widened as she continued to stare at him. She pulled an order pad from the front pocket of the bright red apron that now covered her crumpled clothes. She nodded at Nic as her father moved away to the group at the next table.
“Have you had a chance to look at the menu yet, signore? Or perhaps you would prefer to avail yourself of our primo buffet to begin your meal?” Her voice was soft and gentle, but the lilting Tuscan accent still held the husky undertone he had heard before. This meek woman was nothing like the little firebrand who had called him an idiot and poked him in the chest. This shy Gia didn’t even meet his eyes as she gestured to the buffet laid out on a large table beneath the window.
So she’s going to pretend nothing happened.
Nic settled back in his chair. The change in her demeanor was fascinating. He would’ve teased her, perhaps made some joke about their last encounter. But having overheard her brother’s heavy-handed rant, he’d not add to the girl’s stress. And for some reason her father called her fragile. “No, I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu yet. Perhaps you could recommend something?” A frisson of interest rippled through him as a smile tipped one corner of her mouth. A very pretty mouth, now that he had time to look at her. She knew very well who he was, but it looked like she was too shy—or embarrassed—to mention their earlier meeting.
Before she could tell him about the local delicacies, Nic’s phone buzzed in his pocket. “Excuse me for a moment, Gia.” He pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
Antonio. Again? Surely it was too early to hear?
Chapter Two
Gia waited while the guy with the “voice” took his call. Trying not to be rude, or even listen to what he was saying, she waited, allowing the tone of his deep voice to wash over her. It was a voice she could almost transfer to canvas—sexy, full of hidden meaning and dark shadows, and it sent a shiver running down her back. She should have guessed that he was heading to Giannino’s; most tourists headed their way for dinner at this time of year. It was the first restaurant on the edge of the village, and they were full every night during summer. She was lucky; if he’d been going any faster, she wouldn’t have had to worry any more about working as a waitress—she’d probably be roadkill right now. But it really hadn’t been his fault. She’d been in such a bad mood, she’d not been paying any attention to where she was, and she had stopped in the middle of the road just as she topped the hill. Not that there was usually much traffic coming into the village on the way past her cottage. She realized he had stopped talking and she switched her attention back to him. She smoothed her hand down her apron as she waited for him.
He was listening with th
e phone pressed to his ear. “No.” The sexy voice was impatient now. “No way. Papa can deal with it.”
Gia studied him, partly embarrassed, partly impressed by the way he so bluntly expressed himself. She rather liked the changes in his face. Anger drew his brows together over his sharp eyes, tightened his full lips. And the dimple in his chin drew her attention. She closed her fingers, resisting the urge to brush her fingers over that little indentation.
“No, no, and no. Do you get that?”
If they didn’t, they weren’t listening very well. Mr. Perfectly Groomed Black Shirt was very clear in what he was saying. She waited for him to finish his conversation, wishing she had the inner strength to say what she wanted in those confident tones. She caught her lip between her teeth as she recalled the way she’d called him an idiota.
Okay, it had been rude. And she had to wonder if perhaps her foul mood had triggered his.
He raked a hand through his dark hair and shifted in his seat, obviously frustrated by the phone call. Broad shoulders strained his shirt. Sharply defined cheekbones sat high in a tanned face. His bottom lip was full even though both lips were now pursed into a dissatisfied expression.
Movie star looks. A quiver of something ran through Gia’s nerve endings and settled low in her belly as his eyes caught hers. The heat ran up into her cheeks for the second time tonight. Okay, so he’d caught her checking him out. She had an eye for beauty, and he was certainly a fine-looking man. She stepped back and looked through the window to the courtyard, trying not to listen to his conversation. Spring had been late arriving this year, but the courtyard was finally alive with vibrant color. The honeysuckle covering the brick walls that closed in three sides was covered in fat yellow buds, and the geraniums along the edge of the wall were a riot of red. Her fingers itched to hold a paintbrush.