Lost in Italy

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  Not in the general sense that he was another human being and she wouldn’t want something bad to happen to another person, but in a far more personal sense. Somewhere over the course of this crazy day, she’d come to specifically care what happened to him.

  Darn it all. What part of movie star and unattainable did her brain not understand?

  She shot to her feet and paced four steps across the small cabin. There was nothing to understand. She wasn’t looking to attain anyone. Geez. What was wrong with her?

  Maybe she could chalk it up to the day she’d had. Or Stockholm Syndrome. It was a proven fact some kidnap victims identified with and became attached to their kidnappers or they wouldn’t have named it, would they have?

  A quick spin and four more steps returned her to the other side of the boat. Okay, so she knew the real reason he’d tossed her in his car, and it was kind of heroic, and even a little romantic after the fact, but all of that was beside the point. She’d still been kidnapped. That’s the part she must be responding to.

  Then again, so what if she cared? Every once in awhile, between macho and jerk, she caught a glimpse of the good guy who’d written in the journal. It wasn’t a bad thing for her to want that guy to remain safe on his quest to find justice for his brother. After all, he was going to take her to Milan to be reunited with her own family.

  She paused in front of the tiny kitchen area. Might not hurt to make the man something to eat, either. He’d been hungry before, now he was wounded, too. He’d need to eat to keep up his strength. Besides, it was the least she could do after he’d taken a bullet for her. Well, not literally for her, but he’d been protecting her when he’d gotten shot.

  You and the video, a negative voice whispered in her mind.

  “Oh, shut up,” she muttered.

  Chapter 11

  Trent checked the GPS and figured they had maybe another half-hour before they reached Bellagio. He gradually steered the boat toward the middle of the lake, so they wouldn’t pass too close to Lapaglia’s villa in Lenno. Much as he’d love to cruise by and see what was going on at this hour of the evening, he was too tired to handle any more high-speed chases or gunfights. A day or two to regroup was in order after the past twelve hours.

  He was just thinking he should’ve taken the chance to eat back at home when Halli appeared at his side.

  “I can’t believe you live in a country with some of the best food in the world, and you stock Spaghetti O’s.”

  She held a bowl of said pasta and a glass of what looked like wine. What a combo. The pasta evoked a sad smile as he said, “My brother used to ship them in by the case.”

  In the middle of taking a sip of the wine, she quickly set the glass next to the bowl on the table behind his chair. “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right.” His stomach rumbled at the thought of food, even though he didn’t particularly care for Sean’s favorite fare.

  Halli stepped closer to the captain’s chair. “How about I drive while you eat.”

  He glanced back at the bowl and fought a grimace. “Thanks, but you go ahead. I’ll fix something after we stop.”

  “I ate when you went to get the camera battery.”

  Alarm filled her expression and her gaze did a frantic search of the front seats. “Where is my camera?”

  “Relax, it’s safe and sound under the seat here.” He indicated the cushion he’d braced one knee on.

  “Oh.”

  Was that disappointment in her expression? Before he could ponder the strange reaction, she took hold of the wheel with one hand, waiting for him to slide out of the way. Like he could turn down the food now, knowing she’d prepared it just for him. Prepared being a very generous definition for dumping a can of processed food in a bowl and using a microwave.

  Trent assessed their positions. Without slowing the boat, he gingerly lowered his left arm to his side and inched back to give her just enough room to slide in and take the wheel. “Best to use both hands out here in the middle of the lake.”

  She eyed the space he’d allowed for her body between him and the wheel while he did his best to maintain an innocent expression after his bogus suggestion. Although her expression reflected suspicion, she turned her back and eased in, practically hugging the steering wheel. Trent felt a little bad taking advantage of the situation, until her backside brushed against his front.

  In that one second, all his guilt was swept away on a wave of hunger. Despite the running around they’d done since she’d showered, a hint of flowery freshness still clung to her skin by her neck. His senses filled, and desire intensified. He leaned in, his chest against her back. Just close enough to brush his lips against the ear she’d tucked her hair behind and pretend he was concerned about her handling the boat.

  “Got it?”

  Her stiff nod matched her posture.

  What would it take to get her to melt against him? Need spiraled to his groin. The enticing sway and brush of their bodies from the movement of the boat became delicious torture. Heat from her flowed into him, magnifying the urge to turn her around into his arms. Struggling for control, he reached his right hand past her shoulder and pointed to the GPS display.

  “Keep us headed due north and we’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

  Another brief nod.

  When he shifted back to the left, the dim light of the dash revealed a blush tinted her cheeks. Hmm. Maybe she wasn’t as indifferent to him as he thought. Exploring that possibility was highly tempting, but his stomach growled again, reminding him first things first. Satisfy one hunger before moving on to the other.

  Trent reluctantly moved out of her space to pick up the bowl of canned pasta and glass of wine, gritting his teeth at the pain with the flex of muscle in his left arm. He spun the passenger chair around to face her and sunk into a low slouch before propping his bare feet up on the arm of the captain’s seat.

  The wine, he discovered, was a bottle of his premier Chianti Classico. After an extended sip, he secured the glass stem between his legs and ate while watching Halli. Spaghetti O’s had never tasted better.

  “I have to admit, there were a few times today I was afraid you might lose it,” he said around a mouthful of food.

  “The video?”

  He chuckled at her indignation. “Your cool.”

  She surprised him with a low, husky laugh. A genuine one like he’d heard on the video with her family. He liked it even more in person.

  “You’re not the only one,” she said.

  “Good to know you can pull it together when the chips are down.”

  “Any help I managed today was nothing more than dumb luck.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short.”

  Silence reigned while he finished eating and then set the bowl aside. He took a drink of wine, holding the liquid in his mouth to savor the full flavor. She’d grown on him like the Chianti. A little dry and acidic at first, but the longer the tang remained on his tongue, the more he craved another taste of earthy spices and sweet black cherries with a hint of raspberry. The complex contradictions of Halliwell Sanders were as seductive as the wine.

  He shifted in his wet jeans to find a more comfortable position. Maybe he should go change.

  She cast him a glance before gazing back over the windshield. “You want to hear something really stupid?”

  “Um...it’s not about me, is it?”

  “Nope—all me.” This time her laugh sounded self-conscious.

  “Then shoot,” he encouraged, content to sit as long as she was volunteering personal information.

  “I know this’ll sound crazy, but I was so glad to see that guy get up again back at the boathouse.”

  Dread stiffened his shoulders. Ramped up the pain in his arm. Of all subjects for her to bring up. He’d purposely avoided any thoughts about the man he’d hit with the iron patio chair. The one he’d left floating face down in the pool. “It’s not crazy at all.”

  “You don’t think so? Even if the
y would’ve killed us?” She gestured in his direction as she steered around a cruiser twice the size of his boat. “I mean, they shot you. If I had killed my guy, you’d think I shouldn’t feel bad at all.”

  “Normal people don’t take pleasure in killing another human being.”

  She stole another glance at him. “Did you really take out the guy on the patio?”

  So much for not thinking about it. He swirled the wine in his glass and downed the remainder before giving a curt nod.

  “You seem pretty calm about it.”

  If only she knew this egotistical jerk’s stomach was threatening to give back the Spaghetti O’s. He dropped his feet to the floor and stood, fists clenched at his side. His flesh burned under the bandage from the flex of muscle, but the pain reminded him of what was at stake.

  “The bullet that sliced my arm was meant for my head. I’d be dead if I hadn’t defended myself, and most likely, so would you.”

  “I know.”

  “These same men murdered my only brother, then took his private hell and turned it against him for the whole world to see. Sean did not commit suicide.” He started to head downstairs, but anger swung him back to face her. “And then there’s Lorenzo. He was a retired cop. Thirty-five years he put his life on the line, and these bastards calmly shoot him in the back for nothing more than money. Any one of them deserved to die.”

  Her eyes widened at the rage that had exploded in his voice. But it was his only weapon to combat the horror and guilt of taking another’s life. His stomach muscles tightened at the hint of fear that’d crept into her eyes, prompting him to take a deep, controlled breath.

  “It was either him or me, but that doesn’t mean the end result bothers me any less.”

  Two long strides carried him to the short stairway below deck. He hooked his right hand above the door and swung down into the cabin. He’d had enough of that conversation, and it was time he changed into something dry anyway. Thankfully, he kept clothes on the boat.

  Trent unbuttoned his jeans just as the sound of the motor lowered to an idle. The boat rocked beneath his feet. Halli’s light footsteps sounded on the steps. He tensed, but kept his back turned, even when her soft touch on his shoulder made him flinch. Though he craved the reassurance of human contact more than anything, he shied away from showing any more weakness. It was bad enough she’d read his stuff in the notebook.

  “I know how you feel,” she said quietly.

  He shook his head no, not trusting his voice to come out strong enough.

  “Maybe for only a few minutes, but I do know how awful it is to think you’ve ended someone’s life.”

  Before he could form a response, she moved in front of him. Right up against him, slipping her arms around his waist, her soft cheek pressed to his chest. Her palms flattened on his back as her arms tightened and held.

  The lump in Trent’s throat grew painfully large as he stared at the top of her head in astonishment. He could name on one hand the number of people he knew who might’ve recognized what he needed and then offered it without hesitation. Hell, he hadn’t even known how bad he needed this simple comfort until her warmth surrounded him.

  Nothing could’ve kept his arms from closing tight around her. He turned his head to rest his cheek on the top of her head and held on for dear life.

  Time stood still until she finally whispered, “I’m sorry, Trent.”

  “For what?” The question barely scraped past the emotion clogging his throat.

  “Your brother. Your friend. What happened back at your villa.”

  “None of it’s your fault.”

  “I’m still sorry.” Her heartfelt words stirred the hair on his chest.

  His arms clenched for a moment, then he relaxed his hold and looked down. She lifted her chin. Long dark lashes rose, revealing deep blue eyes moist with unshed tears. He drank in the compassionate understanding in her shimmering gaze, and in the space of a heartbeat, their moment of companionship transformed into something more.

  Air locked in his lungs. Her lips beckoned, parting with a soft intake of breath. Earlier desire surged forward, heating his blood faster than a shot of whiskey or glass of wine. It went deeper than simple lust, unlike anything he’d experienced before.

  Because Halli was unlike any woman he’d ever known—and she proved it when he leaned down in anticipation of their second kiss of the day. Instead of melting into his embrace and giving him everything he wanted, she pushed against his chest and stepped back.

  A growl of frustrated yearning rumbled in his throat when her palm broke contact with his flushed skin. Her lashes lowered again, sweeping against rosy cheeks.

  Suddenly her eyes widened and she spun around. “Um…you need to take over the controls.”

  Oh, he’d love to take control. Lose himself and the rest of the world in her. But she headed topside so fast he was forced to call after her, “I’ll be right up.”

  His entire body hummed with suppressed awareness, some places a hell of a lot more insistent than others. Maybe it was a good thing she distanced herself. With his heightened emotions, and the bed a mere step away, any encouragement from her would’ve spun things out of control in record time. She may be different, but he was still just a man.

  Trent reached for the button on his jeans in the interest of comfort only to discover it was already undone and the zipper half down from before. No wonder she’d run the other direction.

  With a wry twist of his lips, he pulled out a pair of boxer briefs, cotton shorts and a T-shirt from a drawer built into the wall next to the bed. On second thought, he exchanged the T-shirt for a short sleeved button down shirt so he could slide it over the bandage. He left the shirt undone, tossed his blood-stained, wet jeans over the tiny shower rod in the head, and went up to see where she’d stopped the boat.

  Halli avoided looking at him as he powered back up and nudged the bow north. A few minutes later, he pointed out the cluster of lights hugging the dark shoreline ahead and to their right. “That’s Bellagio.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “A friend of mine has a place up here where we can dock for the night.”

  “We’re not staying at their house, are we?” Dismay colored her tone. “I’m really not up to facing strangers right about now.”

  “It’s okay, we’ll stay on the boat. George is on vacation in France, anyway.”

  “George?” Sudden interest raised her voice an octave. “Clooney?”

  “No, not Clooney.” He felt the beginnings of a frown. “I suppose you’ve seen his stuff.”

  “Of course; I love his movies. Do you know where his place is on the lake?”

  Her hopeful question triggered unexpected annoyance. “He’s on location until September, so forget it.”

  “Chill out.” She sat back in her seat, arms crossed. “I was only going to ask if we could drive past.”

  “He lives down in Laglio, near Como, and we’re not going back that way.”

  “Fine. Sorry I even mentioned it.”

  Of course she’d seen Clooney’s movies. Trent knew he shouldn’t care if she didn’t watch his movies, yet his ego growled in protest. He clamped his jaw tight and tried to forget the whole subject as he’d ordered her to.

  A few hundred yards shy of the peninsula of the inverted Y of the lake, he eased the Scappare alongside George’s long dock with it’s yacht and motor boat for water skiing. He cut the engine and maneuvered the cruiser behind the other vessels. Halli jumped onto the dock before he could voice the request forming on his tongue. He tossed out the mooring rope and she secured the stern, then they both moved to the bow.

  “Thanks,” he offered past the lingering resentment from a moment ago.

  Low energy LED’s placed strategically around the cabin provided soft illumination without pointing a glaring finger to their added presence in the area. Besides, George’s private dock was far enough from the more populated areas that Trent felt comfortable they were safe.


  Yet when Halli straightened and looked around from her viewpoint on the dock while hugging her arms across her stomach, he was struck by how small and defenseless she appeared up there all alone.

  “Now would be a good time to get some rest,” Trent suggested. Judging by mood alone, the day was definitely catching up with him. “Morning will be here before we know it.”

  “I am tired, but it seems like it’d be impossible to sleep.”

  “Hmm. And here I am, fresh out of reading material for you.”

  She made a face at his sarcasm, but he caught a flash of guilt before she turned away and walked to the end of the dock.

  An alien sense of vulnerability still remained at the knowledge of her being privy to his private thoughts in the notebook. A part of him wanted to leave her over there, by herself, staring out over the water. The other part, the part that noticed the vigorous rub she gave her bare arms, grabbed the windbreaker he kept stowed below deck, vaulted onto the dock, and strolled along the weathered wooden planks to join her.

  Her head turned slightly as he approached, but she didn’t face him. He handed the jacket over and felt good when she slipped her arms into the sleeves with a quiet “Thank you.”

  A couple rolls on each side brought the long sleeves in line with her slender wrists. She stuffed her hands inside the pockets, and he wondered what to do with his as he stood alongside her in the dim light of the partial moon. This feeling of uncertainty in connection with a woman was entirely new to him.

  And damned annoying.

  His gaze scanned the lights of the various small villages and towns that dotted the lakeshore in the apex of the inverted Y that made up Lago de Como. Light spilled from homes, villas, hotels and places of business, shimmering on waves dancing to the tune of a light wind. The occasional ring of a bell echoed across the water that lapped against the boats and the rocks on shore. Romance hung in the crisp night air, just out of reach in their current circumstances.

  “Pretty, isn’t it?” he asked Halli.

  “It’s amazing.” A heavy sigh lifted her shoulders. “Wish I’d gotten a chance to see more of it.”