And that was before she succumbed to the temptation of a misty-mauve, long silk-knit dress and a sinfully gorgeous evening gown shimmering with celadon beading—“because,” as Gail reminded her when she hesitated about buying it, “even run-of-the-mill conventions always wind up with a banquet of some sort on the Saturday night, and there’s nothing run-of-the-mill about your man and the company he keeps.”
Surveying the contents of her suitcase on the Tuesday evening—the “gently used” designer items, supplemented by Gail’s silver pumps, matching clutch bag and fake purple pashmina shawl—the full impact of what Arlene had let herself in for finally hit home. She was risking financial and emotional bankruptcy—and for what? A no-promises tryst with a man who hadn’t even bothered to pick up the phone and call her since Saturday. A man so dangerously attractive that she was practically guaranteed a broken heart at the end of it all. What use would her fancy new clothes be to her, then?
“I’m a nobody trying to keep up with a very big somebody,” she wailed.
“You’re an idiot,” Gail said bracingly. “Mr. Wonderful puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like any other guy.”
But Domenico wasn’t at all like any other guy, and the truth of that was driven home with a vengeance, the second he escorted Arlene on board his sleek Gulfstream jet, early on Wednesday morning. The spacious cabin, with its wide aisle, ample headroom, thick carpet and leather seating arrangement spelled the ultimate in luxury and comfort.
She had been too wound up to eat anything before leaving the hotel, but the scant two hours it took to fly from the airport in Olbia to Le Bourget in Paris allowed enough time for a steward to serve them a light breakfast of chilled champagne and orange juice, warm, delicious rolls, fresh fruit and wonderful rich Italian coffee.
“To Paris!” Domenico said, raising his glass in a toast as the shoreline of Sardinia receded below them.
She nodded, not quite believing she was sitting across from him, a fine, monogrammed serviette on her lap, and a mimosa in a crystal flute clutched nervously between her fingers. Her previous flying experience had been all about paper napkins, packaged snacks and plain orange juice from a disposable plastic glass. But then, she’d never before agreed to what Gail had gleefully described as “a business weekend spiked with sweaty, delicious passion between the sheets, with the sexiest guy to walk the earth since Sean Connery strode around as James Bond.”
Sexy, yes, but observant, too, and watching her, Domenico said, “You’re very pensive, Arlene. Is something wrong?”
In a word, yes! A sleepless night had merely intensified her doubts. Plain, ordinary Arlene Russell didn’t belong in a private jet with a man like him. “I’m rather overwhelmed, I guess. I’ve never been whisked away to one of the great capitals of Europe by someone I’ve only just met.”
“If you’re having second thoughts about coming away with me, rest assured I’ll not pressure you into doing anything you’re not ready for. You will set the pace of our time together, cara, not I.”
“That’s hardly the agreement we made last Saturday. I’m not about to repay your generosity by…” She stopped, unable to put into words what they both knew she meant.
He suffered no such qualms. “By not sleeping with me? Arlene, please! Just because I find you desirable doesn’t mean you owe me sexual favors. Over the next few days, you’ll meet some of the foremost viticulturists in the world. I’ll consider myself well rewarded if you make the most of that opportunity.” He shrugged then, and smiled. “And if we happen also to make love? Well, that will be a bonus.”
Avoiding his gaze, she stroked her hand over the butter-soft leather arm of her seat. “I wondered if perhaps you’d changed your mind about that. We haven’t spoken since Saturday, and when you picked me up this morning, you were very…businesslike.”
“You mean, I didn’t kiss you?”
He was altogether too good at divining her thoughts. Flushing, she said, “Not even on the cheek.”
“Is that what’s left you so much at odds?” He laughed, and leaning across the table, caught her chin and brought his mouth to hers. “You taste delectable,” he murmured, when at last he drew away again. “And if you think I’ve kept my distance because I’ve had a change of heart, you couldn’t be more mistaken.”
Her mood lifted at that, and she found it easier to focus on the here and now, and leave the future to take care of itself. If this magical few days was to mark the grand finale of her experience with this incredible man, she wouldn’t let her insecurities cloud it. Twenty years from now, she wanted the details etched so clearly in her memory that it seemed they had happened just yesterday.
As the jet began its descent over Paris, Domenico pointed out famous landmarks she’d only ever read about, or seen on television or in the movies. Her face pressed to the window, she caught her first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, the bridges across the Seine, Notre Dame, Sacré-Coeur. The names and images unfolded below, gilded with autumn sunlight and the romantic ambience which had defined the city for centuries.
When they emerged from the airport, a chauffeur-driven Mercedes waited to take them to their hotel. Arlene hoped it would be modest enough that her beleaguered credit card could cover the cost of staying there, because she had no intention of letting Domenico pay. It was enough that he’d taken care of their travel arrangements and used his influence to get her registered at the convention.
She realized how fruitless her hopes were when the car drew to a stop and she found herself standing before the legendary Paris Ritz. Even she knew it was among the most expensive and luxurious hotels in the world. Frozen with dismay, she clutched Domenico’s arm and skidded to a stop. “The convention’s being held here?”
“I never stay in the convention hotel, cara,” he said, calmly propelling her inside the beautiful eighteenth-century building. “Too crowded, too noisy and not nearly enough privacy.”
“But I can’t afford this place!”
“I can.”
“That’s not the point!”
“Then what is?”
“That I have my pride. I’ve gone along with everything else you’ve suggested, but I refuse to let you pay for my accommodation.”
He glanced meaningfully at the people milling around the ornate lobby. “We will not discuss the matter here, Arlene. It can wait until we are alone.”
But that didn’t happen until she found herself in a suite of rooms overlooking the Vendôme Gardens, and the sheer magnificence of the setting alone was enough to render her speechless. Elegant antique furniture, priceless objets d’art, paintings, Persian rugs, huge floral arrangements—try as she might, taking it all in was impossible. Simply put, she had never in her life seen anything so exquisite, let alone found herself immersed in it.
Stunned, she turned to Domenico. “What am I doing in this place?”
“This,” he said, and kissed her for the second time that day; a long, achingly beautiful kiss.
She struggled to keep her head, to stand by her principles. But however magnificent the Ritz, it couldn’t hold a candle to Domenico Silvaggio d’Avalos when he set out to seduce. She could walk away from the trappings of the rich and famous, and never know a moment’s regret. She could not walk away from him.
Not that she didn’t try. Tearing her mouth free, she whispered, “I don’t belong here, Domenico.”
“Then leave,” he said, holding her tighter. Trapping her in his magnetic aura.
“You don’t understand…!”
“What don’t I understand, Arlene?” he murmured, drawing out her name on a long breath, and turning it into an endearment.
“I’m afraid. Out of my element. I don’t know where all this is leading.”
“Then we’ll be afraid together, because I don’t know that, either.”
She sighed, her gaze locked helplessly with his. “I don’t believe you know the meaning of fear. You’re invincible.”
He shook his he
ad. “I’m just a man, tesoro,” he said quietly, stroking her face. “Because I happen to have more money than some doesn’t make me better or worse than they are. It doesn’t define who I am. Leave if you must, but do it because you don’t wish to stay with me, not because of my wealth, and not because you’re afraid I’m trying to buy you. I have a standing reservation on this particular suite, and as I believe I told you last Saturday, the price remains the same regardless of how many guests occupy it. And if it matters at all, there are two bedrooms. I’ll be sleeping in mine until, or unless, you invite me to share yours.”
How could she leave, after that? How could she turn away from his candid blue gaze, or doubt his decency, his integrity?
Sensing he’d won her over, he led her by the hand to the tall salon windows overlooking the gardens. “Let’s not waste any more time standing here arguing over trivialities, not when the sun’s shining, and all Paris waits to meet you.” He fingered her light sweater, which had been more than adequate for Sardinia’s weather. “Put on something warmer, and I’ll introduce you to one of my favorite cities.”
They began with a trip on a bateau-mouche, one of a fleet of long tour boats that plied the waters of the Seine. As the vessel glided by the Ile de la Cité and the Ile Saint-Louis, she sat beside Domenico on the glass-covered deck and breathed in the history of the dazzling monuments.
The names of the people who’d immortalized the ancient city branded themselves on her brain. Marie Antoinette…Victor Hugo…Charles Dickens…Toulouse-Lautrec…The list was endless, fascinating.
The wind had picked up and turned the morning chilly when at last they disembarked on the Left Bank. Copper leaves from the chestnut trees swirled around her ankles as Domenico hurried her along the street to a tiny riverside bistro, and she was glad she’d changed into the slim-fitting black slacks and scarlet turtleneck sweater. With her cape thrown over her shoulders and her feet snug in their suede boots, she almost felt as if she belonged in chic, elegant Paris.
“So how did you enjoy the bateau-mouche?” he wanted to know, after they’d been shown to a table next to a blue and white enameled woodstove, and were enjoying a glass of red wine, which the waiter poured from a carafe on the counter dividing the kitchen from the eating area.
“Amazing! The most breathtaking experience of my life! If I didn’t see anything else, I’d go home satisfied with what I saw this morning.”
“Oh, that was just the aperitif, Arlene,” he promised, the heat in his eyes rivaling that thrown out by the logs in the stove. “The best is yet to come. Now tell me what you’d like for lunch.”
“You decide,” she said, so exhilarated that she wondered why she’d ever entertained a moment’s hesitation about being with him. “I’m happy to leave myself in your hands.”
After scrutinizing the chalkboard listing the day’s offerings, he chose oyster stew, a rich, steaming dish served in individual casserole dishes, accompanied by a baguette fresh from the boulangerie next door, and a dish of unsalted butter.
“What do you think of the wine?” he asked at one point.
“Nice legs!” she replied mischievously, and just like that set a lighthearted tone she’d not often experienced with him before then.
As a result, their simple lunch in that unpretentious little bistro marked a shift in their relationship. They laughed and talked as easily as if they’d known each other for months instead of days.
The sexual tension remained, of course. She knew that, for her, it always would. It was as much a part of her as breathing. But for the first time since they’d met, she relaxed enough to stop worrying about what he might be thinking of her, or how he might be feeling about her, and simply had fun with him.
He sensed the change in her. “Still feeling overwhelmed?” he asked, trapping her hand in his, as they lingered over the last of their wine.
Knowing he was referring to her comments during the flight, she shook her head, her heart so full, so grateful, that for a moment she couldn’t speak.
“No more doubts or fears that you’ve let yourself in for more than you bargained for?”
“None,” she managed, over the lump in her throat.
“I’m glad,” he said. “I want to see you smile more often, hear you laugh the way you have this last hour, as if there’s no place you’d rather be than here, with me.”
“There isn’t,” she admitted. “We haven’t known one another very long, but you’ve become very…important to me.”
Important? The inadequacy of the word made her shudder. He’d become crucial to her very existence! He filled all the empty corners of her heart. She was captivated by him. Had been almost from the moment she first set eyes on him.
“How long we’ve known each other isn’t an issue,” he murmured, his gaze seeming to devour her. “What counts is not settling for the safe and ordinary, but being brave enough to recognize and hold on to the remarkable whenever it happens to come along, and despite the risks it might entail.” He stopped and tilted his head to one side, his brows lifted in inquiry. “You’re smiling again. Why?”
“Because you struck a chord with your remark about settling for the safe and ordinary,” she said. “Until recently, that’s what I feel I’ve always done.”
“How so?”
She hesitated a moment. Sharing her past didn’t come easily. But he squeezed her hand and said quietly, “Tell me, Arlene. I’ll understand.”
“All right.” Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she plunged in. “You know about my parents’ divorce and how I never really got to spend any time with my father.”
“Yes,” he said. “You lost him when you were very young, and from what you told me, it doesn’t seem your mother was able to fill the hole his death left in your life.”
“It wasn’t that she couldn’t, Domenico, it was that she wouldn’t. The only reason she fought my father for custody was that she knew he wanted me. She remarried when I was eleven, and decided that she didn’t want to be saddled with a child anymore. I spent the next seven years trying to prove I deserved her love but eventually had to settle for her tolerating me, instead. The day I graduated with honors from high school, she informed me that, at eighteen, I should be living in my own place, and kicked me out of the house. I’d hoped to become a lawyer, but I couldn’t support myself and afford law school as well, so I settled for becoming a legal secretary.”
She stopped rather abruptly then. Adding the rest—that she’d turn thirty in February, that her biological clock deafened her with its frantic ticking and she longed to have a baby, but that until she met him, she’d resigned herself to remaining single because she hadn’t met a man she could love with her whole heart—was best kept to herself. Domenico didn’t strike her as a man given to panic, but her baring her soul that far would surely send him running out the door in a cold sweat. It was enough that she’d already confided to him things she’d previously shared only with Gail.
“Such a woman,” he stated unequivocally in the pause that followed, “is a poor excuse for a mother.”
Arlene shrugged. “I came to terms with who my mother is, years ago. I can’t change her. The only thing I have control over is my own destiny.”
“That’s all any of us can do,” he observed.
“Yes, but it took inheriting my great-uncle’s vineyard for me to realize that. The challenges in my new life—and yes, the risks, too—have shaken me out of my comfort zone and made me realize I was suffocating on the safe and dull and merely tolerable. I want to live, not simply exist. I want to know the thrill of accomplishment, even if it’s sometimes flavored with setbacks. I’m not saying I think I should always have the best, or be the best, because that’s not how life plays out. But I’ll do without before I’ll settle for second best again.”
“Which is exactly as it should be.” He wove her fingers more tightly in his. “Thank you for trusting me enough to share what I know are painful memories. They give me greater understanding into wh
at makes you the woman you are today.”
She laughed rather uncertainly. “Oh dear! I thought men preferred women with a little mystery to them.”
“A little, perhaps, but you’ve whet my appetite. I very much want to learn more about you, Arlene.”
“Well, not right now, if you don’t mind,” she said lightly. “Not with Paris waiting to be explored.”
Rising, he pulled her to her feet and draped her cape snugly around her shoulders. “Then let’s get on with it, cara mia. How would you most like to spend the rest of the afternoon?”
“Visiting Notre Dame,” she replied, without a moment’s hesitation. Ever since she was a girl and had read Victor Hugo’s classic novel of the tragic hunchback, Quasimodo, she’d dreamed of climbing the towers, and looking out over the rooftops of Paris.
“Then Notre Dame it will be,” he said, and led her to the street again.
The reality of the cathedral, its majesty and atmosphere, so far exceeded her expectations that she couldn’t imagine anything else the day had to offer could match it. Until, with dusk fast approaching, she and Domenico returned to the Ritz, and she found herself preparing for the evening ahead—and the night that would follow.
Chapter 6
He could see in her face, and the way she moved—gingerly, as if everything hurt—that the grueling climb up and down the towers, coupled with a very long day, had exhausted her. Not that she’d been willing to admit it.
“Of course it wasn’t too much for me,” she’d insisted gamely, after it was over and she’d gazed her fill at the Paris skyline, her expression filled with a wonder that was almost childlike in its purity. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
She had stamina, he’d grant her that. And it looked as if she was going to need it. From everything she’d told him and what he’d gathered from his contacts in the area, she’d inherited not the bucolic paradise she envisioned, but a disaster that could ruin her. The so-called “help” she thought he’d given amounted to nothing compared to what she’d need when she finally confronted the difficulties facing her.
The Italian Billionaire's Christmas Miracle Page 7