vulnerable, and her family would be the ones to pay—again. She could find herself jobless and her sister once again without health insurance.
“Alice,” Lorenzo whispered. “You have to lean back again.”
Oh . She blinked and realized the boat was close to the entryway. Maybe that was what the tour guide was telling them. Lorenzo bent back so she could do the same, but this time when her back joined his chest, her pulse raced. A cold sheen of sweat slicked her forehead.
The bright skies and blinding sun greeted her as they left the cave. She tugged on the hem of her shirt, searching for protection against herself and what she really wanted. “Wow. What was that back there, huh?” she said.
The tip of his lips curved into a hint of a smile, and he stared at her. She swallowed hard and tried to yank her attention away from his sexy mouth and up to his eyes. Shudder. Bad idea. The green emeralds darkened, and flickers of gold glowed in his irises.
She cleared her throbbing throat.
“I stepped way over the line, Alice. I apologize.” His lips thinned, the smile gone, and he looked ahead. The drumming of his feet on the boat betrayed his casual tone. “What happened…that wasn’t me.” He slipped to the edge of the bench, his weight almost tipping the boat to one side.
“Don’t sweat it, Mr. B.” She waved it off and hoped he didn’t notice that her hand trembled. “When in Rome, right?” She winked at him, then shifted on the bench and crossed her legs. That wasn’t him back there. But nothing had ever made her feel quite like herself as that insane kiss—a truth she would have to bury, for everyone’s sake.
Chapter Four
“C offee will be served in the drawing room,” Rogerio announced with the reverence of a political news insider. The dozen guests occupying the long table nodded and, without making much fuss, pushed their chairs back and got to their feet. Viola murmured something, and a couple of them laughed.
Lorenzo offered his hand to help Alice out of her chair, but before his fingers reached hers, she managed to do it on her own. Since that boat ride a few hours ago, things had changed between them. An invisible armor of protection shielded her from saying the things he thought she would usually say.
Her outfit didn’t have the crystals or beads adorning the clothes of the other women at the dinner party. Instead, the flow of the matte black fabric seduced him as it draped over one shoulder, cascading down her body and hinting at all the curves, the roundness of flesh the other women probably fought hard to conceal.
His libido stirred, and he inwardly cursed the bad timing. Not that there could be good timing when it came to Alice. What had gotten into him? To give in to temptation and kiss her? She was off-limits. Why was it so hard to follow that simple rule?
As they headed to the living room, a neutral smile formed on her lips. A smile as fake and calculated as Joan Smythe’s breasts. They all sat on the buttery leather sofas, while Rogerio rolled in a cart filled with a variety of biscuits and coffees, port wine, and brandy.
“Lorenzo, you are incredibly successful. I’m surprised such an unknown artist sparked so much interest in you. Do you care to share why?” Viola asked before she lifted the port wine to her lips.
Paul leaned forward on the seat, his lips thinning into a smile. Of course Mr. Pretty Boy would pay close attention to the conversation. Lorenzo just hoped that’s all he did.
“Ever since I saw them at your ex-husband’s place, I just knew I had to have them.”
“To sell them, naturally.” Paul stirred a small silver spoon inside the steamy cup of espresso that the butler had just served. “Maybe to Carlo?” Paul added, with a chuckle.
“Only if he wants to drop from the race.” Viola’s cautionary tone reminded him of her non-negotiable rule. The buyer was forbidden to sell the paintings back to her ex-husband.
Lorenzo tugged at his collar.
“Alice,” Lorenzo whispered. “You have to lean back again.”
Oh . She blinked and realized the boat was close to the entryway. Maybe that was what the tour guide was telling them. Lorenzo bent back so she could do the same, but this time when her back joined his chest, her pulse raced. A cold sheen of sweat slicked her forehead.
The bright skies and blinding sun greeted her as they left the cave. She tugged on the hem of her shirt, searching for protection against herself and what she really wanted. “Wow. What was that back there, huh?” she said.
The tip of his lips curved into a hint of a smile, and he stared at her. She swallowed hard and tried to yank her attention away from his sexy mouth and up to his eyes. Shudder. Bad idea. The green emeralds darkened, and flickers of gold glowed in his irises.
She cleared her throbbing throat.
“I stepped way over the line, Alice. I apologize.” His lips thinned, the smile gone, and he looked ahead. The drumming of his feet on the boat betrayed his casual tone. “What happened…that wasn’t me.” He slipped to the edge of the bench, his weight almost tipping the boat to one side.
“Don’t sweat it, Mr. B.” She waved it off and hoped he didn’t notice that her hand trembled. “When in Rome, right?” She winked at him, then shifted on the bench and crossed her legs. That wasn’t him back there. But nothing had ever made her feel quite like herself as that insane kiss—a truth she would have to bury, for everyone’s sake.
Chapter Four
“C offee will be served in the drawing room,” Rogerio announced with the reverence of a political news insider. The dozen guests occupying the long table nodded and, without making much fuss, pushed their chairs back and got to their feet. Viola murmured something, and a couple of them laughed.
Lorenzo offered his hand to help Alice out of her chair, but before his fingers reached hers, she managed to do it on her own. Since that boat ride a few hours ago, things had changed between them. An invisible armor of protection shielded her from saying the things he thought she would usually say.
Her outfit didn’t have the crystals or beads adorning the clothes of the other women at the dinner party. Instead, the flow of the matte black fabric seduced him as it draped over one shoulder, cascading down her body and hinting at all the curves, the roundness of flesh the other women probably fought hard to conceal.
His libido stirred, and he inwardly cursed the bad timing. Not that there could be good timing when it came to Alice. What had gotten into him? To give in to temptation and kiss her? She was off-limits. Why was it so hard to follow that simple rule?
As they headed to the living room, a neutral smile formed on her lips. A smile as fake and calculated as Joan Smythe’s breasts. They all sat on the buttery leather sofas, while Rogerio rolled in a cart filled with a variety of biscuits and coffees, port wine, and brandy.
“Lorenzo, you are incredibly successful. I’m surprised such an unknown artist sparked so much interest in you. Do you care to share why?” Viola asked before she lifted the port wine to her lips.
Paul leaned forward on the seat, his lips thinning into a smile. Of course Mr. Pretty Boy would pay close attention to the conversation. Lorenzo just hoped that’s all he did.
“Ever since I saw them at your ex-husband’s place, I just knew I had to have them.”
“To sell them, naturally.” Paul stirred a small silver spoon inside the steamy cup of espresso that the butler had just served. “Maybe to Carlo?” Paul added, with a chuckle.
“Only if he wants to drop from the race.” Viola’s cautionary tone reminded him of her non-negotiable rule. The buyer was forbidden to sell the paintings back to her ex-husband.
Lorenzo tugged at his collar.
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