then attacked a plate of antipasto that would have served four.
Sunny stared down at her own little forest of grilled baby artichokes, nonplussed. “How can you just sit there and eat when the woman who tried to kill you is three tables away?”
“I told you she apologized that night. Said it was her mistake.” He crunched down the creamy eggplant tart as though he had nothing else on his mind.
“Better watch your waistline,” Sunny said.
He glanced up at her, brows raised. “You’re the one eating the sugar buns. Two at a time you told me.” He winced as her black suede stiletto, Christian Louboutin and
molto
expensivo, caught him on the shin.
“So,” she said impatiently. “What’s her story?”
“She’s with Renato Manzini, her ‘producer.’ And also, I believe you mentioned, your client Eddie’s producer. I still don’t know her name.”
“That’s easy,” Sunny said, taking out her cell phone. “I’ll call Eddie and find out.”
She walked outside to make the call and Mac watched her, smiling at the perfect little twitch of her butt. It was unself-conscious and totally natural and beautiful.
She was back in a flash. “Her name is Marisa Mayne,” she said, settling into her chair. “Eddie’s seen her around in Hollywood. She’s kind of ‘a girl around town,’ always at the clubs, always on the lookout. He told me she has a walk-on role in the sci-fi movie and that she looks sensational, all bare brown legs and a silver breastplate, with a lacquered silver mask complete with Spock pointed ears.
“Also, apparently at Renato Manzini’s insistence, she’s been given a couple of lines. Eddie doesn’t know where she’s staying but assumes, since they appear to be so close, it’s with Manzini. His opinion is she’s just a girl using her assets to try to improve her status in the movie world. And,” Sunny added thoughtfully, “judging by that whopping yellow diamond on her engagement finger, I think she may be succeeding.”
Mac took a sip of his wine. “Thanks, babe,” he said. “What would I do without you?”
“You’d survive,” she said.
He met her cool amber gaze. “No, I don’t think I would,” he said, leaving Sunny breathless, but just then the waiter arrived to serve the lobster fettuccini, interrupting their moment.
Dinner was delicious and the wine got even richer as the night wore on. They were on to dessert—the
dolce
the waiter called it, making them giggle—and a glass of
vin santo
, when Marisa Mayne made her exit. She stopped by their table en route.
“So good to see you again, Mac,” she said, offering her hand as though they were old friends. He shook it, waving nonchalantly at Renato Manzini who glowered from the door, waiting for her.
“We have to talk,” Marisa whispered urgently. “Call me.
Please
, it’s important.” Then with a quick apologetic smile at Sunny she was gone.
Mac waited until the couple had finally left. Then he opened his hand and took out the scrap of paper Marisa had palmed him. On it was written her phone number.
She’s not joking,” he said thoughtfully. “And this time, I think she might be in real trouble.”
C HAPTER 12
The next morning at the hotel, breakfast was a leisurely affair of endless coffee, sweet rolls, and crumbs in the bed, over which Sunny and Mac made love. Marisa Mayne was temporarily forgotten and they were still rolled in each other’s arms at noon when Mac said, “Hey, there’s all of Rome outside this window. So why are we just lying here?”
“Because this is more fun.” Sunny tossed back her long wild hair and snuggled into his armpit.
“Wait a minute.” He tilted her chin, rubbing his nose against hers, the silly way lovers do. “We have work to do.”
“The Naughty Angel,” she sighed.
“Right.” Mac unwrapped her from him and reached for the piece of paper with Marisa’s number. Grabbing the phone he punched it in.
She answered right away. “Oh, thank God it’s
Sunny stared down at her own little forest of grilled baby artichokes, nonplussed. “How can you just sit there and eat when the woman who tried to kill you is three tables away?”
“I told you she apologized that night. Said it was her mistake.” He crunched down the creamy eggplant tart as though he had nothing else on his mind.
“Better watch your waistline,” Sunny said.
He glanced up at her, brows raised. “You’re the one eating the sugar buns. Two at a time you told me.” He winced as her black suede stiletto, Christian Louboutin and
molto
expensivo, caught him on the shin.
“So,” she said impatiently. “What’s her story?”
“She’s with Renato Manzini, her ‘producer.’ And also, I believe you mentioned, your client Eddie’s producer. I still don’t know her name.”
“That’s easy,” Sunny said, taking out her cell phone. “I’ll call Eddie and find out.”
She walked outside to make the call and Mac watched her, smiling at the perfect little twitch of her butt. It was unself-conscious and totally natural and beautiful.
She was back in a flash. “Her name is Marisa Mayne,” she said, settling into her chair. “Eddie’s seen her around in Hollywood. She’s kind of ‘a girl around town,’ always at the clubs, always on the lookout. He told me she has a walk-on role in the sci-fi movie and that she looks sensational, all bare brown legs and a silver breastplate, with a lacquered silver mask complete with Spock pointed ears.
“Also, apparently at Renato Manzini’s insistence, she’s been given a couple of lines. Eddie doesn’t know where she’s staying but assumes, since they appear to be so close, it’s with Manzini. His opinion is she’s just a girl using her assets to try to improve her status in the movie world. And,” Sunny added thoughtfully, “judging by that whopping yellow diamond on her engagement finger, I think she may be succeeding.”
Mac took a sip of his wine. “Thanks, babe,” he said. “What would I do without you?”
“You’d survive,” she said.
He met her cool amber gaze. “No, I don’t think I would,” he said, leaving Sunny breathless, but just then the waiter arrived to serve the lobster fettuccini, interrupting their moment.
Dinner was delicious and the wine got even richer as the night wore on. They were on to dessert—the
dolce
the waiter called it, making them giggle—and a glass of
vin santo
, when Marisa Mayne made her exit. She stopped by their table en route.
“So good to see you again, Mac,” she said, offering her hand as though they were old friends. He shook it, waving nonchalantly at Renato Manzini who glowered from the door, waiting for her.
“We have to talk,” Marisa whispered urgently. “Call me.
Please
, it’s important.” Then with a quick apologetic smile at Sunny she was gone.
Mac waited until the couple had finally left. Then he opened his hand and took out the scrap of paper Marisa had palmed him. On it was written her phone number.
She’s not joking,” he said thoughtfully. “And this time, I think she might be in real trouble.”
C HAPTER 12
The next morning at the hotel, breakfast was a leisurely affair of endless coffee, sweet rolls, and crumbs in the bed, over which Sunny and Mac made love. Marisa Mayne was temporarily forgotten and they were still rolled in each other’s arms at noon when Mac said, “Hey, there’s all of Rome outside this window. So why are we just lying here?”
“Because this is more fun.” Sunny tossed back her long wild hair and snuggled into his armpit.
“Wait a minute.” He tilted her chin, rubbing his nose against hers, the silly way lovers do. “We have work to do.”
“The Naughty Angel,” she sighed.
“Right.” Mac unwrapped her from him and reached for the piece of paper with Marisa’s number. Grabbing the phone he punched it in.
She answered right away. “Oh, thank God it’s
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