The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding (Italian Billionaires #1)(25)
Amanda had certainly thought it might be less awkward if the others were present. It was uncomfortable enough now, sitting there making stilted conversation after what had taken place. “Will we be leaving soon?” she asked. “Should I go and get ready?”
“You might change into something cooler,” he said easily, his gaze on the small cup of dark, rich espresso he was lifting to his lips. “It is going to be a warm day.”
She took that as an affirmative. Leaping up from her chair, she left the terrace for the safety of the villa.
Briefly, she considered changing clothes as suggested, but it was a momentary weakness. The designer-label clothing that had appeared in her closet was tempting, but far from what she had requested or could comfortably afford. The fabrics were too fine, the luscious colors too light to be practical. As for the fragile sandals or lacy, color-coordinated bras and miniscule panties that had been added, forget it.
She was perfectly fine in her suit skirt and the feminine version of a man’s dress shirt that Erminia had laundered for her. She would eventually find an opportunity to shop. Meanwhile, the less she owed Nicholas de Frenza, the better.
What had possessed him to kiss her again? Window dressing for Carisa’s sake, that had to be it. He was clearly concerned for her well-being in the midst of this emergency, would go to any lengths to keep her happy. She could hardly blame him, but wasn’t sure she liked being a party to it.
The ride to the hospital the evening before, and the meal which followed, had been more silent than not. Both of them had been too worn out from travel and strained emotions to make more than a minimal effort to be civil. She was even too tired to renew the argument over going to a hotel. At the end of the evening, she’d thanked him courteously for dinner and taking her to see Jonathan again, and gone immediately to bed.
Oh, yes, they were both courteous. Polite, even.
A polite kiss…
Right. If that was a mere polite kiss, she’d like to see a passionate one.
Or no, maybe not. Pretending to be his fiancée was enough complication without adding hormone-fueled sexual attraction.
All right, he was a handsome, dynamic man with great internal strength and effortless charisma. She was suitably impressed by his lifestyle, his home and the power he wielded. He raised her temperature, sent her senses reeling with his sweet taste and fiery brush of his lips against hers, and made her ache for his touch. But that was all.
Yes, that was all.
Soon she would be back in Atlanta and this episode would be forgotten. She would banish all thought of Nico and the villa that carried his family name. The only time they’d ever cross her mind was when she bought olive oil.
She might have to switch to corn oil, safflower oil, canola oil, butter, anything except the olive oil.
~ ~ ~
The car that sat on the front court when she emerged from the house bore no resemblance to the conservative black limousine that had transported them back and forth to Florence before. It was powerful and sleek, a soft top Ferrari in a blue of such rich, jewel-like depth that it hurt the eyes to look at it.
Nico leaned against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. It seemed clear that he had decided to dispense with a chauffeur.
Amanda settled on the cream-colored, butter-soft leather seat as he held the door for her. She glided her fingertips over the fine grain in appreciation while Nico walked around to the driver’s side, but said nothing when he dropped down beside her. Though she was becoming more intimidated by his obvious wealth with every hour spent in his company, she refused to show it. And in truth, it didn’t really matter except to make her feel more beyond her depth.
The last thing she wanted was to grow used to such luxury. The sooner she returned to her ordinary life in the States, the better. And the more often she reminded herself of that fact, the more likely it was to stick with her.
Still, there was something gloriously free about purring along the road with the top down, the wind in her hair and sun on her face while lovely vistas appeared around every bend in the road. The air smelled of the sea, also of herbs, flowers, umbrella pines and just a whiff of Nico’s special men’s fragrance. She could feel her spirits lift, buoyed up by hope that both Jonathan and Carita would be all right now that the first, crucial forty-eight hours had come and gone.
Nico drove well, his concentration unwavering yet his well-formed hands relaxed on the wheel as he controlled the powerful automobile. The wind ruffled his hair into shinning furrows and slapped the collar of his shirt against the strong brown column of his neck. He narrowed his eyes against its force as he took the many curves and loops of the road with the panache she was beginning to expect from his countrymen.
Actually, he reminded her of Jonathan at the wheel, driving a little too fast for her comfort but not enough to wring a protest from her. If she directed her attention to the scenery and the houses they passed, she was perfectly calm.
Rounding a curve, they came suddenly upon an ancient panel van that belched black smoke while moving at a crawl due to a wobbling back wheel. Nico glanced ahead toward where another curve loomed a short distance in front of them. Accelerating without pause, he zoomed forward, overtaking the van and then regaining his side of the road with smooth precision. He braked in time to make the curve without the least difficulty.
“And you dare call Jonathan reckless!” Amanda said when her heart had returned to its proper place in her chest.