The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding (Italian Billionaires #1)(45)

It troubled her that he slid so quickly from her bed and went to such pains to make certain the coast was clear before leaving her room. If being discovered with her would be such an embarrassment, he should never have risked it in the first place.

Of course, he had been concerned about his family discovering him in her room. They would not understand, he’d said, yet she wondered if there wasn’t more to it than that. Would they, perhaps, believe the fiction had become a fact, and she was truly his fiancée? Might they not expect him to marry her if it was seen they were sleeping together under the family roof?

She would never hold him to such a quasi-commitment, but he didn’t know that. Breach of promise suits had been filed for less, and he was an excellent target for such a thing. He could not be blamed for being cautious.

Despite her misgivings, she was fervently glad he had come to her. How dreary life would stretch ahead of her without the memory of the time spent in his arms. She might never have known exactly how love between a man and a woman could be. Everything she had felt before was like the difference between a candle flame and a forest fire. She had burned for him, shameless in her need for more and more of him, of his caresses, his body moving against her, inside her in its consuming power.

Perhaps it was a good thing that he had gone. She had come to Italy to be with Jonathan. The distraction of an affair was the last thing she needed.

It might not be the last thing she wanted, of course, but that was a different matter.

Wherever Nico might have gone, he had sent his limo back to the villa. It and the chauffeur, so Aunt Filomena told her while acting as translator, were both at her disposal for the drive back and forth to visit her brother. Nico’s aunt would give herself the pleasure of traveling with Amanda for her visits, if she did not mind. It was Nico’s suggestion, certainly, but she would be glad of the opportunity to know Amanda better.

Nico’s aunt was already in the limo when Amanda reached it on the morning of the second day. She was reading an English tabloid as she often did to keep in practice, so absorbed in the pages it was a moment before she looked up. Immediately, she smiled a greeting and folded the rough sheets of newsprint, dropping them onto the seat beside her.

Amanda’s reply was mechanical. A familiar name caught her eye on the paper’s front page. As she took her seat and the car moved off down the drive, she reached for it.

Conte’s Conquest!

De Frenza with Sister of Injured Race Car Driver!

“Do not distress yourself, cara mia,” Aunt Filomena said. “It means nothing.”

“No.” Amanda knew that, but it didn’t stop her from scanning the article. The writer had stretched the truth like a pair of old panty hose, but stopped short of calling her Nico’s mistress.

The photo beneath the headline showed her in Nico’s arms as he’d lifted her and thrust her into his Ferrari. She was looking up at him as if he were her knight in armor, the expression on her face one of such naked admiration she winced to see it.

Nico had been captured in the instant he returned her glance, however. His shoulders were stiff, his arm like a steel band behind her back and his features set in grim lines. Yet in his eyes was such protective fury that it seemed the conte was claiming her as his own.

Amanda’s swallowed against the stinging pressure of tears. She breathed with difficulty against their ache. When she was sure they were under control, she folded the paper with care and tucked it into her shoulder bag.

Of course it meant nothing. But she might one day be glad to have the photo for a souvenir.

Aunt Filomena was a vivacious companion who allowed no awkward pauses in conversation. During the days spent going back and forth together, she made the miles zip past with directions to the best boutiques in Florence for leather goods and shoes, tales of her various husbands, memories of the grand parties held at the villa in her youth, and stories about Nico as a mischievous young boy.

Amanda listened to the last with intense interest, though she tried not to show it. She wasn’t sure she succeeded, however, as Aunt Filomena embroidered a little more on his past misdeeds and triumphs every day.

They were not bothered again by the paparazzi. Whether they had done their worst, Nico’s safeguards had discouraged them or some other scandal had drawn them away was difficult to say. Still, it was a relief to be free of their harassment.

At the end of the week, Nico’s aunt begged off the daily visit because of a luncheon engagement. Amanda made the trip alone. She dressed carefully, as she had every other day, being mindful that Nico might show up at any time.

Her suit skirt had been discarded on the morning he left. What was the purpose of hanging on to it, after all, when she had accepted him into her bed? In any case, the dresses he’d chosen in natural linen and cotton in luscious colors of rose and sea blue, ochre and sienna, were far more suited to the climate.

Her choice today was a shift in robin’s egg blue with grosgrain ribbon trim in lime green, one beautifully cut to skim the figure, subtly enhancing even as it concealed. Slipping on the ballet flats that matched it, she could not help hoping Nico might see her in it, might understand that she was glad to accept his gifts, as she had accepted him.

“I am to be discharged in a couple of days,” Jonathan said by way of greeting the instant she entered his room.

A pang of distress shifted through Amanda. It was another reminder, if one were needed, that her time in Italy would soon end. “I know you’re glad,” she answered, summoning a smile. “I suppose I should get on the phone about a flight for us.”