The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding (Italian Billionaires #1)(6)
She would not allow herself to be intimidated or upset by Nicholas de Frenza. She would fly to Italy with him, but that was all. She’d bring Jonathan home to recuperate from his injuries, and everything would be the same as before.
“We arrive,” Nicholas said as the car passed through an airport security check point and purred between a pair of electronic gates.
Amanda roused from her thoughts to glance forward. She drew a quick breath of surprise as she saw what appeared to be a private jet waiting for them on a stretch of open tarmac.
No wonder the Italian had spoken of a window of opportunity for take-off instead of a flight time, or that he seemed to have her airfare under control. Jonathan had apparently fallen in with a family that was something beyond the ordinary.
An airport official met them at the plane steps. The formalities were brief. Moments later, Nicholas de Frenza guided her onboard with a hand under her elbow as if he expected her to turn and run at the last minute. Perhaps she would have, for there was something disturbing in the idea of being spirited away on a private jet by a man she’d barely met.
The interior of the plane was decorated in serene shades of sea blue and gray. Comfortable chairs and tables sat in cozy groupings and the carpet underfoot was cloud-soft. A pleasant-faced attendant greeted them, brought coffee for Nicholas and fruit juice for Amanda, and informed them they would take off immediately.
Minutes later, Atlanta was fast receding, looking like a child’s toy city below as they rose into the clouds. Rain streaked backward across the windows, and then stopped as they broke through into blue skies. The plane banked in a slow turn and headed toward Italy.
When they leveled out, Amanda’s companion took a thin laptop and handful of files from his briefcase. “You permit?” he asked, tipping them toward her with a lifted brow. “I would not work, usually, but have things that must be done.”
“Of course, please don’t feel you have to entertain me.”
He watched her for a long moment. Then he inclined his head and opened the laptop.
An Atlanta newspaper lay on the table in front of Amanda. She picked it up, skimmed the headlines, read an article or two. Now and then, she threw a quick look at Nicholas de Frenza, intrigued by his ability to concentrate in spite of the strained circumstances. He read what appeared to be reports, made notes, checked files and used his mobile to dictate what might have been memos. If he knew she was anywhere near, he gave no sign.
Without taking his gaze from his work, he reached up and loosened his tie, sliding it from under his collar with a silken whisper. He tossed it aside and opened the top buttons of his shirt so the first hazy edges of black chest hair appeared.
Amanda’s mouth went dry. Her heartbeat quickened and her breasts tingled with the need to press against the soft mat that surely lay beneath his silk shirt. She twisted in her seat to face away from him, closing her hands slowly on the paper she held.
“You are all right? Flying isn’t a problem for you?”
“No, not at all.”
“If you are uncomfortable, don’t stand on ceremony. Take off your jacket and shoes. Relax. Nap. Whatever pleases you.”
“I’m fine,” she said tonelessly, staring at meaningless newsprint. Perhaps she would comply later, when she was sure he was no longer paying attention.
“Sleeping accommodations are in the rear of the plane if you would care to rest in privacy.”
She gave him a quick glance, but saw only the polite concern of a host in the blackness of his eyes. It seemed best to play it safe anyway. “Thank you, but I don’t think so.”
“As you prefer.” He returned to his work.
Quiet stretched with nothing except the rustle of papers and dull roar of the engines to fill it. When it threatened to become more than a little uncomfortable, Amanda moistened her lips. “How long until we arrive?”
“Nine hours, give or take,” he answered without looking up.
“You spoke to someone at the hospital while on the way to the airport, I think. What did they say?”
“There has been no change.”
She folded her paper and leaned to return it to the table. “Just that, nothing more?”
“Nothing.”
“Why didn’t you tell me anyway?”
The sudden lift of his dark eyes in full attention made her sit back in her seat. She was almost sorry she’d asked.
“I didn’t realize you were listening to my conversations or that you understood them.”
“I wasn’t, I don’t,” she said with heat rising in her face. “I just — I thought I heard the word for doctor.”
He gave a brief nod. “Dottore, yes. But there was no news about your brother, so no reason to disturb you by making you think of the accident again. Had there been anything to report, I would have told you at once.”
How very autocratic, she thought, studying his stern yet incredibly well-arranged features. Still, she was fair-minded enough to recognize that he’d been considerate in his way.
“No change in your sister’s condition, either?” she asked after a moment.
“None.” With that single clipped word, he returned to his paperwork again, effectively ending the conversation.
Autocratic, indeed.
She should have picked up the novel she’d been reading, she thought, tucking it into her carryon as she left her apartment. She needed something to occupy her thoughts. Still, it might not have served the purpose. She was too unsettled to turn on the small television built into the arm of the chair where she sat, and she had no interest in a movie or whatever else might be available. She had exhausted the possibilities of the newspaper, and the magazines beside it were in Italian.