The Real Rio D'Aquila

by Sandra Marton

  She gave him a cold glare. Then she sighed and the glare turned into a sorrowful admission that what he’d said was true.

  “You’re right. The only person to blame is me for agreeing to try for this job in the first place. I told Gaby it was crazy.”

  Gaby. A new name added to the mix. Was she referring to Gabriella Orsini, Dante’s wife? Rio D’Aquila, who knew the couple, could have asked.

  Matteo Rossi, who’d never heard of them, couldn’t.

  “And Anna. I told her the same thing. ‘This job isn’t for me,’ I said, but did either of them listen?”

  Anna, again. The mysterious Anna, so generous with her clothes and her car.

  “No,” Isabella said grimly, answering her own question, “they did not. They badgered me and badgered me.” Her voice went from its soft, pleasing midrange to a high-pitched parody of what he figured was supposed to be Anna-Gaby. “‘Think of the doors a contract like that will open, Izzy. Think of the new clients you’ll get.’” Her eyebrows drew together. “Ha!”

  “Well,” Rio said cautiously, “they were probably right.”

  She snorted with derision. “Bad enough I have to deal with spoiled rich guys in the city. Why should I have to come all the way to the ends of the earth to deal with one in a place where—where creatures rule the road and trains stop running just because it’s dark?”

  Rio considered pointing out that creatures ruled the road everywhere, and that the dark had nothing to do with trains not running here on a Friday night.

  Instead, he took the low ground.

  “You have no way of knowing that Rio D’Aquila is spoiled.”

  “He’s loaded,” Isabella snapped. “And a hunk.”

  Rio’s eyebrows rose. “Is he,” he said.

  “Gaby says he is. Anna’s never met him but she saw him at a couple of places. Some charity party, the symphony, who knows what? The point is, she saw him. And she said yes, he’s gorgeous. And that he obviously has more money than he needs, and an ego bigger than his head.”

  Rio folded his arms and made a mental note to add Anna to the list of people he could live without meeting.

  “Interesting,” he said coldly.

  “Maybe she didn’t say that, exactly. But why else would he build a house in the middle of nowhere when he already has God only knows how many other houses?”

  “Southampton is hardly the middle of nowhere. And, ah, perhaps he found something about the area appealing.”

  “Do not,” she said, chin lifted, eyes blazing, “do not defend your boss to me! I know what men like him are like. I work for them. Well, not on a job anywhere near the size this one is, I mean, the size this one would have been, I mean, the size it would have been if I’d gotten it—”

  “I get the picture,” he said drily. “So, men who have money are acquisitive fools?”

  “Their egos are bigger than their heads.”

  “An interesting observation.”

  “A valid one.”

  “And that includes Dante Orsini, who recommended you for this position?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

  Idiot! “D’Aquila mentioned it.”

  “No, it doesn’t include Dante. Of course it doesn’t—but that’s beside the point.” Isabella shivered. The night air was surprisingly cool. “I am trapped, do you hear me? Trapped in this—this last outpost of civilization!”

  It was hard not to laugh. Harder still not to kiss away the angry set of her lips, the flush in her cheeks, the glitter in her eyes.

  Damnit, Rio thought, and reached for her and drew her into his arms.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You’re shivering,” he said reasonably. “I’m warming you.”

  “I do not need warming.”

  “Yes. You do. Stop fighting me and let me chase away the chill.”

  She stood within his embrace as rigidly as a tree. He held on to her with the determination of a Boy Scout doing a good deed—except, he had never been a Boy Scout and it was hard to think like one now. Isabella felt warm and soft. She smelled sweet and feminine. He wanted to put his lips against her hair. Lift her face to his and kiss her. He wanted to do all the things a man wanted to do to a woman who drove him crazy—

  And made him feel something for her that could only be described as tenderness.

  He told himself to let go of her and step back—but right at that instant, she gave a weary sigh and put her head against his chest.

  Rio shut his eyes and held her closer.

  “You’re right,” she said in a shaky whisper. “I screwed up and I’m stranded. What am I going to do now?”

  He had the answer, of course.

  He was Rio D’Aquila. He had a plane parked at an airport a short drive away. All they had to do was get into his truck, drive to Easthampton. An hour from now, she’d be where she wanted to be.

  In the city.

  So, what if he wanted her here?

  There was no logic to it. He understood that. What he didn’t understand was why logic didn’t seem to mean a damn.

  Never mind holding her to keep her warm. He was holding her because she felt so right in his arms—and what was that all about?

  For what had to be the thousandth time since Isabella Orsini had walked into his life, Rio told himself that enough was enough. This foolish self-indulgence had to stop. It was time to do the logical thing. To take her to New York. It wasn’t only logical, it was the right thing. All he had to do was take the first step.

  The problem was, that first step was a killer.

  He’d have to tell her who he really was.

  The odds were good she wouldn’t be happy when he revealed that this had all been a charade. Wouldn’t be happy? The understatement of the year. Of the decade.

  She’d be furious.

  But he could get her past that. Hadn’t he charmed CEOs and CFOs and COOs from here to Timbuktu into agreeing to deals they’d started out refusing?

  Still, once she knew who he was, everything would change.

  She’d still be Izzy the Gardener, with her ruined borrowed car and her ruined borrowed clothes and he—

  He would be a liar. A rich liar. A man with too much money and an ego bigger than his head.

  If only he had not lied to her. He wasn’t even sure what had prompted him to do it. Boredom? Irritation? Just plain perversity? Whatever the reason, this had begun as a silly game.

  But it had somehow become more.

  Aside from the enormity of living a lie, he felt—he felt wonderful. Relaxed. Content. Dio, a few hours ago, he wasn’t sure he could even have defined that word.

  Most of all, he was enjoying Isabella’s company. She was prickly and difficult and argumentative, but she was also gentle and honest and she made him smile.

  He felt at ease with her in a way he had not felt with a woman in years.

  In his teens and early twenties, when he hadn’t had any money, women had been drawn to him because of how he looked. He’d known it and he hadn’t much cared. What young guy would? The important thing had been to bed beautiful woman after beautiful woman; his hormones had ruled him.

  Then his life changed. Hard work, good luck, some admittedly clever and dangerous risks, and he’d begun amassing a fortune. He still had the good looks—why be modest over a simple genetic fact?—but now he had money, too, and that ineffable thing called power.

  People began treating him differently, especially women.

  They were deferential. Eager to please. And always planning how to handle him.

  At times, he could almost see them trying to figure out what response he wanted to a simple question. “Would you like to go to the opera tonight, or shall I get tickets for Eric Clapton?” Or, “Are you in the mood for seafood tonight?” Their smiles would freeze. They would hesitate. He knew they were wondering what he wanted them to say, as if there were a correct answer and it would win them a prize.

  Perhaps that was the rea
son he didn’t find many of them interesting anymore.

  Isabella, on the other hand, was more than interesting.

  She was fascinating. And she treated him without pretence.

  He couldn’t imagine another woman scowling at him, or arguing with him, or turning her back on him and walking off into a dangerous night.

  He certainly couldn’t imagine another woman tearing herself from his arms as she had done. Not because he was sure he was such a good lover—although he hoped he was—but because of who he was. Rio D’Aquila, who had an overblown ego and too much money.

  But that was the point, after all.

  He wasn’t that man to Isabella. He was a caretaker. And she liked him for himself. Or didn’t like him, as the spirit moved her.

  And he loved it.

  It was a new world for him, a place where a man was a man and a woman was a woman. It was as close to experiencing a real relationship as he’d ever had …

  Rio frowned.

  If a man actually wanted a relationship.

  He most assuredly didn’t.

  He just liked being with Isabella. Liked holding her. Another minute or two, then he’d pull aside the curtain and reveal himself as the Wizard in the Emerald City. And, no, that hadn’t gone so well for the real wizard but the analogy made—

  “—sense.”

  Rio blinked. “Sorry. I was … What did you say?”

  “I said, I thought of the only solution that makes sense.”

  “Oh?”

  “I can phone Anna.”

  “Anna. ”

  “My sister.”

  Her sister. At least he had part of the puzzle.

  “Anna can come and get me. Or her husband.”

  She was right. That did make sense, and he wouldn’t have to tell her the truth about himself, but what would it accomplish? Either way, she’d be out of his life tonight …

  And he didn’t want that.

  Not just yet.

  “But …” She swallowed audibly. Sank her teeth into her lip and, Dio, if she did that one more time, he was not going to be responsible for his actions.

  “But?” he prompted.

  She sighed. “But then—then everyone will know that I—that I botched this.”

  Rio felt a quick knot of anger form in his chest. He slid his hands up her arms, to her shoulders.

  “Who is ‘everyone’? Why would they judge you? Why should you care?”

  “My family. And they wouldn’t judge me. They’d be upset for me. See, I have four brothers. And a sister. And all of them are so successful but I’m—I’m—”

  “You,” Rio said fiercely, “are a beautiful, bright, talented woman.”

  She blushed. “That’s very—it’s very sweet of you but—”

  “It is the truth. I’ve seen your sketches for the terrace.”

  “You have?”

  Careful, Rio thought, damnit, man, be careful!

  “Yes. D’Aquila sent them to me. I, ah, I saw the designs of all the applicants. I’ll be here, supervising things on his estate, while the landscaping took shape. He thought it would be a good idea if I were familiar with the various plans.”

  It sounded ridiculous but she bought it. He knew she did, when she smiled.

  “Well, then, I’m glad you liked what you saw.”

  “Very much,” he said softly, and fought the urge to draw her into his arms again. “In fact—in fact, I’m going to recommend my boss set up a second interview.”

  Her face lit. He gave an inward groan. What in hell kind of spiderweb was he getting into? How could Rio D’Aquila interview her without giving the game away?

  Never mind. He’d faced seemingly impossible situations all his life, and managed to handle them. He’d handle this, too—

  But not tonight.

  “Okay,” he said briskly. “So, calling your sister is not a good idea.”

  Her smile faded. “Not really.”

  “Well, I have a plan.”

  “You do?”

  “I do.” He took her arm and began walking her toward his truck. “I’ll put you up for the night.”

  “Ha!”

  Isabella tried to dig her heels into the pavement but they were bare heels, really bare, because by now the feet of her panty hose were completely shredded. Rio got her to the truck without so much as breaking stride, hung on to her with one hand as he opened the passenger door.

  “That,” she huffed, “is one hell of a plan!”

  “Calm down, Ms. Orsini. I have no interest in seducing you.”

  “I’m supposed to believe that after what happened before?”

  He swung her toward him.

  “I kissed you. You kissed me. Who, exactly, tried to seduce whom?”

  Her face, lit by a streetlamp, turned red.

  “I am not spending the night with you.”

  “Fine.” Rio let go of her and folded his arms. “You can spend it here, on a bench. Or would you prefer curling up in the grass?”

  She stared at him. He could almost see her brain whirring.

  “In the morning,” he said, “I’ll arrange to have your car taken to a garage. If they can fix it, they will. If they can’t, you’ll rent another.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Don’t what?”

  She shrugged and looked down at the ground. “Nothing.”

  Rio rolled his eyes. “You don’t have the money for either, and you don’t want to ask Anna for help. Am I right?”

  Another shrug, even more expressive than the first.

  “I’ll lend you the money.”

  She looked up. “You?”

  “I’m a caretaker, not a drifter. I have an income. I have some savings.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Yes, you did. But those of us who work with our hands are as fiscally and morally responsible as anyone else.”

  Dio, that sounded impossibly stiff-necked, but it was the truth. Once, he had worked with his hands. Now, he was rich. How had he become so wealthy? How had he accumulated the money to make his first investment? By working hard, living frugally and saving first every lira, then every euro, every Brazilian real that he could.

  Isabella hesitated. Then she gave him a smile that lit the night.

  “You’re a good man, Matteo Rossi. Thank you.”

  She climbed into the truck. He slammed the door. Then he went around to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel.

  A good man?

  He was a goddamned liar, was what he was.

  A good man would have told her the truth. Would have taken her home, or sent her home, because he had enough money to get anyone to do anything at any hour, or so bitter reality had taught him.

  Rio started the truck, backed away from the curb.

  A good man wouldn’t have begun this charade in the first place. At the very least, a good man would have put an end to it by now.

  So much for his being a good man.

  He’d told her one truth, at least. He would not seduce her. He didn’t want to seduce her—

  Cristo, at least be honest about that, D’Aquila. A woman who can make your belly knot, your balls ache, with nothing more than a smile? All he wanted was to seduce her.

  But he had no intention of even trying.

  That scene at the house earlier had been a warning.

  She was innocent, or close to it. And he didn’t play games with innocent women.

  But would a little self-indulgence be wrong? Would it affect anything that mattered to go on letting her think he was the caretaker? Give her a room for the night, a meal, enjoy just talking with her and then send her on her way tomorrow?

  No. There was no way it possibly could.

  He’d help her with her dilemma, let her think her knight errant was named Matteo, and nobody would be hurt.

  Not her.

  Not him.

  And that would be the end of it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE night was dark, the r
oads were empty and Isabella’s brain was no longer functioning.

  How else to explain why she was letting a stranger take her home with him? And what did that mean? Where was his home?

  He hadn’t said. And she hadn’t asked.

  No longer functioning, indeed.

  She’d assumed he meant they were going to the D’Aquila estate. And wasn’t that silly? Assuming anything was generally a mistake. Just look at today, and her assumption that Rio D’Aquila would be waiting to interview her.

  Wrong on both counts.

  He hadn’t been waiting, and she hadn’t been interviewed.

  Now, she’d assumed spending the night with a man she’d just met was a good idea. But it wasn’t. How could it be? He was gorgeous, he was sexy—and for all she knew, he was an ax murderer.

  “Relax,” he said with lazy humor in his voice. “We’re going back to the house. And it’s a big house. Four guest suites. You can choose the one you like.”

  Isabella felt color creep into her face.

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Yes. You were.” He glanced at her, his face unreadable in the darkness. “A little late to start wondering if I have ulterior motives, don’t you think?”

  What she thought was that she didn’t need him poking around in her head, or pointing out that she’d just added one more foolish act to a day filled with them.

  “You’re right,” she said sweetly. “I probably should have asked if you turn into a vampire at midnight.”

  He chuckled. “A hungry vampire. I don’t know about you but I can’t remember the last time I ate anything today.”

  Neither could she, but admitting it would just mean he’d scored another small victory in mind reading.

  “You must be hungry, too.”

  “Not at all,” she said, with the self-righteousness of a candidate for sainthood.

  Unfortunately, her belly chose that moment to growl.

  “Obviously not.” His tone was wry but, thank God, he didn’t laugh. “So, you can just watch me eat. How’s that sound?”

  Stubbornness was one thing. Stupidity was another. Even she knew that.