by Carol Grace
This was her fault. She'd distracted him. Or had he distracted her so she wouldn't notice he was once again following her? Following her to where she was going to meet Giovanni. Coincidence? Accident? These coincidences and accidents were happening a little too often to ignore. Now he had to go to Salerno. This was awful. She had to get rid of him, but how?
Chapter Seven
“Marco,” she said, her voice too loud in her ears. “Look.”
If she expected him to panic, to run to the other side, leap into the water and swim to shore, she was wrong. He merely glanced at the receding dock and shrugged.
She sat down with a thud on the wooden seat, stared out at the open sea and tried to think. Had she prevented him from getting off in time? Or had he planned to stay aboard?
“What will you do when we get to Salerno?” she asked, smoothing her hair with her fingers. She couldn't believe she was having such a normal conversation with a man she'd been kissing like there was no tomorrow just a few minutes ago. Of course, these kisses meant nothing to him or to the bystanders. Such displays of affection were commonplace in this country. The kisses may have meant good-bye, or maybe they were just a way of passing the time agreeably. To her they were earth-shaking, unforgettable. But she'd die before she ever admitted it to him.
“Rent a car,” he said, taking a seat, leaning back, with his arms stretched out against the railing, squinting into the sun.
“And drive back to San Gervase?”
“Eventually,” he said. “First I may pick up a few tourists there who need a guide to the ruins. And of course I will be happy to take you on a tour as well. Free of charge, naturally.”
She blushed, remembering that she'd offered to pay him for his services and how offended he'd been. “Thank you, but I've studied the book and I think I'm up on the history and the archeology.”
She nudged the second bag with her toe. “What is this?” she asked, as if she didn't know. It was his bag and no one packs a bag if he doesn't plan on taking a trip. Even a trip as nearby as Salerno. So he'd planned all along to go with her, but why? Did he know she was planning to meet Giovanni there? Another thing. Why would someone follow a tour guide and smash his car? Because he wasn't a tour guide, he was a threat to someone. It was time she got rid of him.
“Just a few of my things,” he said vaguely. “I like to be prepared. I'll get us some drinks.”
Marco left his bag with her as a show of confidence. It was locked after all, and he didn't think she'd try to pick the lock while he went to the snack bar one deck below. He hoped she had no reason to suspect he was other than some kind of stereotype Italian playboy with a stereotypical warm-hearted grandmother and the equally typical cheesy cousin. Without any prompting from him, they'd all played their parts to perfection, because they were what they were.
And he was what he was. An Italian male who'd had a few too many close calls, both with women and with the men he was chasing. It was time to settle down which didn't mean getting married. It only meant it was time to stop flirting with strangers. He'd gotten carried away there on the boat deck. When she'd continued to make a big deal of the money, of his paying her way, he lost control for a moment. He had to show her it wasn't about money. He thought she'd gotten the message. But hadn't he gotten an even more important message?
Leave her alone. She's a wild card. She's your enemy. You're using her and for all you know, she's using you. Her kisses scared the hell out of him. There was a sweetness in them he'd never experienced. She kissed like she'd had no practice, but he knew she'd been married. After so many years, had she forgotten the passion? Didn't everyone? Wasn't that really why he didn't want to get married? Was he afraid the passion would die?
Settle down, they said. He was hearing that from all sides and the voices were getting louder and more insistent, even the voice in his head. But where and how and with whom - he didn't know. Even more important, why? If he did, he could settle down in his rented apartment in Rome where he'd be in the middle of the action. Or maybe in a chalet in the Dolomite Mountains where his parents had retired, though that might be a little boring. After he caught Giovanni he'd give it some more thought. In the mean time he'd play the role of the Italian lover, why not? He'd run the tour guide role into the ground with Ana Maria. It was time to try something else.
He couldn't think about anything until he got his car repaired. When he saw the damage he felt slightly sick, as if he'd been physically assaulted. He knew who'd done it. If it wasn't Giovanni, it was someone who worked for him. If they thought that would prevent him from continuing to hunt him down, they were wrong. It was a childish trick to smash his car, but there was something of the boy still left in Giovanni. The same boy who'd once bashed Marco's toy cars in the schoolyard. Marco had done his share of damage to Giovanni's toys. Then it was just a game. Now it was a warning, a signal. I know where you are. I know what you want. Come and get me if you dare.
Giovanni was too much a coward to engage Marco in physical combat, mano a mano. Instead he waited until he was in the house to smash his car. For that and for everything else, Marco would make him pay.
Flirting with Ana Maria took his mind off his car. Kissing her was part of the game. An excuse to stay on the boat; that was all. If he'd gotten a little too involved in it for a moment, what was the harm? He was in no danger of losing his head. He'd always enjoyed the company of women. There was no reason to stop now, especially when he needed Ana Maria to flush out Giovanni. It would all be over soon, as soon as he caught Giovanni in the act.
He felt bad about Nonna. Of course she'd jump to conclusions when he brought a woman to her house. She was fond of Ana Maria and he didn't blame her. Hell, he was... fond?...of her himself. Though it was best he didn't feel anything at all. He was there to do a job, and she was going to help him do it, whether she wanted to or not.
He'd just paid for the drinks when he felt a tap on the shoulder.
“Ciao, Marco.” Antonio Ponti, an old friend, would have shaken his hand if he hadn't been holding two full paper cups.
“I hear you've gotten engaged,” Marco said. “Congratulations.”
“Congratulations? For what? We haven't even said our vows and I can see the future lying ahead of me. I feel like I've been sentenced to life in the Catacombs. Everywhere you turn, there's a blank wall. Everywhere you look, there are the skeletons of those who've gone before you. There's no way out. No possibility of being released early for good behavior.”
“Not that your behavior was ever that good,” Marco joked.
“You should talk,” Antonio said. “Somehow you've managed to outlast us all. All I can say is, don't give in. Stand firm. Don't let any woman think you love her or you can't do without her or that you're ready to get married. Have you seen those laboratory mice running around a maze trying to find a way out? That's me. I'm telling you, there is no way out. Once you've said the words, those magic words 'will you marry me,' - watch out.”
“I will,” Marco said. “But aren't you exaggerating? Bianca is a good woman, non e vero?”
“Yes, sure,” Antonio said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “As good as any. Have you heard the latest about Giovanni?”
“I don't think so. I haven't seen him for a year or two, what is it?” Marco said, feigning nonchalance.
“He was in town the other day driving a new Maserati. Since his father went to prison he's taken over the family business and he must be doing well. He's bought a house on Ana Capri.”
“Really.” Marco tried to not to show an inordinate amount of interest.
“And as usual, he had a new woman with him wearing a big diamond. Which only made Bianca jealous. Didn't Giovanni and your sister...”
“No,” Marco said, wondering how big this diamond really was and where it had come from. “They didn't.”
“Antonio.” A clear voice came from the front of the boat. Bianca appeared and wrapped her arm around her fiancé's waist. “Ciao, Marco,” she said
and leaned forward to bestow an air kiss on both cheeks. “Cosa c'e ie nuovo?” What's new?
“Niente affatto,” Marco said.
“Nothing?” said Antonio. “Don't believe him. He's got a new girlfriend. An American, by the look of her clothes, and very pretty. That goes without saying. Always with the prettiest girl in town. I saw him kissing her up on deck. So who is she?”
“Just a tourist,” Marco said, not regretting the kisses, only his lack of propriety. It never occurred to him anyone he knew would be on board. “I'm showing her around, that's all. Didn't you hear? I'm a one-man hospitality committee for the coast here. Making sure the tourists appreciate our national treasures.”
“Have you convinced her you are one of them?” Antonio asked with a knowing grin.
“Not yet, but I'm working on it,” Marco said.
“Well,” Bianca said, tilting her head to look at Marco. “Maybe we'll be hearing wedding bells for you, too.”
Marco shook his head. “Never.”
“That's what Antonio said, but look what's happened,” she said gaily.
Marco did see what had happened. His old friend claimed he'd lost his freedom and had been consigned to a life of misery, yet Antonio placed his hand around his fiancée's waist in a familiar, possessive gesture and then gave her an intimate look that belied everything he'd said. He was not quite the picture of a beaten, defeated man with no future. Marco didn't know whether to pity or envy him.
“I must get back upstairs with these drinks.”
“Va bene,” Antonio said. “Saluti a la famiglia.”
“Auguri,” Marco said.
He returned to the top deck with the drinks to find Ana Maria was leaning back in her chair, her eyes closed, her head resting on the back of the chair. The two bags were on the deck next to her chair. He set the drinks down and went to stand at the railing, where he rested his arms and looked out across the blue water. It was better than watching her sleep in the sun, her fair skin turning golden, her lashes dark against her cheeks.
A few minutes later he heard footsteps and she joined him to lean against the railing, saying nothing, but brushing her shoulder against his. He wanted to wrap his arm around her waist and draw her close, and stand there looking out at the water. Not talking, not thinking, just standing and looking. He was so tired of thinking and analyzing and theorizing. When was it time to just live?
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and resisted the urge to reach for the American woman who was so close to him. He was supposed to be on guard, alert and at attention. Seeing Antonio and Bianca had set him thinking, wondering...
That's what happened when you ran into old friends who, no matter how much they protested, seemed right together. It was not what he wanted. Not at all. Still, he couldn't get the image of Antonio and Bianca out of his mind.
“I've been thinking,” she said.
“I thought you were sleeping,” he said, keeping his eyes focused on the waves, trying to block out the warmth that radiated from her body and the scent of her skin.
“I was thinking about your family.”
“So was I. I was thinking about my grandfather.” Liar. He was thinking about her. About taking off that ridiculous money belt and everything else she was wearing, and making love to her. It was tempting, so tempting to see if she made love the way she kissed, with a combination of naiveté and passion. He wanted to hear her call his name, to taste her skin, to watch her face when she climaxed.
This was insanity. It wasn't going to happen. The old Marco might have done it, but he was a new man. Mixing work and pleasure hadn't worked in the past, and it wouldn't work now. That didn't mean he didn't want to, so much he ached. The difference was, this time he wouldn't give in to his instincts.
“My grandfather came from Sicily,” he said deliberately forcing himself to stop dreaming about something that wasn't going to happen. “You can't see it, but it's out there.” He pointed to the south. “He came a long way to meet and marry Nonna.”
“They must have had a good marriage,” she said thoughtfully.
“They did. They had a love affair that lasted over fifty years. If I had to get married, that's the way I hope it would turn out.”
“Have to? No one has to get married, do they?”
“No, but I feel the pressure. From Nonna and then I just ran into an old friend and his fiancée. He looked happy, but he warned me against getting married. Not that he needed to; I have no intention of being tied down. Why should I?” he asked her as well as himself. “I don't need a wife. I have a house in San Gervase, an apartment in Rome. Friends, family...everything but a car.”
“Or a girlfriend,” she added. “Unless she's forgiven you for whatever you did.”
“I don't think so. I haven't seen her since she walked out of the restaurant. God forbid she returns to bother me. She was more trouble than...” He almost said more trouble than even you. But she might take that the wrong way. “It is a good life, except for my car.”
“Who did it? Your cousin said you have enemies. Why? What do you do to make such enemies?”
“I'm in the travel business, but I actually work for the government, for the department of tourism. I have various duties. Sometimes helping tourists like you, sometimes investigating hotels and attractions incognito to see if they are up to standard. If I give someone a bad report, they are angry with me.” That sounded plausible, and for the life of him, he couldn't come up with anything else.
“That angry? Angry enough to wreck your car?” she asked.
“Evidently so,” he said. “After all, one black mark from me and their ratings go down in the official guide book. They lose income and some might even go out of business.”
“You wield a lot of power,” she said. “So you think this was someone who was trying to get back at you.”
“Perhaps.” He'd didn't want to say any more; he'd already told her more than he should. All those innocent questions. But were they really so innocent? Was she just as suspicious of him as he was of her?
“We're almost there,” he said, gesturing toward the shore lined with villas and hotels.
“I just want to tell you how grateful I am for all you've done for me,” she said.
He felt the heat creep up the back of his neck. It was not from the sun. It couldn't be guilt. He wouldn't know it if it was. And he had no reason to feel guilty. He was doing his job. Even more than that, he was paying a debt long overdue.
“There's no need to thank me,” he said stiffly. Not when I'm using you to further my career and to settle old quarrels. Not when you find out I'm on to you.
“Yes, there is.” She put her hand on his arm and he turned to face her. “You gave me the chance to see Italy as an insider. You made me feel like part of your family. That's what I wanted. That's why I came. Not to be a tourist, but to see how real Italians live.”
Was that really why she'd come? She seemed so sincere and he wanted to believe her. But he'd seen so many sincere crooks, so many con men and women in his time. It had gotten so he didn't trust anyone. It was better that way. Assume the worst and hope for the best. If her sincerity was an act, it was a good one.
“If you ever come to the States, I'd be glad to...well, to show you around northern California, introduce you to the natives, so you can see how they live, or whatever you'd like to do,” she said.
He stared at her. Would a jewel thief offer to show him around, take him past all the mansions where high society kept their expensive jewels, explain how easy it was to break in and take what you want?
“I'm not likely to visit America anytime soon,” he said brusquely. He tried to imagine himself meeting her son, visiting her library, seeing where Giovanni had gone to high school, and being driven around by Ana Maria. “My work keeps me busy here in Italy.”
“And your vacations?”
“My vacations?” How long had it been since he'd had a real vacation? What was the point? He'd vacation after Giovanni was be
hind bars. “This is my vacation.”
“But you're showing me around. I thought it was part of your job.”
“I enjoy it too much to call it work. Not when I have someone like you to show around.”
A faint blush touched her cheeks. “I never know if you're serious.”
“I'm always serious,” he said. “Besides, I am the one who should thank you, for letting me see my country through your eyes,” he said. “You have taught me to appreciate small things I used to take for granted.” This much was true. He too, could be sincere when he had to.
“Such as?”
His eyes drifted to her mouth, so soft, so sweet, so willing. He wanted to kiss her lips again and coax another response from her. He wanted to do more than that; he wanted to slide his hands under her shirt again, past the money belt and cup her breasts in his palms. But they were on a boat in the middle of a crowd, and even in Italy, some things are forbidden. But thinking about them, fantasizing about them, was not. Nonetheless, he should have better control over his hormones. Otherwise he wasn't going to make it through the next twenty-four hours. Hopefully that was all it would take.
Her question still hung in the warm air, and he forced himself to think of an answer.
“Such as? Such as the music in the square, which I used to find sentimental. Such as the food in the restaurant I thought was ordinary. Such as kissing you while the boat rocked under my feet and the waves slapped against the bow.” He brushed her mouth with his knuckles. A simple gesture that meant nothing at all. Not to him. Not to her.
He felt her lower lip tremble and a jolt of white hot desire shot through him like a bolt of thunder. So much for controlling his hormones. He'd resisted many well-dressed, high-class women, and nice local girls his grandmother would approve of, and many she wouldn't. He'd turned away from exotic dancers and highly-paid models, all since the day he'd screwed up because of a woman, but his resistance since yesterday had melted like a cup of gelato in the sun. There was something about this woman that affected him as he'd never been affected before. What in the hell was wrong with him? She caught his hand and pulled it away, as if she felt it too, and fought it.
