by A Caprice
Gio rolled his eyes. Amateurs always panicked. “Relax, Georg. We’re two friends who have been calling each other for months. Nothing’s changed.”
“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. No one thinks there was a theft.”
Gio stopped twirling the pen he was fiddling with then stood. “What do you mean?”
Georg chuckled. “I heard Mr. Chirac and Mr. Hidrogo speaking with Ms. Sullivan. She was in the building last night when you—”
“Yes, no need to get into that. What did they say to her?”
“I did not hear so much what Hidrogo said. He was quiet. But the other director of ARC, Chirac, he was as loud and condescending as only a Frenchman can be. They think Amanda Sullivan misplaced the decoder. Apparently, she has a history of accidents and other mishaps.”
That he could believe. The woman had knocked over a bookcase with her ass. What could she do with her entire body? Gio paused by his study’s window. Mont Blanc rose in the distance, its cap still dusted with snow. “Is she in trouble?”
“Well, Chirac did threaten to take the cost of the decoder out of her pay, and since the decoder is very valuable, I would say she is indentured to ARC for a good two hundred years.” Georg chuckled at his joke.
Gio did not.
“Who is this Miss Sullivan?”
“Amanda Sullivan is an archivist at the institute. I believe she has a degree in history and is renowned for her foreign language ability.” Georg hesitated for a moment. “She is reputed to be able to read over thirty languages.”
He sensed Georg was leaving something out of his story. “And?”
“And nothing. She is an archivist. Quiet. Boring. Smart.” Georg sniffed. “What more is there to say?”
What indeed? Nothing about Amanda Sullivan had looked quiet or boring. But how smart was she? Smart enough to take his measure?
He tapped his thumb against his thigh. Thirty languages. That was indeed a talent. Could her skills in translation also apply to codes?
He pursed his lips. He had placed Amanda Sullivan in a tenuous position. It was only right that he help her out of it.
That would require getting to know the calamitous beauty, a woman who might hold the secret to using the decoder.
He could think of many delicious ways of extracting that information from Miss Sullivan. In recompense, he would clear her name.
Sometimes doing the right thing was no hardship at all.
Georg interrupted his pleasant musings. “Gio, my money…”
“Has already been transferred to your account. Thank you for your assistance, my friend.”
“Anytime. Aufwiedersehen.”
Gio sat at his desk and rolled the decoder between his hands. He could spend his evening trying to learn how the decoder worked. An evening of mind-numbing, frustrating work.
He grinned. Or he could find someone who already knew its secrets. Someone who filled out her dress very nicely. Someone who might be appropriately grateful for some help right about now.
He hummed a carefree tune. Locking the decoder in his safe, he rose and began his hunt.
***
He watched her totter into the produce section and knew no good would come of it. She had already knocked a crutch out from under a teenaged boy, leaving him hopping up and down the bread aisle on his one good leg. The four-inch heels she was wearing, while sexy as hell, had her coming close to twisting her ankles at several points on her walk from ARC headquarters to this market. The woman was a disaster waiting to happen. She needed help.
And he was just the man to provide it.
An orange slipped from its stack while she bagged two others. Gio caught it after it bounced once on the linoleum floor, then offered it to her with the smile that had caused more than one heiress to offer up her daddy’s safe combination.
Amanda Sullivan merely narrowed her eyes then snatched the orange from his hand. “Thank you,” she said curtly, stuffing the orange back in its spot.
Not in a flirtatious mood then. He matched her step when she turned from him. “Bad day?”
“Nothing unusual.” She stood in front of a refrigerated case and glared at a selection of desserts. With a defiant look at him, Amanda placed a hazelnut cheesecake in her cart.
“I don’t know. If it is a cheesecake kind of night, it must have been rough.”
She lifted her chin and attempted to stalk away. The heels made it more of a mince. “Neither my day, nor my dessert, are any of your concern.”
He paced her. “Dessert is always a concern of mine.” He gave her another devastating smile and detected a slight softening of her expression.
“Look, Mister…?”
“D’Onofrio. Giovanni d’Onofrio. But my friends call me Gio.”
“Mr. d’Onofrio. I appreciate the whole flirting-in-the-produce-section scenario, but you’ve picked the wrong girl on the wrong day. Why don’t you try your luck with the blonde by the squash?” She turned and her heel twisted under her.
He grabbed her around the waist before she went down.
Her head tilted back as she blinked in surprise. Her sapphire blue eyes locked with his, and heat licked through Gio’s body.
He breathed deep, taking her scent into his lungs. She really was lovely. While her features weren’t perfectly even and her body softer than current fashion, the whole package was perfectly suited to his tastes.
There was a fire to her, a spirit that hooked under his skin.
The fabulous tits and ass didn’t hurt, either.
He pulled her a little closer, liking the press of her breasts against his chest. His eyes lowered to her parted lips, and he bit back a growl. The things his body wanted to do to that beautiful mouth. He slid his hands to her hips and set her back several inches so he didn’t embarrass himself, or her, with his arousal.
But he didn’t let her go.
“Why do you wear those infernal shoes, Amanda? You will break your neck.”
She ran a fluttering hand over her dark hair, smoothing it down. “I’ve been walking in heels since I was fifteen and haven’t broken anything yet.”
“They’re a handicap. You certainly couldn’t run in them.”
“Why would I need to run in them? Wait a minute…” Her small hands grasped at his and tried to remove them from her hips.
Gio curled one edge of his mouth. He’d been told by a past girlfriend that she couldn’t resist him when he smiled at her like that. That he looked like a pirate. A sexy pirate. It was one of his best weapons when he intended to seduce. And the way Amanda was frowning, he needed every weapon he had. “All beautiful women need to run from time to time.” He let his Italian accent infuse his words. Something else foreign women seemed to find irresistible. “There are too many men chasing after you.”
She pushed at his shoulders. “You called me Amanda. Who are you?”
With a sigh of regret, he dropped his hands from her hips. “I told you. I am Gio d’Onofrio. I am the man who is going to help you find the Newton decoder.”
She grabbed the front of his cashmere sweater and tugged him into her.
This close, he could feel the heat from her body. The soft tickle of her breath against his lips. His cock throbbed in response.
“What the hell do you know about the decoder? Were you sent from ARC?” She glared at him, and a delightful flush spread across her cheeks, and lower.
His gaze drifted to the pink flesh peeking out from between the deep vee of her blouse. Today she was wearing a blue satin top and a pencil skirt that made his mouth water.
She tugged at his sweater again, forcing Gio’s eyes back to her face. She wore a scowl that would have made a grown man run for his mother, but her ferociousness was a check her soft body couldn’t cash.
He smothered a smile. Unlike most of the women of his acquaintance who reveled in the appearance of helplessness, he had a feeling this woman didn’t want to be viewed as anything le
ss than powerful. She wouldn’t bat her eyelashes or twirl her hair like the socialites of his acquaintance when they wanted something from him.
“I know that it was stolen last night and no one believes you. They think you lost it.” Gio snorted. “Idiots.”
“So you don’t work for the ‘idiots’ at ARC then?” Her grip loosened slightly.
“No. I work for myself, contracting out to insurance companies as a retrieval expert.” That much was true. Everything else he told her would be a load of crap. He shifted on his feet. “Although no report has officially been filed, your insurance carrier wants to get a jumpstart in case the decoder is not found lying around your archives. That is where you come in.”
“Me?” Her eyes flared wide. “I didn’t take it.”
“I believe you. And I don’t think you lost it, either.”
“Why would you believe me?”
“Our contacts at ARC also mentioned that there was a power outage at the same time the decoder went missing. I do not believe in coincidence.”
“I still don’t understand,” she said. “If no report has been filed with the insurance company, why did they send you out?”
“They haven’t, officially. But I am the retrieval expert that works this area, and if I will be getting a call, I don’t want all the leads to have gone cold by then.”
“So you’re starting a job with no assurance of getting paid.’ She tilted her head and gave him a suspicious look. “That isn’t very smart.”
“Oh, I will be getting paid,” he said. “In fact, since I am not currently employed by ARC’s insurance company, I consider you to be my employer.”
Amanda stepped back. “I don’t know what you think archivists make, Mr. d’Ono—”
“Gio,” he said.
“Gio, but I can’t afford—”
“I never said I wanted my payment in currency.”
“Stop interrupting me. And if you don’t want money…” She trailed off, her mouth falling open. “You can’t mean that you expect me to—”
“Sorry, but I must interrupt you there.” He held up a hand. “No, as delightful as that thought is, I mean to trade for your services. As a translator,” he quickly added.
Amanda swallowed hard, the graceful column of her neck undulating. “What have you heard about my services?” she asked, her voice low.
Gio eyed her narrowly. Why did that make her nervous? “I heard that you have an extraordinary talent for reading languages. A true savant. I have several documents that I need interpreted. I propose that I offer you my investigative services in exchange for your translation skills.”
She eyed him steadily, chewing on her plump lower lip. He shoved his clenched fists into his trouser pockets and forced his eyes away from the reddening bit of flesh. Later he would soothe the worried lip, but for now he still had to convince her to let him help her.
“Look,” she said. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but ARC has some really good investigators with a lot of…talents. I don’t think you looking into this is a good idea.”
Gio raised an eyebrow in surprise. “What type of investigators does a research organization have?”
“Uh…” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Research is a form of investigation. You shouldn’t discount the skills of librarians and analysts.”
He chuckled. Damn, she was cute. “I don’t doubt you could track down a rare manuscript, but you shouldn’t turn down the services of a highly-trained retrieval expert. In order to catch a thief, you have to think like one.”
“And you do?” Her clear skepticism deflated his arousal somewhat. He had thought the little klutz would be more appreciative of his efforts to rescue her.
He leaned down so their mouths were mere inches apart. “Si, certamente.” Gio ran his fingers through her silky hair, pushing a dark lock behind her ear. He trailed those fingers down her neck and caressed her exposed collarbone. “A thief sees what he wants and lets nothing stop him from taking it.” He brushed his mouth against her ear, and smiled at her sharp inhale. “I am very good at taking what I want, cara mia.”
He stepped back and smiled with satisfaction at the desire on her face. The desire that quickly morphed to outrage when she saw the necklace that Gio held in his fingers.
“You took that off me!”
“Yes. As I said, I am very good at what I do.” He gave her another heated look. “In everything that I do.”
“Well,” she said, her tone grudging, “you make a good thief, I’ll give you that. And I do need to find that blasted decoder. It’s my responsibility.” She nibbled at her bottom lip again then resolutely squared her shoulders. “All right. Yes.” She held out her hand for him to shake. “Mr. d’Onofrio, you’re hired.”
Chapter Three
Amanda scraped off as much of the burned skin on the chicken breast as possible. “Dinner will be ready in a sec,” she called into her dining room. She’d plopped Gio in there when they’d arrived back at her apartment. While she adored eating, the process of getting the food ready for consumption wasn’t a skill that was in her wheelhouse. She didn’t need the handsome Italian seeing all her deficiencies laid bare.
She blew out a breath. And Lord, was he handsome. Not that such things mattered in the grand scheme of life. And not that any of her dirty thoughts about just where Gio could put that handsome face should be running through her mind when her career was on the line.
A tingle started low in her belly, and she fanned her face with her hand. But such thoughts did run through her mind. It had to be because she was upset about the decoder. She was worried she might lose her job, so her body was taking all that adrenalin and nervous energy and trying to find a healthy outlet. She was screwed, and it only made sense that her brain tried to turn that into getting screwed the good way.
She leaned back and peered at Gio through the doorway. She swallowed. It didn’t have anything to do with his dark hair that fell just so across his brow, or his intense espresso-colored eyes. Nothing at all to do with how well his cashmere sweater and tailored slacks molded to his muscled body, leaving little to the imagination.
And definitely was completely unconnected to the way his assertiveness pushed all her buttons in the right way.
There was a time and place for a man to be commanding, and she had a feeling Gio knew just how to walk that line.
She turned back to the disaster in her kitchen, her shoulders sagging. So, he was handsome. That wouldn’t save her job.
She placed the chicken on a plate of spaghetti then quickly sliced some mozzarella. The chicken breast on her plate was in even worse shape. Cajun style, Amanda thought with a sigh.
She glared at the stovetop that dated from the nineteen-fifties but knew that she couldn’t blame the age of the appliances in the kitchen for her bad cooking. In truth, she found the Formica counters and sturdy metal oven and refrigerator charming with their post-war kitsch. Her dated apartment just didn’t suit the elegant Italian who had come home with her.
She smothered both plates with tomato sauce and called it a night. The beautiful man in the next room wasn’t here for her culinary skills.
She brought both plates to the table then hurried back to the kitchen for the salad. The chianti was already poured and waiting at their place settings. Her stockinged feet slid on the hardwood floors as she scurried back to the table. She caught herself, made sure Gio hadn’t seen her latest moment of grace, and slowed to a sedate stroll before easing into the chair next to him.
“It smells wonderful, Amanda.”
She looked up into his warm, dark eyes. They crinkled a bit around the edges when he smiled, and he deftly swirled spaghetti around his fork. No pasta sauce splashed onto his sweater. No messy strands of noodles dribbled down his chin.
His Gucci loafers should have been her first clue she didn’t stand a chance with this man. His mahogany hair with its five-hundred-dollar haircut the second. His suave mann
ers and Italian charm were the nails in her pipe dream coffin. Giovanni d’Onofrio was so far out of her league, she couldn’t even fantasize about being with him without feeling a flush of heat at her audacity.
She had to give the man credit. After his first bite of rubbery chicken, his expression hardly faltered. He patted his mouth with his napkin and took a sip of wine. “So. Tell me about your work at ARC. Have you found any U.F.O.s yet?” He smiled, inviting Amanda to share his joke.
Well, that was one way to douse her lust. Her spine stiffened. “I know the Anagogic Research Council doesn’t have the scholarly caché of a scientific institution, but my research has just as much import as—”
Gio reached over and covered her hand with his own. His large, tan hand nearly engulfed hers. She felt warmth spread from his touch up her arm and then settle much lower. “I didn’t mean to insult you. ARC’s research into the paranormal, while esoteric, I am sure is most interesting.” His thumb soothed the back of her hand. “And their library is reputed to be top-notch. You can be proud to be a librarian there.”
She tugged her hand free. “I would be, if I was a librarian.”
His brows drew together. “I thought…”
“I’m the head archivist.”
“Is there a difference?” he asked.
She sawed at her chicken with vicious strokes. “An archivist is responsible for organizing, authenticating, and preserving historical documents.” She paused with a piece of chicken halfway to her mouth and frowned. She wasn’t always great with that last responsibility, as recent events proved. It was a good thing her talent made her a sought-after commodity, otherwise her clumsiness would have lost her several jobs over the years. “A librarian runs the day-to-day operations of the library.”
“Ah, yes.” He quirked an elegant eyebrow. “A vast difference then.”
“There is quite a difference. The librarian merely guides library users to the documents, photos, and artifacts that I’ve curated. Restacks the shelves. ” She stabbed at a bite of chicken. “A teenager working for The Gap could do his job,” she muttered and shoved the food in her mouth, chewing viciously.
