“Buonasera. Per due, per favore,” he said, requesting a table for two.
The woman’s plump countenance widened in a broad smile. She launched into Italian too rapid and too wordy for Jack’s phrase-book knowledge.
Without missing a beat, a smiling Sophie greeted the woman and apparently answered her question. A conversational stream flowed from one to the other as the woman led the two of them to an empty table in the back. Sophie helped Jack interpret the menu, and the hostess left with their order.
Jack realized he had to rely on her for more than map reading. “What was that long dissertation about?”
“Only that foreigners hardly ever stop in this village, and she was honored to serve us.”
“That’s not good. If someone asks, she’ll remember us.” They’d blend into crowded tourist traps. But staying in villages on Sophie’s list might jog her memory. He had no choice. “Anything else?”
“She asked about my arm. I told her it was a car accident.” Sophie spread a blue cloth napkin in her lap and looked up at him through lowered lashes as thick as a curtain. “I hope you don’t mind my jumping in.”
“Mind? Consider it your job. Without your fluent Italian, we couldn’t hide away in remote villages. Good call on the car accident. Anybody should believe that, the way they drive in this country.”
“And a car accident is sort of the truth.”
Jack couldn’t believe his ears. Was she downplaying what Vadim had done? She was too kind, too sanguine to run around alone. No wonder that bastard had conned her.
“It was no accident,” he said, lowering his voice. “Keep that in mind if you forget the danger you’re in and the criminal who put you in it.”
A teenage waitress brought two glasses, a carafe of ruby-red wine and two bowls of steaming tortellini. She smiled shyly and said, “Buon appetito,” before ducking away.
“Mmm, just smell that dish! Tortellini alla parmigiana, pumpkin-filled with a light cheese sauce.” Sophie spread her napkin on her lap. She stabbed her fork into one of the little pastas and popped it into her mouth. “Ah, homemade. Heaven!”
Jack stuffed pasta into his mouth and forced himself to chew before swallowing. The sauce glistening on Sophie’s lips sent a different kind of hunger surging through him. Her rapturous expression and small moans of delight were too orgasmic for comfort.
She took such pleasure in everything. A woman with such gusto and emotion, what would she be like in—
He choked on his tortellini and coughed to clear his throat and his brain. Don’t go there.
“I think you need wine to wash down the pasta. The waitress has brought us un mezzo, a half liter of their family Sangiovese. Will you pour?” Sophie slid her goblet toward him.
He hesitated but served them both. “But should you be mixing painkillers and alcohol?”
Fire crackled in her luminous dark eyes. “Ouch, jabbed by the dreaded Thorne! Ease up, Jack. I need protection, not a keeper.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m concerned about you. No offense meant.”
His abject tone seemed to dismay her. She sipped wine, then sighed. “Sorry. I guess I’m just tired. But for your information, I’ve taken my last prescription pill. From now on, aspirin or ibuprofen will do.”
Soon the pasta plates were cleared away and replaced by the main dish. The young server delivered the dishes, but the hostess hovered nearby, pressing her hands together in worry.
In Italian, Sophie thanked both women, and more. From her gestures, Jack inferred she was praising the new dish.
The blushing teen made a small curtsy and the hostess beamed. When they left, Sophie said, “The waitress is the signora’s daughter. She’s just learning the family business.”
The main course was slices of pork roast with a Parma ham stuffing. Sophie’s sensuous delight in the food enhanced his own enjoyment of the savory dish.
The food and the full-bodied wine relaxed him, and he reflected on Sophie’s earlier reaction. For the first time she’d spoken up for herself. He liked her biting retort more than her usual passive acceptance of events.
Except he could do without more to like about Sophie. For his own good. And hers.
Since his marriage ended, he’d kept his distance from women. His ex-wife’s manipulations and sulks had kept him guarded. He’d felt no strong attraction to any woman.
But one look, one breathy sigh from Sophie made him as horny as a hormonal teenager.
Now look at me. Hell of a thing.
He concentrated on the pork and didn’t come up for air until the salad and coffee arrived.
Sophie sat on the sagging bed and unzipped her suitcases. So much had happened that day, she welcomed time to herself.
After dinner the trattoria owner had directed them to her sister’s bed-and-breakfast on the village outskirts. Jack paid for two rooms with an adjoining bath.
She unwound the silk scarf she’d wrapped the saint in. The figure was too heavy to lift out one-handed. Back at Vadim’s villa, she’d had to tip it over and roll it into the tote. “I don’t know who you were or why you’re a saint, Santa Elisabetta, but I pray you’ll watch over me and Jack.”
She’d hoped the wine would loosen him up. No such luck. Then, after she’d snapped at him, he’d closed up like a steel safe. Most of the time she liked his take-charge manner, but that patronizing tone had rubbed her the wrong way. Something about Jack tempted her to try to shatter his hard-case shell.
Never mind that his rangy body, angular good looks and overpowering masculinity drew every female eye—including hers. He was a challenge. And a mystery.
Why he drew her so, she didn’t understand, except for the occasional glimpses of grief that twisted her heart. And the warmth and humanity when he let down his guard.
Thinking about him curled awareness through her. And shocked her. Her injuries and bone-deep weariness had to be the reason for her susceptibility to him. And her relative inexperience.
She was no innocent, but raising her sister, attending some college classes and working as a nanny hadn’t left much time for dating, much less sex.
Wanting to know more about Jack made no sense. He was protecting her, but she was only a suspect and a job to him. Given her circumstances, she could want nothing more.
So why did Santa Elisabetta seem to be mocking her?
After covering the statuette, she dug out her nightclothes and toiletry kit. The silk nightgowns in her Vadim-bought wardrobe would’ve been impossible to put on with one arm immobilized. One of the female officers had bought her pajamas with a shirt that buttoned in the front.
But first she needed a shower and a shampoo. That meant she needed help. She smiled.
Now she would see how hard Jack’s shell was.
When she stood, the room spun in a crazy circle. Whoa, the dizziness wasn’t done, she thought, sinking down on the bed again. She waited for the spell to pass, then tried again. No spinning, no light-headedness.
But the reminder of the concussion told her to take it easy and slow.
She kicked off her sandals, draped the cotton pj’s over her good shoulder and carried the kit into the bathroom.
The bathroom was a typical European one, with white porcelain fixtures—a deep tub with a shower curtain, a bidet and a separate water closet. A wooden chair sat beneath the open window. The owner had provided fluffy green towels that matched the ceramic tile floor.
Sophie deposited her pj’s and kit on the vanity. Her pulse pounded. What if Jack refused to help her? Drawing a deep breath, she knocked on his door.
He opened it immediately, as though he’d been about to enter the bathroom. “Are you all right?”
Sophie mustered up a smile. “Fine. Just tired and dirty.”
“Oh. I thought… Never mind.” One arched red-gold eyebrow asked what she wanted.
The moment spun out awkwardly, with her standing barefoot in the bathroom and his large frame filling the open doorway to hi
s bedroom. His musky male scent mingled with the spicy food aromas that had permeated the restaurant.
He’d pulled the shirttail loose from his trousers and looked ready to undress. She’d probably beaten him to the shower. That and seeing his duffel bag open on the bed reminded her of how personal his protecting her was becoming. She felt her pulse throb in her neck, and her stomach clenched with anxiety.
Sophie forged ahead. “When I left the hospital, they told me a female officer would come to the safe house to help me with…personal matters.”
Both eyebrows dived low into his trademark scowl. “Personal matters,” he repeated in a puzzled tone.
“If I raise my arm before the joint heals, the shoulder could pop out again. I can’t dress and undress by myself. I see no female officer, so I need an agent. You.”
His Adam’s apple rose and fell as he swallowed hard. Was that a blush blooming on his tanned cheeks? No way. It was either the heat or her imagination.
Staring at the wall behind her, he scraped a hand through his hair. “Okay. How d’you want to do this?”
“I can undo the closures on the sling if you help me take it off.”
First she unfastened the strap that held her arm tight against her body, then the other around her neck. The ripping of the hook-and-loop strips echoed like gunshots against the tiled bathroom walls.
Gingerly, as if afraid to touch her, Jack slid the sling off her shoulder and down her arm. As though yanked by an invisible force, he stepped back. He strangled the sling in his hands. Moisture beaded between his brows. “Look, maybe you should ask the B and B owner to do this.”
“I told her we were husband and wife. How would it look if my husband didn’t help me?”
His brows dived together into one. “Why the hell did you say that?”
“Italy is a very conservative country. She thinks we have to sleep in separate beds because of my injury.”
“Sophie, we’d be nowhere if you didn’t speak Italian, but from now on I need to know what you tell people. What they know might be key to our staying safe.”
“Okay.” She hadn’t thought of that.
He stared at the sling as if he couldn’t fathom how it had gotten in his hands. Smoothing it out, he placed it on the chair.
She opened the two top blouse buttons. When she reached the third, what she saw in Jack’s blue gaze stilled her fingers. What had been exasperation turned to heat, bright and hot as lightning. Excitement streaked through her, and she reached for the sink behind her to steady herself.
“You okay?”
“A little dizzy.” But not from the concussion. It was his touch that rocked her senses and tingled in her belly. “I’m pretty tired.” That much was true. She turned her back to him and continued to open the blouse.
“Tell me how you learned to speak Italian like a native.” His voice, raspy with strain, told her she hadn’t imagined the sparks dancing between them.
“Nonna, my grandmother, came to live with us after my father died. She insisted. Living with the Donatis for six years helped, too.”
“Your file says you were six, your sister two, when your father died. Your mother went to work, and your grandmother cared for you and your sister.”
“Until she became ill. I was twelve.” There were times when the pain of missing her grandmother hit her like a physical blow. Nonna had been more mother to her than her real mother. Sophie’s blouse hung open, but she made no move to remove it.
“Who took care of you after that?”
“I did. Mom had a career by then, not just a job. I attended parent-teacher conferences for Anita and nursed Nonna until she died.”
“That’s a big responsibility for a kid.”
His deep voice, resonant with concern, licked heat down her spine. Shaking off the melting effect, she began shrugging the blouse down her good shoulder. “I knew no other way. I raised Anita until she was in high school and too independent to listen to me. Then I went to work for the Donatis.”
“Seven years. A long time to be a nanny.”
He’d stepped closer behind her, close enough for her to feel his body heat and smell his sweat, honest sweat earned protecting her. He lifted the fabric and continued its removal. The glide of his long-fingered hand burned the bare flesh of her exposed neck and arm.
Her stomach did a backflip. She struggled to answer his question. “They needed someone who spoke Italian. I needed the work. The hours allowed me to complete some courses at CCNY—City College of New York. A degree will be a start toward my own life. I won’t be only the woman who takes care of other people and never herself. What that will be is still a mystery.”
She’d started in education. When she’d seen that as an extension of being a nanny, she’d thought of switching.
But to what?
“So you came to Italy to figure that out?”
“Finding my ancestral past is part of finding my future.”
“You came to Italy to find yourself and lost your memory of the trip.”
“The irony hasn’t escaped me.” He was the first person who hadn’t considered her quest odd or foolish. How strange for this hard man to understand her.
A blouse button snagged in her hair. As he worked it loose, she felt his warm breath against the back of her head. His solid strength lured her to lean against him, but she gripped the sink again instead.
Together they slid the cotton blouse off her injured shoulder and down her arm. That left only her bra. Sophie plucked a towel from the pile by the sink and held it in front of her. She pasted on a smile and turned. “Thanks. I can do the rest. The bra has a front closure.”
His eyes dropped to her chest, thankfully covered by the thick towel. As he forced his gaze up to meet hers, a definite wine-red blush suffused his lean cheeks. “What if you get dizzy in the shower?”
“I’ll be okay. If I’m dizzy, I can sit on the edge.” The desire flaming in his eyes ignited an answering heat low in her body. Her hands shook so she nearly dropped the towel.
“Roger.” He executed an about-face that would gratify a drill sergeant. “That’s it, then.”
“When I’m finished in the shower, I’ll call you.”
On her last word, the door clicked shut behind him.
Hands on his knees, Jack bent over and dragged air into his lungs. The voltage between them had set him afire. Touching her had felt as if he’d stuck his finger in a light socket. She blew his circuits. His blood sizzled.
Breathing her female scent, salty with sweat, had ignited a brush fire. Sliding his hand over her soft, warm skin and sifting his fingers in her luxuriant mahogany-brown waves had hardened him so he might need medical intervention to recover.
He heard the shower running and tried not to picture Sophie naked with water sliding down her wild-honey skin. At last able to breathe normally, he straightened. Checking in with Leoni would take his mind off Sophie. He dug in his pocket for the secure satellite phone.
Her skin was perfect, too soft to be real but for her injury. Peeling off her shirt had revealed healing scrapes and fading red-and-yellow bruises that reminded him sharply of the stakes. Deep within him tenderness and longing welled up. A longing he couldn’t name or acknowledge.
When she’d clutched that towel in front of her and faced him, her shallow breathing and dilated pupils had told him she felt the flames, too. Sheer nothing edged in lace had covered her breasts. The slipping towel had plumped the creamy mounds and concealed only her nipples. He’d mustered Herculean strength not to toss away the towel and carry her to bed.
Not even a week since Vadim’s Maserati had struck her. She had to wear the damn sling for five or six more days.
Six more days of torture. For them both.
Another reason to break through the amnesia fast.
Sinking onto the bed, he flipped open the phone and pushed the speed dial for Leoni. When the officer answered, he said, “Any news?”
“Yeah, Vadim walked up to the des
k sergeant in the Questura, handed over the uranium tied in a big red bow and gave himself up. Case closed.”
Jack nearly threw the phone across the room. “I’m in no mood for that crap. Any leads in the wreckage?”
“Zip. The boat was reported stolen the night before. There is one thing. We may’ve located the missing courier.”
“Dead, I assume.” Nothing else had gone their way.
“You psychic or something?” Leoni chuckled. When Jack remained silent, he sighed and cracked his gum. “A couple local kids found a body in the marsh not far from Vadim’s villa. Looks like our boy ran into a bullet headfirst.”
Another nail in Vadim’s coffin. “Vadim doesn’t like to share. Dobrich should’ve known that about his cousin.”
“The dumb slug might not’ve had other options. Anyway, I’ll let you know developments. How’s the honeymoon trip?”
“How d’you think?” Jack growled. “Someday you’ll have your guts in a vise, and it’ll be payback time.”
“It ain’t your guts in the vise, buddy, but another part of your anatomy,” Leoni said. “Like I said before, lighten up. Enjoy the scenery. Just don’t touch.”
Easier said than done. Jack gave his contact their location and his plan for the next day. “That it?”
“One more thing. Vadim’s housekeeper was poking around at the villa today.”
At that Jack narrowed his eyes in speculation. Although the task force had finished searching, they were keeping the villa under surveillance. “What d’you mean poking around?”
“Said she’d left some stuff there. Seemed bent, if you know what I mean, phony. One of the guys kept an eye on her.”
“You think Vadim sent her to look for the uranium?”
“If he did, she came away empty. All she took was an apron and a dish.”
They discussed the possibilities for a few moments, then Jack disconnected.
“Jack, I need your help. Please.”
At Sophie’s call, he dropped the phone on the floor. He hadn’t noticed that the water had stopped running.
Chapter 7
“Jack?”
Deadly Memories Page 8
