Hired:The Italian's Bride

Yet the thought that Luca wasn’t interested in her at all left her crushed with disappointment. How could that be, when it was what she wanted? She didn’t want to be closer to him, did she?

She lifted her confused eyes to his.

And was shocked to see her feelings mirrored back at her. He didn’t say anything. But she knew. She knew she hadn’t been alone in being affected by the kiss.

“There you go.” The saleslady held out two bags, smiling like finding them in an embrace was a sweet secret. “The rest of your purchases will be shipped to the hotel.”

Mari felt Luca’s body behind her as she turned, the solid wall of him against her back as he put his arm around her, cradling her against him as he rested his chin atop her head. Mari wanted to beg him, please don’t be so kind. And somehow she heard his unspoken answer: Let me in.

They left the shop and ventured on foot to the next, cradled between two restaurants on the busy main street. As he held the door for her, he murmured, “That’s probably not a good idea, letting that happen again.”

She stepped inside the door, the scent of vanilla and lavender teasing her nose. “No?”

“You’re the manager, and I’m the owner. It wouldn’t be good for appearances.”

Mari nearly laughed. Luca, concerned about appearances? He was the one who wandered through the hotel in jeans instead of business suits. He was the one who asked for picnics and dinners and shunned anything traditional. He was the one who had his picture in magazines with a new woman on his arm every month, it seemed. “If I remember correctly, you kissed me.”

“I believe you kissed me back.”

Something in the last few days had caused something to break free in Mari. Instead of backing off she lifted her chin. “That’s hardly the point now, is it.”

“Fiori does have an image to uphold, Mariella.”

Mari goggled.

“Who are you and what have you done with Luca?”

He only offered a tight smile in response. Mari stepped inside the gallery, immediately surrounded by pieces by local artists. She was secretly pleased he wanted to showcase local art. It was part of what the Cascade should be about. She was beginning to see that. This place was like no other place on earth. It deserved to be showcased as such.

She found some particularly interesting carvings and when she looked up, Luca had moved on. She spied him in a side room, his hands in his pockets as he looked at paintings. She sighed. He was so…something. He was just so Luca. He made no apologies for it. The self-assurance was sexy, she realized. He’d been molded and shaped long ago, when his mother had left all of them. Now he knew who he was. She envied that.

When she reached him, he didn’t look at her but simply said, “There are some wonderful pieces here.”

For a moment she wondered about the cost of adding original art to the hotel. But put it aside for once. How could she worry about dollars and cents for her livelihood, when she’d splurged for perfectly selfish reasons today?

“I haven’t been in here before.”

“Don’t you like art?”

He stopped his perusal and turned his head. The kiss they’d shared was suddenly in the front of her mind.

“I haven’t given it much thought.”

He turned back to the painting before him.

She found a bench and put down her bags. It was true. She hadn’t had time for things like art appreciation. In the last store she’d merely followed his lead. She’d had more immediate needs, more pressing concerns. Like getting her life back. Taking charge. Moving forward instead of being paralyzed by fear.

And she’d done quite well, until that phone call. The one telling her Robert had served his time. Had fulfilled his debt to society. It was no solace at all—what about his debt to her? To her mother? Where was he now? She could swear up and down she’d rebuilt her life, but all she’d done was run. Run and pretend. Now she didn’t even know where her mother was. If she’d run, as well. If she was even okay. She’d gone years telling herself it didn’t matter, but now with Robert out of prison, her thoughts kept turning back to the one parent she had.

Luca didn’t get any of that. Nor would he. She couldn’t bring herself to explain it to him. Despite their newfound closeness, she certainly didn’t know him, or trust him enough to fill him in on the sordid details.

“Are you feeling well?”

“Excuse me?”

Luca was close to her shoulder. “Mariella, you are pale as a ghost. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Show me the paintings you like.” She had to stop giving her stepfather any power. She’d left that life behind.