The Italian's Doorstep Surprise

“Why? What did you do?”

“I loved reminding him he wasn’t my father, and had no right to tell me what to do. Even at age eight, I hated him. I felt like an outsider in my own home. Then he told my mother he’d fallen in love with someone else, and I hated him even more for making her cry. They didn’t have any assets. After the divorce, we were even poorer than before.”

Twilight was falling outside the lead glass windows, leaving a trail of violet across her bare shoulders. “I’m sorry...”

“He told her he loved her all the time, at the beginning. My father apparently said it to her, too, during their affair. They both told her they felt true love that would last forever.”

Honora looked at him in the flickering candlelit restaurant. “No wonder you think so little of love.”

Nico shrugged. “It’s a momentary emotion at best. At worst, it’s manipulation. A way to trick people into surrendering their lives.”

“My grandfather used to say feelings didn’t matter,” she said in a small voice. “What was important was family, duty, being true to one’s word.”

“He’s right.” But she looked sad, so he changed the subject. “I’m getting some coffee. Would you like dessert? Chocolate cake with raspberries? Strawberry tart?”

She took a deep breath, then tried to smile. “The tart, please.”

Turning away, he gave a small gesture to a waiter.

When they finally left the restaurant, Nico realized they were the last guests there, and had been talking for hours. To make amends to the waiters for keeping the table, he quietly left a five-thousand-dollar tip.

“Thank you for a lovely evening.” Honora took his arm as they walked out into the moonlight. “And the food! I’m afraid it’s spoiled me for all other chicken potpie. And strawberry tarts.”

His glance lingered on her as the valet collected the Lamborghini. The summer night was warm as city lights sparkled in the skyscrapers looming above the slender lane.

“But now it’s over.” Honora looked wistful again. “Is there an affordable hotel nearby?”

“There’s no reason to stay in a hotel.”

“I told you I couldn’t possibly go back home tonight, with Granddad and Phyllis there.”

“Stay with me.”

“With you?” She swallowed, then shook her head. “Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly.”

“No strings. You can stay in the guest room. I promise I won’t touch you, Honora, for as long as you’re staying with me. Not unless you ask.” His gaze fell to her lips as he added huskily, “No matter

how much I want to.”

* * *

Staying with Nico would be a big mistake. Honora knew it before the valet even pulled the Lamborghini up in front of the restaurant.

“Guest room?” she repeated, then shook her head. “I couldn’t impose.”

“You keep using words like burden and imposition—words that make no sense to me. How much clearer can I be that I want you?”

She bit her lip. “But—”

His eyes gleamed. “It’s just a night in my guest room, Honora. Not marriage vows.”

She hesitated. What was she afraid of? That she’d fall into bed with him? No. Of course she wouldn’t. She told herself she’d learned that lesson. And as he said, it was just crashing at his place for a night, not marriage vows. She exhaled. “All right. Thank you.”

Nico gave her a small smile as he opened her car door, helping her inside.

They drove north to midtown. Pulling into his residential building’s parking garage, he punched in his code, which lifted the gate into his exclusive parking area. He parked near his Mercedes G-Wagen, Tesla and the Bentley.

Lifting her overnight bag onto his shoulder, he helped her out of the low-slung car. He didn’t drop her hand as they took the elevator to Nico’s penthouse on the skyscraper’s top two floors.