The Italian Billionaire's New Year Bride

“No.” The word was almost a whisper.

His head jerked back up. “What?”

“No.” The word was now a little less shaky. She lifted her head and finally met his gaze again. It was almost as if she were struggling to get her breath.

“What are you talking about?” He moved even closer. He was starting to get annoyed. “I employed you to dress both houses, the one here and the one in Rome.”

“I know that...” she started, “but...”

“But what?” He threw up his hands. “Why on earth are you stalling? We had an agreement.”

“I... I... I...”

There was something about the way she was stuck for words. That didn’t seem normal for Phoebe. Her eyes filled with tears as he watched her.

He stepped over and touched her bare arm. “What on earth is wrong?”

She glanced down at his hand on her arm and he frowned. Something shot through his head and he was flooded with panic. “Is this about us? Is this about this kiss?”

Darn it. He knew he’d handled things badly—probably closest to a hormonal teenager. It was ridiculous. He was a grown man with a world of experience in kissing women.

But he’d never kissed a girl like Phoebe. He’d never kissed a girl who’d made him feel as if the fireworks going off outside were actually part of him. He’d never wanted to continue a kiss more than he’d wanted to that night. But it had been an impulsive thing. A lapse of judgement.

So why couldn’t he get it out of his head?

Phoebe met his gaze again. “It’s nothing to do with the kiss.” She sounded exasperated, and a little bit sad. “It’s just a whole other part of my life that I’m just not ready to deal with.”

Matteo pulled back a little. “Phoebe, what is going on? Is something wrong?” The mark on her face the other day? Was this something to do with that? It was amazing how instantly protective he still felt about her.

She took a deep breath and he let his hand fall from her arm. Physical contact between them wasn’t a good idea. “No, it’s nothing like that.”

He was getting impatient. “Then I’ll see you at JFK airport tomorrow. The flight takes around eight and a half hours and it’s a red eye. Dress comfortably.”

“It’s just...”

“Phoebe, I don’t have time for this.” He couldn’t hide his frustration. Timing was everything. February was a crucial time for his business. He couldn’t be distracted. He needed to deal with the house in Rome now. “I was clear. I offered you a quarter of a million dollars to dress two houses for me. One in the Hamptons. One in Rome. You agreed.” He shrugged. “I don’t take kindly to people who renege on business agreements. There are...consequences.”

She blinked and he could see her brain trying to interpret those words. “You mean if I don’t come to Rome, you won’t pay me?” The shock on her face was clear.

“We had a deal, Phoebe. You keep your end of the bargain. I keep mine. I like to deal with professionals. I thought that’s what you were.” His eyes swept up and down her. Taking in the yellow dress and nude heels. “Maybe I was wrong.”

Her words were strained. Her jaw clenched. “I am a professional. My job here proves it. This house will sell easily.”

He walked straight over to her. Closer than he intended. He could see every inch of her smooth clear skin. The mascara outlining her long dark lashes. The hint of red on her lips. Her very kissable lips. “Your professionalism is proved once you complete the job.”

He met her dark gaze. He couldn’t read what was going on in those strong brown eyes. Phoebe’s eyes had always flashed a multitude of emotions. Today? It was almost as if a set of shutters had closed across them. They were angry. Detached.

She tilted her chin up toward him. He could see the tiny pulse at the base of her throat. “What time do you need me?”

“I’ll have a car pick you up at 6:00 p.m.”

“Fine.” She turned on her heel, her yellow dress swirling around her knees, as she walked out of the room.

Chapter Six

SHE HADN’T EVEN met his gaze since she’d climbed in the car.

Pride and terror wouldn’t let her. But as the car had got closer and closer to the airport she could almost hear the tattoo of her heartbeat against her chest.

The worst thing had been her mother. When she’d told her she was going to Rome to do a job, her mother’s eyes had filled with tears and she’d cupped Phoebe’s face and told her how proud she was of her. And how it was time.

All the words of fear and anxiety that had been ready to spill out of her mouth had halted instantly. Her mother was feeling well. Her treatments were finished and she was under instruction to rest for the next month. Phoebe couldn’t use her mother’s illness as an excuse not to go. Her mother would never forgive her.