The Real Rio D'Aquila

She gave him a cold glare. Then she sighed and the glare turned into a sorrowful admission that what he’d said was true.

“You’re right. The only person to blame is me for agreeing to try for this job in the first place. I told Gaby it was crazy.”

Gaby. A new name added to the mix. Was she referring to Gabriella Orsini, Dante’s wife? Rio D’Aquila, who knew the couple, could have asked.

Matteo Rossi, who’d never heard of them, couldn’t.

“And Anna. I told her the same thing. ‘This job isn’t for me,’ I said, but did either of them listen?”

Anna, again. The mysterious Anna, so generous with her clothes and her car.

“No,” Isabella said grimly, answering her own question, “they did not. They badgered me and badgered me.” Her voice went from its soft, pleasing midrange to a high-pitched parody of what he figured was supposed to be Anna-Gaby. “‘Think of the doors a contract like that will open, Izzy. Think of the new clients you’ll get.’” Her eyebrows drew together. “Ha!”

“Well,” Rio said cautiously, “they were probably right.”

She snorted with derision. “Bad enough I have to deal with spoiled rich guys in the city. Why should I have to come all the way to the ends of the earth to deal with one in a place where—where creatures rule the road and trains stop running just because it’s dark?”

Rio considered pointing out that creatures ruled the road everywhere, and that the dark had nothing to do with trains not running here on a Friday night.

Instead, he took the low ground.

“You have no way of knowing that Rio D’Aquila is spoiled.”

“He’s loaded,” Isabella snapped. “And a hunk.”

Rio’s eyebrows rose. “Is he,” he said.

“Gaby says he is. Anna’s never met him but she saw him at a couple of places. Some charity party, the symphony, who knows what? The point is, she saw him. And she said yes, he’s gorgeous. And that he obviously has more money than he needs, and an ego bigger than his head.”

Rio folded his arms and made a mental note to add Anna to the list of people he could live without meeting.

“Interesting,” he said coldly.

“Maybe she didn’t say that, exactly. But why else would he build a house in the middle of nowhere when he already has God only knows how many other houses?”

“Southampton is hardly the middle of nowhere. And, ah, perhaps he found something about the area appealing.”

“Do not,” she said, chin lifted, eyes blazing, “do not defend your boss to me! I know what men like him are like. I work for them. Well, not on a job anywhere near the size this one is, I mean, the size this one would have been, I mean, the size it would have been if I’d gotten it—”

“I get the picture,” he said drily. “So, men who have money are acquisitive fools?”

“Their egos are bigger than their heads.”

“An interesting observation.”

“A valid one.”

“And that includes Dante Orsini, who recommended you for this position?”

Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

Idiot! “D’Aquila mentioned it.”

“No, it doesn’t include Dante. Of course it doesn’t—but that’s beside the point.” Isabella shivered. The night air was surprisingly cool. “I am trapped, do you hear me? Trapped in this—this last outpost of civilization!”

It was hard not to laugh. Harder still not to kiss away the angry set of her lips, the flush in her cheeks, the glitter in her eyes.

Damnit, Rio thought, and reached for her and drew her into his arms.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re shivering,” he said reasonably. “I’m warming you.”

“I do not need warming.”

“Yes. You do. Stop fighting me and let me chase away the chill.”

She stood within his embrace as rigidly as a tree. He held on to her with the determination of a Boy Scout doing a good deed—except, he had never been a Boy Scout and it was hard to think like one now. Isabella felt warm and soft. She smelled sweet and feminine. He wanted to put his lips against her hair. Lift her face to his and kiss her. He wanted to do all the things a man wanted to do to a woman who drove him crazy—

And made him feel something for her that could only be described as tenderness.

He told himself to let go of her and step back—but right at that instant, she gave a weary sigh and put her head against his chest.

Rio shut his eyes and held her closer.

“You’re right,” she said in a shaky whisper. “I screwed up and I’m stranded. What am I going to do now?”

He had the answer, of course.

He was Rio D’Aquila. He had a plane parked at an airport a short drive away. All they had to do was get into his truck, drive to Easthampton. An hour from now, she’d be where she wanted to be.

In the city.

So, what if he wanted her here?

There was no logic to it. He understood that. What he didn’t understand was why logic didn’t seem to mean a damn.

Never mind holding her to keep her warm. He was holding her because she felt so right in his arms—and what was that all about?

For what had to be the thousandth time since Isabella Orsini had walked into his life, Rio told himself that enough was enough. This foolish self-indulgence had to stop. It was time to do the logical thing. To take her to New York. It wasn’t only logical, it was the right thing. All he had to do was take the first step.

The problem was, that first step was a killer.

He’d have to tell her who he really was.

The odds were good she wouldn’t be happy when he revealed that this had all been a charade. Wouldn’t be happy? The understatement of the year. Of the decade.

She’d be furious.

But he could get her past that. Hadn’t he charmed CEOs and CFOs and COOs from here to Timbuktu into agreeing to deals they’d started out refusing?

Still, once she knew who he was, everything would change.

She’d still be Izzy the Gardener, with her ruined borrowed car and her ruined borrowed clothes and he—

He would be a liar. A rich liar. A man with too much money and an ego bigger than his head.

If only he had not lied to her. He wasn’t even sure what had prompted him to do it. Boredom? Irritation? Just plain perversity? Whatever the reason, this had begun as a silly game.

But it had somehow become more.

Aside from the enormity of living a lie, he felt—he felt wonderful. Relaxed. Content. Dio, a few hours ago, he wasn’t sure he could even have defined that word.

Most of all, he was enjoying Isabella’s company. She was prickly and difficult and argumentative, but she was also gentle and honest and she made him smile.

He felt at ease with her in a way he had not felt with a woman in years.

In his teens and early twenties, when he hadn’t had any money, women had been drawn to him because of how he looked. He’d known it and he hadn’t much cared. What young guy would? The important thing had been to bed beautiful woman after beautiful woman; his hormones had ruled him.

Then his life changed. Hard work, good luck, some admittedly clever and dangerous risks, and he’d begun amassing a fortune. He still had the good looks—why be modest over a simple genetic fact?—but now he had money, too, and that ineffable thing called power.

People began treating him differently, especially women.

They were deferential. Eager to please. And always planning how to handle him.

At times, he could almost see them trying to figure out what response he wanted to a simple question. “Would you like to go to the opera tonight, or shall I get tickets for Eric Clapton?” Or, “Are you in the mood for seafood tonight?” Their smiles would freeze. They would hesitate. He knew they were wondering what he wanted them to say, as if there were a correct answer and it would win them a prize.

Perhaps that was the rea

son he didn’t find many of them interesting anymore.

Isabella, on the other hand, was more than interesting.

She was fascinating. And she treated him without pretence.

He couldn’t imagine another woman scowling at him, or arguing with him, or turning her back on him and walking off into a dangerous night.

He certainly couldn’t imagine another woman tearing herself from his arms as she had done. Not because he was sure he was such a good lover—although he hoped he was—but because of who he was. Rio D’Aquila, who had an overblown ego and too much money.

But that was the point, after all.

He wasn’t that man to Isabella. He was a caretaker. And she liked him for himself. Or didn’t like him, as the spirit moved her.

And he loved it.

It was a new world for him, a place where a man was a man and a woman was a woman. It was as close to experiencing a real relationship as he’d ever had …

Rio frowned.

If a man actually wanted a relationship.

He most assuredly didn’t.

He just liked being with Isabella. Liked holding her. Another minute or two, then he’d pull aside the curtain and reveal himself as the Wizard in the Emerald City. And, no, that hadn’t gone so well for the real wizard but the analogy made—

“—sense.”

Rio blinked. “Sorry. I was … What did you say?”

“I said, I thought of the only solution that makes sense.”

“Oh?”

“I can phone Anna.”

“Anna. ”

“My sister.”

Her sister. At least he had part of the puzzle.

“Anna can come and get me. Or her husband.”

She was right. That did make sense, and he wouldn’t have to tell her the truth about himself, but what would it accomplish? Either way, she’d be out of his life tonight …

And he didn’t want that.

Not just yet.