The Real Rio D'Aquila

“But …” She swallowed audibly. Sank her teeth into her lip and, Dio, if she did that one more time, he was not going to be responsible for his actions.

“But?” he prompted.

She sighed. “But then—then everyone will know that I—that I botched this.”

Rio felt a quick knot of anger form in his chest. He slid his hands up her arms, to her shoulders.

“Who is ‘everyone’? Why would they judge you? Why should you care?”

“My family. And they wouldn’t judge me. They’d be upset for me. See, I have four brothers. And a sister. And all of them are so successful but I’m—I’m—”

“You,” Rio said fiercely, “are a beautiful, bright, talented woman.”

She blushed. “That’s very—it’s very sweet of you but—”

“It is the truth. I’ve seen your sketches for the terrace.”

“You have?”

Careful, Rio thought, damnit, man, be careful!

“Yes. D’Aquila sent them to me. I, ah, I saw the designs of all the applicants. I’ll be here, supervising things on his estate, while the landscaping took shape. He thought it would be a good idea if I were familiar with the various plans.”

It sounded ridiculous but she bought it. He knew she did, when she smiled.

“Well, then, I’m glad you liked what you saw.”

“Very much,” he said softly, and fought the urge to draw her into his arms again. “In fact—in fact, I’m going to recommend my boss set up a second interview.”

Her face lit. He gave an inward groan. What in hell kind of spiderweb was he getting into? How could Rio D’Aquila interview her without giving the game away?

Never mind. He’d faced seemingly impossible situations all his life, and managed to handle them. He’d handle this, too—

But not tonight.

“Okay,” he said briskly. “So, calling your sister is not a good idea.”

Her smile faded. “Not really.”

“Well, I have a plan.”

“You do?”

“I do.” He took her arm and began walking her toward his truck. “I’ll put you up for the night.”

“Ha!”

Isabella tried to dig her heels into the pavement but they were bare heels, really bare, because by now the feet of her panty hose were completely shredded. Rio got her to the truck without so much as breaking stride, hung on to her with one hand as he opened the passenger door.

“That,” she huffed, “is one hell of a plan!”

“Calm down, Ms. Orsini. I have no interest in seducing you.”

“I’m supposed to believe that after what happened before?”

He swung her toward him.

“I kissed you. You kissed me. Who, exactly, tried to seduce whom?”

Her face, lit by a streetlamp, turned red.

“I am not spending the night with you.”

“Fine.” Rio let go of her and folded his arms. “You can spend it here, on a bench. Or would you prefer curling up in the grass?”

She stared at him. He could almost see her brain whirring.

“In the morning,” he said, “I’ll arrange to have your car taken to a garage. If they can fix it, they will. If they can’t, you’ll rent another.”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t what?”

She shrugged and looked down at the ground. “Nothing.”

Rio rolled his eyes. “You don’t have the money for either, and you don’t want to ask Anna for help. Am I right?”

Another shrug, even more expressive than the first.

“I’ll lend you the money.”

She looked up. “You?”

“I’m a caretaker, not a drifter. I have an income. I have some savings.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did. But those of us who work with our hands are as fiscally and morally responsible as anyone else.”

Dio, that sounded impossibly stiff-necked, but it was the truth. Once, he had worked with his hands. Now, he was rich. How had he become so wealthy? How had he accumulated the money to make his first investment? By working hard, living frugally and saving first every lira, then every euro, every Brazilian real that he could.

Isabella hesitated. Then she gave him a smile that lit the night.

“You’re a good man, Matteo Rossi. Thank you.”

She climbed into the truck. He slammed the door. Then he went around to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel.

A good man?

He was a goddamned liar, was what he was.

A good man would have told her the truth. Would have taken her home, or sent her home, because he had enough money to get anyone to do anything at any hour, or so bitter reality had taught him.

Rio started the truck, backed away from the curb.

A good man wouldn’t have begun this charade in the first place. At the very least, a good man would have put an end to it by now.

So much for his being a good man.

He’d told her one truth, at least. He would not seduce her. He didn’t want to seduce her—

Cristo, at least be honest about that, D’Aquila. A woman who can make your belly knot, your balls ache, with nothing more than a smile? All he wanted was to seduce her.

But he had no intention of even trying.

That scene at the house earlier had been a warning.

She was innocent, or close to it. And he didn’t play games with innocent women.

But would a little self-indulgence be wrong? Would it affect anything that mattered to go on letting her think he was the caretaker? Give her a room for the night, a meal, enjoy just talking with her and then send her on her way tomorrow?

No. There was no way it possibly could.

He’d help her with her dilemma, let her think her knight errant was named Matteo, and nobody would be hurt.

Not her.

Not him.

And that would be the end of it.

CHAPTER SIX

THE night was dark, the r

oads were empty and Isabella’s brain was no longer functioning.

How else to explain why she was letting a stranger take her home with him? And what did that mean? Where was his home?

He hadn’t said. And she hadn’t asked.

No longer functioning, indeed.

She’d assumed he meant they were going to the D’Aquila estate. And wasn’t that silly? Assuming anything was generally a mistake. Just look at today, and her assumption that Rio D’Aquila would be waiting to interview her.

Wrong on both counts.

He hadn’t been waiting, and she hadn’t been interviewed.

Now, she’d assumed spending the night with a man she’d just met was a good idea. But it wasn’t. How could it be? He was gorgeous, he was sexy—and for all she knew, he was an ax murderer.

“Relax,” he said with lazy humor in his voice. “We’re going back to the house. And it’s a big house. Four guest suites. You can choose the one you like.”

Isabella felt color creep into her face.

“I wasn’t—”

“Yes. You were.” He glanced at her, his face unreadable in the darkness. “A little late to start wondering if I have ulterior motives, don’t you think?”

What she thought was that she didn’t need him poking around in her head, or pointing out that she’d just added one more foolish act to a day filled with them.

“You’re right,” she said sweetly. “I probably should have asked if you turn into a vampire at midnight.”

He chuckled. “A hungry vampire. I don’t know about you but I can’t remember the last time I ate anything today.”

Neither could she, but admitting it would just mean he’d scored another small victory in mind reading.

“You must be hungry, too.”

“Not at all,” she said, with the self-righteousness of a candidate for sainthood.

Unfortunately, her belly chose that moment to growl.

“Obviously not.” His tone was wry but, thank God, he didn’t laugh. “So, you can just watch me eat. How’s that sound?”

Stubbornness was one thing. Stupidity was another. Even she knew that.