Swept Away by the Venetian Millionaire

Dream or coma, Vito didn’t return her laugh. “I see you find that amusing.”

“Only because it’s quite ridiculous. You obviously see something that isn’t there.”

“Or something you refuse to see yourself. Because you’ve let someone else convince you what’s real.”

Ouch. Served her right for confiding in a stranger. This random man she hadn’t even known existed a day ago knew all too well about her humiliation. Maya felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment. Why had she ever left her hotel room? In fact, why had she ever left Boston?

The question made her cringe inside. She had to admit there was a very simple reason. She’d told herself that she hadn’t wanted to let her Grandmama down, but the truth was that she hadn’t been able to face her family after what Matt had done. She couldn’t handle the thought of standing in front of the four most perfect people she knew to let them know that she’d failed. Even though none of it was her fault. Matt had been the one to throw away their relationship. She didn’t want to admit that she hadn’t been enough for him.

So she’d fled. And it had been a mistake to do so.

Because now some stranger was trying to psychoanalyze her. Irritation skittered along her skin. He may have helped her out of a sticky situation, but he had no right to try and read her or judge her in any way. She was beginning to wonder if she was some type of magnet for overbearing men all over the world.

“Don’t pretend to know me,” she bit out. “You really have no idea who I am.”

“Maybe I know more than you think.”

“Or maybe you’re simply a heavy-handed alpha male who’s much too quick to make blanket judgments about people he’s just met,” she snapped without thinking.

Vito chuckled. That made her irritation turn to anger. Now he was laughing at her.

“And why is that amusing to you?” she demanded to know.

“Because you’re so clearly proving my point.”

That was it, she’d had enough. She had no idea if there was some kind of language barrier that was fueling this agitating conversation. But she wasn’t willing to participate in it any longer.

“Destroy the sketch or don’t. I don’t care. But I think I should be going. If you would get me my clothing, please.”

Vito studied her face before silently and slowly nodding. “Of course. If you’re sure you feel well enough.”

“I feel fine. And I’ll find a way to repay your hospitality. I’m in Venice for a few more days.” Only now that she’d said the words, she realized exactly what a difficult feat that would be. Now that the fog was slowly lifting in her brain, she distinctly remembered her phone and clutch purse falling into the water right before she’d gone over herself.

Which led to another embarrassing predicament. She had no idea how to get back to her hotel on foot. And she had no cash fare for any kind of boat ride.

She was at Vito Rameri’s mercy yet again.

* * *

The atmosphere around them had definitely grown awkward. Vito knew he had only himself to blame. Obviously he’d learned nothing from all his mistakes of the past.

Maya was right. He was heavy-handed. And hopelessly incapable of sensitivity to others’ feelings. He should never have shown Maya the sketch. Better yet, he should never have drawn it in the first place.

But when he’d come down to check on her, she’d seemed so serene and peaceful on his office couch. The way her arm was draped casually over a plush cushion. The afternoon sun sending shadows along her skin. She really had looked like something out of a classic Renaissance painting. The woman had just been pulled out of the murky summer Venetian water and she’d looked none the worse for wear.

Though he was a sculptor by trade, most of his creations originated with a sketch on paper. Vito had taken one look at the tangled mass of hair framing her angular, patrician face and he’d felt once again that familiar yet so elusive tingling in his fingers. A feeling he hadn’t experienced in more than three years. Not since the accident.

He hadn’t been able to bring himself to ignore it. A decision he regretted now, given the way the signorina was glaring at him. He had no right to use her to grasp at a sudden and unexpected reprieve from the artistic block he’d been grappling with for the past three years. She was merely an unsuspecting passerby.