leaned back, his legs sprawled under the tiny table. Sliding dark sunglasses on his nose, Antonio looked at the paint-chipped, rusted furniture. Of all the places he’d thought she would be, he mused as he glimpsed the ratted, faded awning, he hadn’t pictured a dirty little café on the wrong side of Rome.
Why was Isabella living in this filth and poverty? It didn’t make sense. He had opened his world to her. She had lived in his penthouse apartment and shared his bed. She had had his servants to take care of her.
And she’d thrown it all away when she’d slept with his brother.
The knowledge still ate away at him. He had provided Isabella with everything, but it hadn’t been enough. No matter how much he’d given, how hard he’d worked, he hadn’t been able to compare with his brother. It had always been that way.
Still, he had been blindsided by Giovanni’s drunken confession six months ago. Had responded by casting Isabella and Giovanni out of his life. It had been swift and vicious, but they had deserved much worse.
Isabella stepped into his view. Tension gripped Antonio, and he braced himself for the emotional impact as he watched her precariously balance two cappuccinos on a serving tray. He had prepared himself for it, but seeing her was like a punch to his gut as she walked past him.
She wore a thin black T-shirt, a skimpy denim skirt and scuffed black flats, but she still had the power to draw his attention. His gaze lingered on her bare legs. He remembered how they’d felt wrapped around his hips as he drove into her welcoming body.
Antonio exhaled slowly and purged the image from his mind. He would not be distracted by her sexual allure or her innocent face. He had made the mistake of lowering his guard with her. He had trusted Isabella and got close to her. That wouldn’t happen again.
Antonio grimly watched her serve the couple, noticing that she looked different. The last time he’d seen her, she had been asleep in his bed, flushed and naked, her long blonde hair fanning like a halo across the white silk pillow.
Isabella now looked pale and sickly. Her hair fell in a limp ponytail. The curves that had used to make him forget his next thought had diminished. She was bony and frail.
She looked terrible. A cruel smile flickered on the edge of his mouth. Antonio hoped she’d been to hell and back. He was prepared to take her there again.
He’d once believed she was sweet and innocent, but it had all been a lie. Her blushes and slow smiles had disarmed him and he had been convinced that she wanted only him. But her open affection had been a smokescreen.
It turned out that Isabella was a master of the mind game and outplayed the most conniving women in his world, who would lie, cheat and bed-hop to get closer to Gio, heir to the Rossi fortune. Isabella had seduced Antonio with her angelic beauty. Made him believe that he was her first choice. Her only choice. But all that time she had been working her magic on Giovanni.
Isabella turned away from the table and headed towards him. Her head was bent as she grabbed her notepad and pen. Tension coiled inside him, ready to spring. He sat unnaturally still, refusing to make any sudden moves that would alert her to impending danger.
“Are you ready to order?” she asked uninterestedly.
Her hoarse voice was nothing like the husky whisper he remembered.
“Hello, Bella.”
No, no, no!
She looked up sharply and her cloudy eyes cleared as she focused on Antonio. He was here. In front of her. Waiting for her to make the next move, even though they both knew it was useless.
Run. The word screamed through her brain.
Isabella slowly blinked. Maybe she was hallucinating. She hadn’t been herself lately. There was no way Antonio Rossi, billionaire, member of the social elite, would be sitting in this café.
But her imagination couldn’t conjure the electric current coursing through her body from his nearness. Or the panic that stole her breath. Her heart gave a brutal leap before it plummeted.
Does he know? Is that why he’s here?
She couldn’t stop staring at him like a deer caught in the headlights. Antonio wore a black pinstripe suit, the ruthlessly tailored lines emphasizing his broad shoulders and lean, muscular body. The hand-made shirt and silk tie offered a veneer of civility, but they couldn’t mask his animal magnetism. He was the most sensual man she had ever known, and the most powerful.
Antonio Rossi was also the most callous person she’d met.
Isabella took short, choppy breaths, but she was suffocating with dread. She couldn’t gauge his next move or his next thought. She only knew that it was going to be devastating.
She had been an idiot to get involved with him. He was the kind of man her mother had often warned her about. Antonio would see a woman like her only as a plaything and then discard her when something better came along. Isabella knew all this but she had still been drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Even now she felt the pull and she couldn’t stop staring at him.
His eyes were hidden behind the sunglasses, but the angles and lines of his savagely masculine face were just as sharp and aggressive as she remembered. Antonio wasn’t beautiful, but his dark, striking looks made women of all ages eager for another glimpse of him.
Run. And don’t look back.
“Antonio?” Her voice was high and reedy. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come for you.”
She shivered. She’d never thought she would see him again or hear those words. But it was too late. She couldn’t go back. She wouldn’t let herself think that it was possible. “Why?”
“Why?” Antonio leaned back in his chair and arrogantly studied her appearance.
Her skin tingled as she felt his lazy gaze sliding over her tired body and cheap clothes. Her pulse tripped before galloping at maximum speed. How much did he know?
She couldn’t tell because his sunglasses hid his eyes. Was he here because he missed the sex? What they had shared had been hot, raw and primitive. It had made her wild, irresponsible and addicted to him. When they were together nothing else had mattered. And if she were smart she would keep her distance before she fell under his spell again.
Her muscles were locked, her feet were still, but her heart pounded hard against her ribs. She should tell him to leave and then get as far away as she could, but instead she was letting him take a good, long look at her.
“You need to leave. Now.” She forced the words out. She needed to be harsh. In the end it would be kinder this way.
“Bella …” he warned in a low growl.
Only Antonio called her that. She’d used to love hearing him say it with a hint of a smile when he greeted her, or in awe as she brought him satisfaction with her mouth. Now, hearing him say it again, this time in anger, it brought a pang in her heart.
“I have nothing to say to you,” she said in a rush.
His face
