you couldn’t find me. Tell them that I’m back home.”
It was tempting. He wanted to leave and not look back. Purge her from his memories. Do anything that would erase Isabella from his world. But he knew that was impossible.
“Sorry. I’m not like you. I choose to tell the truth whenever possible.”
She lifted her head to glare at him. “I never lied to you. I never—”
He turned away and checked his watch. “I don’t have time to rehash the past.”
“Rehash?” Isabella’s voice rose angrily. “When did we discuss it the first time around? I thought we were happy. We had been together for weeks and going strong. We had made love throughout the night. The next morning your security woke me up to kick me out. My bag was packed and you wouldn’t take my call. You didn’t tell me why you did that, and you never gave me a chance to talk about it!”
Antonio leaned against the wall by the door. The room felt like it was getting smaller. “I wasn’t in the mood to hear your excuses. I’m even less inclined to now.”
“There was nothing to excuse,” Isabella argued as she rose slowly.
Her movements were wobbly and awkward. Antonio folded his arms so he wouldn’t reach out and help her. He already regretted holding her close. He didn’t like how much effort it had taken to pull away. His fingertips still stung from where he had touched her face.
Isabella looked him in the eye and jutted out her chin. “I did not have an affair.”
He held up his hand. “Enough! I will not discuss it.”
“Typical,” she said with a sigh. “You don’t like to discuss anything. Especially if it’s personal. No matter how hard I tried, you wouldn’t share how you felt. The only time I knew exactly what you were thinking was when we were in bed.”
An intimate and very inconvenient image bloomed in his mind. Of Isabella, naked in his bed, eagerly following his explicit demands. When they’d been alone together he had held nothing back. He had demonstrated how much he wanted Isabella and how much her touch had meant to him. There had been many times when it hadn’t been certain who was in command.
A muscle bunched in his jaw and ferocious energy swirled around him. “We are leaving,” he announced in a gravelly tone. Antonio thrust the door open and waited for Isabella.
“No,” she said firmly. “I’m not signing any papers. I don’t want Giovanni’s money.”
“I’m sure you earned it.” He didn’t want her to know what was at stake here. All he wanted was to end this errand as soon as possible. By whatever means necessary. Antonio walked over to her.
Isabella’s eyes widened. “Don’t you dare touch me!”
“How times have changed,” he said silkily as he wrapped his hand around her wrist. He ignored her racing pulse under his fingers as he picked up her backpack. “I remember when you begged for my touch.”
Isabella tried futilely to pull out of his grasp. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about the past? Let go of me.”
“I will when we get to my car.” If it was still where he had parked it. Trust Bella to find the most dangerous neighborhood to live in.
“I’m not going anywhere with you!” Isabella declared as she tried to grab onto the doorframe—but she couldn’t hold on.
“Think again.” He headed for the stairs, dragging her behind him.
“Pushy and selfish,” she muttered. “It must be a Rossi trait. You are just like your brother.”
Antonio stilled as the accusation lashed at him. He slowly turned and faced Isabella. He saw the wariness in her eyes as she backed away. She didn’t get far as his grip tightened around her wrist. “Don’t.”
Isabella’s gaze fell to her feet. “All I meant—”
“I don’t care what you meant.” Her words had clawed open a wound he had valiantly tried to ignore. Were he and Gio interchangeable in Isabella’s mind? How often had she thought of his brother when she’d kissed him? Had she responded the same way in Gio’s bed?
His thoughts turned darker, piercing his soul. Antonio didn’t say anything as he took a step closer to Isabella, backing her against the wall. Why had she chosen Gio over him? Everyone else he knew made that choice, but why Isabella? He had thought she was different. Was it because Gio had been the handsome and charismatic one? Had his brother fulfilled her deepest, darkest fantasies? Or had she actually fallen in love with his brother?
“Antonio?” she whispered with uncertainty.
He stared at Isabella. Her angelic beauty hid a devious nature. Her bold spirit and breathtaking innocence had led him straight to a hell that he might never escape. He blinked slowly as he battled the darkness enveloping him. He wouldn’t let this woman destroy him again.
Antonio released her wrist as if her touch burned. He took a deliberate step back but met her eyes with a steady gaze. “Don’t compare me with my brother. Ever.”
Isabella couldn’t move as she stared into his brown eyes. Her heart twisted and her breath snagged in her throat. Antonio was always so careful not to show his thoughts and emotions, but now they were laid bare before her. The man was in torment.
But just as quickly as he’d exposed his pain his eyes were shuttered. When he opened them again he was back in control, while her emotions were in a jumbled mess.
Antonio turned away from her and Isabella sagged against the wall. She slowly exhaled as her heart pounded in her ears. She felt shaky, her limbs twitching as she watched Antonio take the stairs.
“I’m sorry.”
Her words were just a whisper but she saw Antonio’s rigid stance as he silently deflected her apology.
She hadn’t meant to compare Antonio to his brother. They had very different personalities. It was impossible to confuse the two. Giovanni had been a charmer, with movie star looks, always the life of the party. He’d been entertaining—but not fascinating like Antonio.
The moment she had met Antonio she’d known he was out of her league. She didn’t have the sophistication or sexual knowledge to hold on to him. It hadn’t mattered. She’d only wanted to be with him. Just once.
Isabella remembered when they had first met and he had offered to show her Piazza del Popolo. The sight of him had jolted her as if she had woken from a deep slumber. Her heart had started to race when she saw him.
She knew she had projected an image of being bold and strong. Tough. It had all been an act. It had been her way of protecting herself as she went through the world alone. But the way the man had been looking at her—she had felt brazen. She had wanted to hold on to that feeling.
“I’m Antonio,” he had said, and offered his hand.
She had hesitated at the sight of his expensive cufflinks. It had only been then that she’d noticed he wore a designer suit. His silk tie had probably cost more than her round-trip
