the school they attended. My grandfather hated him for that.”
“But you should have been at his funeral. He was your grandfather—”
“He never wanted to be.” Folding his arms, Roark turned away from the man dismissively.
The emcee of the auction hurried forward to get his attention. Roark recognized Richard Brooks, a Brooklyn land developer who’d once worked for a Navarre subsidiary.
“Thank you so much for your bid, Mr. Navarre,” the emcee gushed. “The Olivia Hawthorne Park Foundation thanks you for your generous donation.”
Just what Roark needed—a reminder that he’d just pledged a million dollars toward the very project he was trying to destroy! His lip curled into a snarl. “My pleasure.”
“Will you be in New York for long, Mr. Navarre?”
“No,” he said sharply, and before the man could ask him any more questions, he pulled a checkbook from his tuxedo coat pocket and swiftly wrote a check for a million dollars. He held out the check, not allowing a single bit of emotion to appear on his face.
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Navarre,” the man said, bowing as he backed away. “Thank you very much.”
Roark nodded, his face cold. He hated these little obsequious toadies. Fearing him. Wanting his money, attention or time. He glanced at all the women staring at him with frank longing and admiration. Women were the worst of all.
Except for Lia Villani. She hadn’t tried to lure him.
She’d run away.
Faster and more determined than Roark, she’d managed to get away from him in spite of his best efforts.
Why had she run?
Just because he’d kissed her?
That kiss. He’d seen how it had affected her—damn close to the way it had affected him. It had shaken him to the core. It shook him still.
He hadn’t intended to kiss her. He’d meant to convince her to sell him the property before he seduced her. But something in her defiance, in the way she’d resisted him as they danced, had taunted him. Something in the way she’d tossed her long, lustrous black hair. In the way she’d licked those full red lips, moving her curvaceous body to the music, had maddened his blood.
She’d defied him. And he’d responded.
It was just a kiss, nothing more. He’d kissed many women in his life.
But he’d never felt anything like that.
So? He argued with himself. Even if it was desire stronger than any he’d known, the ending would still be the same. He would take her to his bed, satiate his lust and swiftly forget her. Just like always.
And yet…
He scowled.
Somehow Lia Villani’s beauty and seductive power had made him forget the most important thing on earth—business. He’d never forgotten it before. Certainly not for a woman. And because of that mistake, he might now lose the most important deal of his life.
Nathan had been right all along. Roark had been underestimating the countess. She was far more powerful than he’d ever imagined.
But instead of being furious, Roark was suddenly intoxicated by the thought of the hunt. The takedown.
He would take her property.
Then he would take her.
His body hurt with need for her. He couldn’t forget how she’d trembled in his arms when he kissed her. Couldn’t forget the softness of her breasts against his chest, the curve of her hip against his groin. Couldn’t forget the shape of her. The taste of her.
He had to have her. He wanted her so badly that it made his body shake.
His cell phone rang. He snapped it open.
“Lander,” he said, “give me the good news.”
Lia slammed the door of her silver Aston-Martin Vanquish convertible with a weary thump. Every muscle in her body ached. It had been a long twelve hours. She’d stopped at her town house in New York just long enough to get her passport and change into a knit dress and a cashmere shawl. She’d taken the first flight out of JFK Airport, connecting first in Paris then in Rome, before she’d reached Pisa. Even flying first class, the trip had been exhausting and long.
Maybe because she’d spent the whole time crying. Looking over her shoulder, half expecting the man to pursue her.
But he hadn’t. She was still alone.
So why didn’t that make her feel happier?
Looking up at the medieval castle on the edge of the forested mountain, she took a deep breath. But she was home. The medieval Italian castle, carefully refurbished over fifty years and turned into a luxurious villa, had been Giovanni’s favorite retreat. Over the past ten years, it had become Lia’s home, as well.
“Salve, Contessa,” her housekeeper cried from the doorway. Tears shone in her eyes as she added in accented English, “Welcome home.”
Welcome home. Walking through the front door of the Villa Villani, Lia waited for the feelings of solace and comfort to rush over her as always.
But nothing happened. Just emptiness. Loneliness.
A fresh wave of grief washed over her as she set down her bag. “Grazie, Felicita.”
Lia walked slowly through the empty rooms. The valuable antique furniture blended with the more-modern pieces. Every room had been scrubbed clean. Every window was wide-open, letting in the bright sunshine and fresh morning air of the Italian mountains. And yet she felt cold. She might have been enveloped in a snowdrift…or a shroud.
The memory of the stranger’s kiss ripped through her, and she touched her lips, still remembering how his touch had seared her last night. How his warmth had burned her with a deep fire. And she felt a sudden sharp pang of regret.
She’d been a coward to run away from him. From her feelings. From life…
But she would never see him again. She didn’t even know the man’s name. She’d made her choice. The safe, respectable choice. And now she would live with it.
She barely felt the hot water against her skin as she took a shower. She dried off with a towel and put on a simple white smock dress. She brushed her hair. She washed her teeth. And she felt dead inside.
The loneliness of the big castle, where so many generations had lived and died before she was born, echoed inside her. As she went into her bedroom, she glanced down at Giovanni’s diamond wedding ring on her finger.
She’d just kissed another man wearing her dead husband’s ring. Shame ricocheted through her soul like a bullet.
Tears threatened her as she briefly closed her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered aloud,
