a man feel good. Fortunately, in her job she didn’t have to flatter and charm, she just needed to know her aircraft, and she did. It was easy to be enthusiastic about luxury planes and all the different ways one could customize an AeroDynamics jet interior.
“Ready to go in?” Giovanni asked, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “Or do we need to give our photographer friends another passionate embrace?”
“No!” Reluctantly she slid her arm around his waist, shuddering as he drew her close to his hip, and then they were walking, but she couldn’t even feel her legs.
This was crazy. She couldn’t wrap her head around everything that had just happened. Perhaps he was crazy. Perhaps she’d just thrown herself from the fire into the frying pan. Was that the expression? In her dazed state, she couldn’t be sure of anything right now. His kisses... They’d wrecked her. His touch absolutely baffled her.
No one touched her. No one wanted to kiss her. And she knew he didn’t really want to kiss her, but he’d done it to shift the power, seize control. It had been a shocking move but surprisingly effective. That’s the part she didn’t understand. When had kissing someone become the way to handle a situation? And why had it worked so well on her? She should have been able to resist him. She should have been outraged and offended and not melted.
And she had melted. Into a puddle of boneless, spineless sensation.
But now she needed to gather herself and focus and think. Think. She needed a new plan, and quickly.
They were crossing the pavement, approaching the palazzo, and while she dreaded entering Giovanni’s home, she’d at least have Michael back.
Rachel suddenly stumbled, tripping over her own feet. His arm tightened around her, and he drew her firmly against his side. “Too close,” she protested.
“I can feel you trembling. If I let you go, you’ll fall.”
“Blame yourself. You had no business kissing me.”
“Has it been that long since you’ve been properly kissed?”
“I wouldn’t call it a proper kiss. In America we don’t manhandle women.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that American men don’t know how to handle women. Such a shame.” They paused several feet from the door. He tilted her face up, stared into her eyes. “You look better now that you’ve been kissed, though. Less pale and pinched.” He smiled into her eyes but there was a predatory gleam in the blue depths. “Do you want to thank me now, or later?”
She knew what he was doing, striking a pose, giving the photographers more pictures with different angles for a wide variety of shots, but it infuriated her that he’d taken her big moment and turned it into his. “This is going to end badly,” she said tightly.
The corner of his mouth lifted, and he stared down into her face for a long, tense moment, before laughing shortly. “Are you just now figuring that out?”
The front door suddenly swung open, and he kept her close as they entered the palazzo, passing through the high wooden doors and into the cavernous central hall lit by an enormous Murano chandelier, at least seven feet tall, a masterpiece of sparkling glass leaves, flowers and fruits all set amongst intricate, delicate glass rods and fanciful, fragile arabesques.
A member of his staff had obviously been at the front door watching and waiting for them, as the front door opened before Giovanni could touch it, and then closed quietly behind them. Rachel turned her head, craning to see if it was the old man who’d answered the door earlier, but Giovanni was urging her forward, moving her toward the stairs.
Think, she told herself. She needed to clear her head and follow a thought all the way through instead of this—this capitulation of reason and control.
“You can let me go now,” she said, shrugging to free herself. “There are no cameras here.”
His arm fell away but his fingers remained low on her spine, creating insistent pressure as he marched her up the sweeping marble stairs to a formal salon on the second floor. The doors again magically closed behind them and only then did Giovanni’s hand leave her.
She felt more than a little lost as she glanced around a room that could only be described as magnificent. More glittering chandeliers lined the ceiling, with matching sconces on the wall. Tall windows overlooked the canal while massive framed mirrors covered portions of the walls, the antique mirrors reflecting the gray light outside, highlighting the frescoed and plasterwork ceiling.
Rachel was out of her element but she’d never let him know. It was bad enough that he thought she’d enjoyed his kiss.
“Who has Michael?” she asked, standing stiffly in the center of the room. “Can you send for him?”
“No.” Giovanni gestured for her to sit. “We have quite a lot to discuss before he joins us.”
“We can talk once he’s back with me.”
“You left him here. I’m not about to just hand him over as if he were a lost wallet or umbrella.”
“You know why I did that.”
“I know you’re an impulsive woman—”
“You could not be more wrong. I am a very calm person—” She went quiet as she saw the lift on his eyebrow. “You’re making me upset. You’ve been impossible from the start.”
“We’ve only just met, and it was not an auspicious first meeting, with you abandoning an infant on my doorstep, and then running from the scene.”
Rachel clamped her jaw tight to keep from speaking too quickly, aware that every word could and would be used against her. She fought to control the pitch and tone of her voice. “I did not abandon him. I would not ever abandon him. I love him.”
“Odd way of showing it, don’t you think?”
“I was trying to get your attention.”
“And now you have it.” He gestured again toward the silk upholstered chair and sofa. “May I help you with your coat?”
“No, thank you. I won’t be staying long.”
He gave her an odd look, his lips twisting as if amused. “Are you sure you won’t be more comfortable?”
“I’ll be more comfortable when I have the baby.”
“He’s in good hands at the moment, and we have a great deal to discuss before he joins us. So I do suggest you try to be comfortable, since the conversation probably won’t be.” Gio’s gaze rested intently on her face before dropping to study the rest of her. “It’s been an unusually eventful morning. I’m sending for a coffee. Would you like one?”
She shook her head, and then changed her mind. “Yes, please.”
He reached for his phone from a pocket and shot off a message. “Coffee should be here soon,” he said, sitting down in the pale blue silk armchair facing the upholstered sofa. He stretched his legs before him, looking at ease. “Are you quite certain you wish to stand for the rest of the day?”
His
