gaze hot and moist. “He said we were getting married and, given the situation I was in, I didn’t have a choice.”
“You’re engaged?” Mateo shook himself.
“No.” In a tight voice, she added, “Not really.”
“Call me old-fashioned, but I thought being betrothed was like being pregnant. You either are or you aren’t.”
“I … was engaged.”
Slanting his head, he took another look. Her nose was more a button with a sprinkling of freckles but her unusual crystalline eyes were large and, as she stood her ground, her pupils dilated more, making her gaze appear even more pronounced. Or was that scared?
I didn’t have a choice.
An image of the degrees decorating his office walls swam up in Mateo’s mind. Time to take a more educated guess as to why Mama might have sent this woman. He set his voice at a different tone, the one he used for patients feeling uncertain.
“Bailey, are you having a baby?”
Her eyes flared, bright with indignation. “No.”
“Are you sure? We can do tests—”
“Of course I’m sure.”
Backing off, he held up his hands. “Okay. Fine. Given your circumstances, it seemed like a possibility.”
“It really wasn’t.” Her voice dropped. “We didn’t sleep together. Not even once.”
She spun to leave, but, hurrying down the steps, she tripped on the toe of her sandal. The next second she was stumbling, keeling forward. Leaping, Mateo caught her before she went down all the way. Gripping her upper arms, he felt her shaking—from shock at almost breaking her neck? Or pique at him? Or was the trembling due to dredging up memories of this engagement business in Italy?
She was so taken aback, she didn’t object when he helped her sit on a step. Lifting her chin, he set out to check that the dilation in her eyes was even, but with his palm cradling her cheek and his face so close to hers, the pad of his thumb instinctively moved to trace the sweep of her lower lip. Heat, dangerous and swift, flared low in his belly and his head angled a whisper closer.
But then she blinked. So did he. Spell broken, he cleared his throat and got to his feet while she caught her breath and gathered herself.
He might be uncertain about some things regarding Bailey Ross, but of one he was sure. The constant yawning, tripping over herself.
“You need sleep,” he told her.
“I’ll survive.”
“No doubt you will.”
But, dammit, he was having a hard time thinking of her walking off alone down that drive and Mama phoning to ask if he’d looked after her little friend who’d apparently had such a hard time in Casa Buona. Given her stumble, her jet lag, Mama would expect him to at least give Bailey time to recuperate before he truly sent her on her way. And that was the only reason he persisted. Why he asked now.
“So … who’s this fiancé?”
Closing her eyes, she exhaled as if she was too tired to be defensive anymore.
“I was backpacking around Europe,” she began. “By the time I got to Casa Buona, I’d run out of money. That’s where I met Emilio. I picked up work at the taverna his parents own.”
Mateo’s muscles locked. “Emilio Conti is your fiancé?”
“Was.” She quizzed his eyes. “Do you know him?”
“Casa Buona’s a small town.” Emilio’s kind only made it feel smaller. Mateo nodded. “Go on.”
Elbows finding her knees, she cupped her cheeks. “Over the weeks, Emilio and I became close. We spent a lot of time with his family. Time by ourselves. When he said he loved me, I was taken off guard. I didn’t know about loving Emilio, but I’d certainly fallen in love with his parents. His sisters. They made me feel like one of the family.” Her hands lowered and she brought up her legs to hug her knees. “One Saturday, in front of everyone, he proposed at the taverna. Seemed like the whole town was there, all smiling, holding their breath, waiting for my answer. I was stunned. Any words stuck like bricks in my throat. When I bowed my head, trying to figure out something tactful to do or say, someone cried out that I’d accepted. A huge cheer went up. Before I knew what had happened, Emilio slid a ring on my finger and … well … that was that.”
Bailey ended by failing to smother a yawn at the same time the sound of an engine drew their attention. His ride—a yellow cab—was cruising up the drive.
“Wait here,” he said, and when she opened her mouth to argue, he interrupted firmly. “One minute. Please.” He crossed to the forecourt and spoke to the driver, who kept his motor idling while Mateo walked back and took a seat on the step alongside of her.
“Where do you plan to go now? Do you have anywhere to stay?”
“I’d hoped to stay with a friend for a few days but her neighbor said she’s out of town. I’ll get a room.”
“Do you really want to waste Mama’s money on a motel?”
“It’s only temporary.”
He studied the cab, thought of the dwindling group of guys doing their annual bachelor bash in Canada and, as Bailey pushed to her feet, made a decision.
“Come back inside.”
Her look said, you’re crazy. “You’re ready to leave. The meter’s running.”
He eyed the driver. Best fix that.
He strode to the vehicle, left the cabbie smiling at the notes he passed over and heard the engine rev off behind him as he joined Bailey again.
Her jaw was hanging. “What did you do?”
“I’d thought about cancelling the first leg of my trip anyway. Now, inside.” He tilted his head toward his still open front door.
“Flattering invitation.” Her smile was thin. “But I don’t do fetch or roll over, either.”
Mateo’s chin tucked in. She thought he was being bossy? Perhaps he was. He was used to people listening and accepting his advice. And there was a method to his madness. “You say the money Mama gave you is a loan. But you admit you have no income. No place to stay.”
“I’ll find something. I’m not afraid of work.”
Another yawn gripped her, so consuming, she shuddered and her eyes watered.
“First you need a good rest,” he told her. “I’ll show you to a guest room.”
Another
