of her.
That’s how Gio caught her, standing in the hallway, looking at her phone, first baffled, then furious and then with a goofy smile on her face. Because the arrogant Italian would’ve known how much it would rile her to get that command from him.
And he couldn’t have orchestrated it any better if he had stood there and kissed her.
When Gio had inquired who had made her smile, Pia had instinctively ducked the phone behind her. Realizing Gio was exactly why she’d begun this, she’d reluctantly shown him the phone.
Her grandfather had stared at the phone for a long while. Which had caused her to wonder if she’d made a horrible mistake. When he had finally looked at her, Pia had expected a hundred questions, meddling, plans. Gio, she’d begun to realize, could be like a little boy sometimes—temperamental, impulsive.
But Gio had said nothing. Asked nothing.
She’d have thought he didn’t approve if he hadn’t uttered, “He is a good man, but hard. Do not let him break you like I broke Lucia, si?”
He’d been worried at her revelation, but on the drive to Raphael’s sister’s house, Pia had sensed Gio’s relief too. Almost as if he had known this would happen.
As if it was what he’d wanted.
The growing unease that she’d started something that had no exit strategy only deepened as Pia smiled at, shook hands with and exchanged air-kisses with a crowd of curious, but mostly friendly faces as soon as they arrived at his sister Teresa’s house—a posh Mediterranean-style villa with colorful ivy climbing decoratively up its white walls.
Golden sunlight washed over the villa. The early dinner was al fresco with people spread all over the house and the immense backyard with white tables spread around. A festive atmosphere reigned with kids chasing each other and people talking in groups. But the moment Gio and she had walked in, a hush fell over the smiling faces.
She tried not to cringe as attention focused on her. More than a few faces were familiar, even a couple of men who had attended her ball. Suddenly, her plan sounded ridiculous, even stupid.
She was going to pretend to be familiar with Raphael in front of all these people? Pretend like just the thought of being romantically involved with him didn’t make her feel plain and dull? Didn’t make her want to hide and do something wildly exciting at the same time.
And where was the dratted man anyway?
Pia met Raphael’s four sisters and their husbands, scores of his nieces and nephews—they were a fertile bunch, apparently—a host of his cousins and their spouses, two aunts, one uncle and finally his mother Portia Mastrantino.
That same distrust she’d seen in Raphael’s eyes showed in his mother’s eyes.
Noting the white shorts and skirts paired with spaghetti tops and the humidity that was making her hair wild, she was glad that she’d dressed in a plain cotton navy blue top and printed shorts with her favorite Toms wedges, whatever Raphael’s imperious command.
After more than an hour of blank smiling, Pia sneaked into the house, needing quiet.
Sitting on a chaise longue in cargo shorts and a navy blue T-shirt that exposed corded arms and hair-sprinkled wrists, Raphael looked utterly different and yet just as magnetic. Floor-to-ceiling glass dipped him in sunlight. His olive skin looked darker, his shoulders broader with the fabric stretched over his lean chest.
He was bouncing the most adorable little girl on his knee.
The little girl screamed and laughed as Raphael pretended to lose his grip on her while she slid down his long legs to the floor. Every time he caught her at the last second, she squealed, shuddered, scampered over to his knee, climbed over his chest and wrapped chubby arms around his neck and slobbered a wet kiss over his cheek.
Again and again, he pretended to lose her, she did it all over, planting another wet kiss over his other cheek. His dark eyes roared with laughter, love, eagerly awaiting the moment when she would kiss him.
A pulse of longing reverberated through Pia at the sight. Such cynicism when he addressed Pia and now for this girl, such affection.
Was she a niece? A cousin’s daughter?
Suddenly, the little girl hiccuped. Her chubby face scrunched tight. Holding her as if she were the most precious thing to him, Raphael asked for a glass of water. Three dark-haired voluptuous women rushed to his aid, all of them dressed in the latest designer clothes—thanks to Gio, Pia now had a useless font of information about couture.
The women hovered over Raphael anxiously, ready to do his bidding. To his credit, Raphael had eyes only for the little girl. He didn’t notice the adoring glances or how each woman found a way to sidle closer to him or touch him in some way.
Hot embarrassment poured through Pia. Followed by a thread of sheer possessiveness that rocked her.
Was that how she watched him too? With that barely hidden longing and her attraction plastered all over her face?
Worst of all was the sinking awareness that she was nowhere near the league of the women that hovered around him like bees around honey.
Something about Raphael, even as she disliked his cynicism, made her body sing, made her mind weave impossible fantasies.
She couldn’t forget that Raphael had agreed to their pretense for his own benefit. And not because he saw her as a woman worth his interest.
* * *
Feeling something prickling at the back of his neck, Raphael looked up amidst Alyssa’s slobbering kiss on his cheek.
Pia stood at the center of the room, her eyes wide behind a pair of black-framed spectacles. Sunlight drew an outline of her lithe body in a simple T-shirt and shorts that bared her long, tanned legs. She’d braided her hair but was losing the fight against it. It fell in unruly curls around her face.
Among the women dressed in casual couture with designer handbags and diamonds dripping at their ears and wrists, she stood out like a wildflower amidst pricey, carefully cultivated crossbred prize orchids.
No makeup, no artifice.
Emotions chased across her face, the naked vulnerability in it rousing desire and a fierce protectiveness within him.
Pretending a liaison with her, however harmless she thought it, wouldn’t be without consequences. His conversation with her at his office, Gio’s Machiavellian maneuvering of them both toward what he deemed inevitable, every instinct Raphael possessed told him that it was a bad idea, screamed at him to keep his distance from her.
And yet, how could he leave her to the jackals Giovanni had unleashed on her? To Gio’s ridiculous schemes? The thought of any man, even Enzo, touching her, the thought of her bestowing her friendship, her loyalty, her affection on any other man—it was becoming unbearable.
Was she going to fare any better with him? The question had been haunting him since he’d agreed to her scheme.
“Pia?” he whispered softly.
She lifted those luminous eyes to his. A jolt of sensation hit his muscles at the
