the splendor of baroque Roman sculpture and architecture, the last thing she should have been looking for was a man who reminded her of her estranged husband. It wasn’t a healthy pastime. In fact, it fell only one rung below “looking for men who resembled Ryan and were toting babies with them” on the ladder of exceptionally bad and self-destructive ideas.
She’d moved on. Long ago. Really.
And yet she couldn’t resist one last sweeping glance across the piazza. Chalk it up to morbid curiosity, but she wanted a look.
Her gaze tripped from one lacking male physique to another without need to stop—not one of them could even remotely pass for Ryan.
Good.
Sally’s brow smoothed as she shrugged back into her chair, snuggling beneath the outstretched arm of her date, Massimo. “Okay, maybe I was wrong. I don’t even see him now. Sorry.”
“No problem,” Claire assured with a dismissive wave.
Only, there was a problem. The damage had already been done. Whatever mood had been set mere moments before seemed to have evaporated beneath the reminder of a life Claire had put behind her. As if to illustrate the point, Paulo’s seductive caress moved from her palm to the pulse point at her wrist … eliciting zero response. Not that he’d exactly had her enraptured before. But there’d been potential. Hope that this tall, dark, Roman stranger would spark something long dead within her to life.
Only now, the whole interaction—them seated beneath the open Italian sky, surrounded by the throngs of tourists populating Piazza Navona, with Paulo doing his best to seduce her across a small outdoor table while his friend did the same with Sally—it seemed so contrived.
Obviously of another opinion, Sally giggled and leaned over to Claire, her fingers cupped around her mouth as she whispered in her ear, “Since we’ve officially transitioned from gallery business to pleasure, do you mind if Massimo and I take off?”
Claire pulled back, searching her friend’s eyes for any doubt and, finding none, gave a quick shake of her head.
Massimo stood behind her, straightening his jacket as he issued a few words to Paulo before stepping away from the table with Sally’s hand secured in his. Sally laughed delightedly, and peered back, “You’ll be okay?”
Claire’s smile broadened in response. “Of course! Go, have fun.”
At Sally and Massimo’s retreat, Paulo’s voice rolled across the table between them. “Ora bella, avete solo.”
To any normal woman on the planet his pleasure at having her alone would have sounded like sin on a plate. A temptation too tasty to ignore. But then, Claire didn’t exactly fit the norm. Not anymore.
Meeting his smoky gaze with the clarity of her own, she sighed and pulled out the smile reserved for situations such as this one. It was cool and remote. Subtly off-putting without being overtly hostile. Just enough for a suitor to recognize the futility of his efforts, without actually insulting him.
It was a time-tested dismissal that worked—except Paulo remained undeterred.
Well, she’d warned him. And honestly, the stroke of his thumb over her captive limb wasn’t anything she couldn’t ignore. Eventually he’d get the picture. And in the meantime, Claire had plenty to occupy her mind with the coup she’d just pulled off for the gallery. Faye Lansing had been a hunch. A bit of instinct and a lot of luck. The painting Claire discovered hanging on a bathroom wall—of all places!—in a client’s home in Connecticut had been spectacular, leading her to track down the as-yet-undiscovered artist here in Rome. But that work had been nothing compared to what she’d seen at the studio this morning. Claire had scored Faye’s first U.S. exhibit—and more than that, she’d secured her commitment to participate in the gallery’s Young Artist Program as well. The kids were going to love her, and the way she spoke about her craft … it was pure passion.
She was so excited, and already sketching out a plan for an exhibit in the West Hall. With the interplay of light and color, that space would complement the work—
Suddenly Claire’s attention snapped back to the present. To Paulo. And a touch that couldn’t be ignored after all. What began at her palm had migrated to her wrist, and was now on the move again, stealthily advancing toward the crook of her elbow and, no doubt, beyond.
Distaste turned within her at the sight of his fingers slipping over skin numb to his appeal.
Hurt feelings or damaged pride weren’t her intent, but if subtle didn’t do the trick then she wouldn’t be subtle. Resigned, she closed her eyes and braced for a blunt no-nonsense dismissal.
Only, in the next instant, the air around her changed. Charged with an electric current that rolled over her skin, bringing every fine hair and nerve to attention. Paulo’s fingers stilled where they were, and Claire’s eyes burst open as a strong, wide hand closed over her shoulder and smoothed into a possessive caress toward her neck.
“Hey, kitten. Remember me?”
Oh, God. Sally hadn’t been wrong at all.
The air leaked from her chest in a groan, pushing the name poised at her lips free. “Ryan.”
“Try to contain your excitement. You’re making me blush.” His gruff laugh, deep and darkly confident, sounded at her ear an instant before his lips brushed the tender skin beneath.
Claire jolted at the affront—definitely not from the tingling sensation skirting her skin—and instinctively grabbed for Paulo’s hand as her defenses slapped up around her.
Where did he get off?
Twisting around in her chair—too uncertain of her legs’ ability to support her to risk standing, she gasped, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m not letting you blow me off like you’ve been doing for the past nine years.”
Claire’s mouth dropped open, first from the aggressive edge to Ryan’s words and then further as Paulo, taking her death grip as some kind of call to action, shot from his seat.
Oh, no. Not a good idea.
He might have Ryan matched in height, but something about the Italian’s body told her his muscle was machine made. Gym buff. As opposed to Ryan’s, which was all hard-hewn man. Rock climbing. Rugby. Water polo. Swimming, surfing, hockey and track. She’d seen the double-page spread of him in that magazine on men’s fitness. And she remembered all too clearly how capable of defending himself—or anything else he felt possessive of—Ryan was. Only, Ryan shouldn’t be standing there feeling possessive of anything. He should have been tucked securely away in L.A., watching the returns on his latest biotech-investment breed.
With one hand still resting at the crook of her neck, the other stuffed casually into the pocket of his charcoal trousers, Ryan cocked his head and addressed Paulo. “Take a hike. I need to speak with my wife.”
Claire coughed, choking on his brass.
It had been years since they’d so much as laid eyes on one another. Who the hell did he think he was? “That’s enough, Ryan.”
All she needed was word getting out about the little legal matter that bound the two of them
