Dreaming Of… Italy

She walked through the double doors onto a gray stone patio to a row of canvas chaise lounges. Kicking off her shoes, she tossed her book to the chair so she could remove the white lace cover-up.

When she finally had herself settled on the chaise, the June sun warmed her and giddy peace filled her. She was in Italy. Italy. She’d ridden a private jet across the Atlantic, driven in a limo, been brought to a villa where maids unpacked her meager belongings and now she lounged by a pool.

* * *

After leaving Olivia in her room, Constanzo had shown Tucker to the lavish suite he would be using. He’d suggested Tucker might want a nap or maybe a few minutes to freshen up. But Tucker insisted they use the time to hash out some of the details of the conglomerate acquisition. So Constanzo had led him to a den at the back of the first floor.

A pool table sat in the center of the room. Four big-screen TVs, one for each wall, hung in strategic spots. A bar that looked like an old English pub took up the back corner.

Constanzo immediately strode to the bar. “So what’s your pleasure?”

“Details. You’re offering me a billion-dollar conglomerate. I’d think the first order of business would be to stipulate how we’ll determine market value.”

“No! No!” Constanzo laughed. “I meant your drink. You like American bottled beer or what I have on tap?”

Tucker held back a sigh of impatience and politely said, “I’ll try what you have on tap.”

Constanzo drew two drafts and handed one to Tucker.

“Thanks. So how are we going to determine market value?”

Constanzo pushed a button and a dartboard appeared. “We could use the numbers in my annual statement.”

“And disregard what’s happened since it was released? How do I know your companies haven’t gone down in value?”

He opened a carved box filled with darts that lined both the bottom of the box and its lid, and offered them to Tucker. “Because you’ve been watching me. You know exactly what I’m worth.”

Tucker chuckled. He took a dart, aimed at the board and made a bull’s-eye.

“Ah. A real challenge for me today!”

Tucker sighed. “You’re not going to talk business, are you?”

“No. You’re tired from your trip. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Right. Don’t try to kid somebody who makes his living knowing when people are lying to him.”

“All right. You want to be blunt. We will be blunt. If you can’t deliver my son to me, totally understanding my position—that his mother contacted me once, on a busy day, when I was so overwhelmed I barely registered what she said, let alone had brain power to believe it—then you don’t get my company.”

“So there’s no point in talking specifics?”

“Exactly.” As he spoke, Constanzo opened the drapes of the den, revealing his shimmering pool. The gray stone outdoor space had furniture groupings that ran the gamut from formal seating areas to casual placement of chaise lounges around the pool.

And on one of the chaise lounges lay a pale woman in a one-piece, pinkish-purple bathing suit. A lock of strawberry blonde hair blew in the slight breeze.

Olivia. Vivi. Casual, happy, like-me-as-I-am Vivi. The woman who’d actually drawn him into a personal conversation the night before.

“I worry she’ll fall asleep in the sun.”

Tucker took a swig of beer. “If she does, she’d better have sunblock.”

“She is pale.”

She was pale. Trusting. And he’d finally realized that was the thing that drew him about her, even as it annoyed the hell out of him. She wanted to understand, asked a million questions, because she wanted to trust life.

Trust life. As if one could.

He took in her smooth shoulders, her trim tummy. Even being exactly the opposite of what he liked in a woman, she tempted him.

Which was ridiculous. He liked sleek, sophisticates. Not hometown girls.

She shifted on the chaise, onto her side. The hat slid over her face, but the position pushed her breasts precariously high in the brightly colored suit. Her long legs stretched out, bared to him on sand-colored canvas. All right. She was sexy. She might not be sleek or sophisticated, but she was definitely sexy.

“Vivi...she is more than your assistant?”

Tucker swung around. Good God. Now the woman had him staring. “No.” He walked over to the bar and grabbed three darts. “I told you, she’s really not even my assistant. Betsy, the accountant who generally works with me was in an accident. Vivi—” Oh, Lord. Had he just used her nickname? “Is a temp.”

He laughed. “I see.”

“She probably won’t be with me the next time we meet. But you’ll like Betsy. She’s incredibly competent.”

And he was counting the days until she finished rehab and returned to the office. He didn’t want a sexy assistant. He didn’t want to wonder about the slander suit filed against her. He wanted Betsy back so his life could return to normal.

Still, every time Constanzo took his turn at the dart board, Tucker’s gaze drifted out to the pool.

* * *

“Drink, Miss?”

The white-coated butler scared Vivi awake and she jumped. She shouldn’t be surprised that she’d drifted off to sleep since she hadn’t even had so much as a nap on the plane. But she didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to adjust to her new time zone.

“Sorry for jumping.”

He smiled benignly. “It’s quite all right.”

She wasn’t in the mood for a drink, but a little caffeine might give her some energy. “Do you have iced tea?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He left as quickly and quietly as he’d arrived, brought her drink and disappeared again. She sipped her tea, then flipped over so she didn’t get too burned.

But even before she settled on the chaise, she had the strangest feeling. Like someone was watching her.

She sat up and glanced at the house. The entire back of the first floor of the renovated house looked to be a wall of windows. Because of the framing, she guessed some of the ‘windows’ were actually double doors. But the angle of the sun made the glass dark. She couldn’t see inside.

She adjusted the strap on her suit, smoothed her hands down her legs, unable to shake the feeling of being exposed.

She frowned. Of course, she was exposed. She was outside. Lounging on the patio of a house that had at least one maid, a butler and a driver. There was probably a cook and a gardener, too. Four people could be gawking at her if they wanted to be. But why would they want to?

It was stupid to be paranoid. A better explanation for what she was feeling was guilt that Tucker and Constanzo were working and she wasn’t. She hadn’t come to Italy to lie about. As it was, Tucker Engle didn’t like having her along. Even if the trip had been grueling and she was tired, she had to get to work. Plus, she’d had a nice little nap. She had her brain back.

After gathering her cover-up, she padded to her room, put on her plain trousers and yellow shirt and headed downstairs again.

The house was a maze of corridors and beautifully decorated rooms. She could have stopped in every parlor to examine the furnishings and art she was sure was real, but needing to find Tucker and Constanzo, she kept looking until she found the pair in a den.

Playing darts. Drinking beer.

She shook her head. “You know, I was out by the pool, feeling bad because I wasn’t working, and here’s where I find you guys? Playing darts.”

Tucker faced her. His suit coat lay across the back of an overstuffed recliner. His white shirt sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows, his black-and-silver striped tie loosened. He looked so casually gorgeous, she swallowed hard.

Her foolish attraction was growing, but at least now she understood why. He’d grown up poor, but he was successful now. Just as she wanted to be. They had common ground. He wasn’t just a good-looking guy. He was somebody she wanted to know.

“Vivi, come in! Do you throw?”

Glad for the distraction of Constanzo, she settled herself on the arm of an overstuffed chair beside the pool table. The room wasn’t dripping with diamonds or gold the way one might expect a billionaire’s house might be. Instead it seemed to exist for Constanzo’s comfort. Which, she supposed, was the way a billionaire should live.

“No, I don’t throw.”

“Your boss is beating me.”

She laughed. But Tucker kept his attention focused on the dart game. She hoped he wasn’t angry with her. He was the one who had suggested she sit by the pool while he and Constanzo talked. So he couldn’t be angry with her.

She let her gaze drift around the room but she stopped suddenly when she saw the chaise lounge with the empty iced-tea glass sitting on the table beside it.

Her gazed jerked to Tucker’s. This time he didn’t look away. His perfect emerald eyes heated.Her breath leached out in a slow hiss. Pinpricks of awareness skittered down her spine. He’d seen her in the bathing suit.

She tried to be Zen about it, because, really, it was a one-piece suit. So what if he’d seen her legs? It meant nothing.

But he didn’t let go of her gaze and she couldn’t let go of his.

Okay. So it meant something.

He picked up a dart and tossed it toward the board. It landed with a thud that mirrored the thudding of her heart. She didn’t want to like another guy who was so far out of her stratosphere...but how did she stop this? Her feelings for him were unexpected. So natural she didn’t have any warning they were going to pop up until they did. And his?

She had no idea.

CHAPTER SIX

PLEADING A NEED to get some work done, Tucker left the den shortly after Olivia arrived and she didn’t see him again until he entered the dining room for dinner that evening.

As Tucker walked in one door, Constanzo entered from the other side. Concern wrinkled his forehead and turned his mouth into a frown. “I’m so sorry. There’s a problem at one of my companies. We are video conferencing in ten minutes. I would tell you that I’ll return shortly and join you for dinner, but the problem is significant.”

Vivi’s heart stuttered. She and Tucker Engle had to eat alone?

Tucker said, “I understand.”

She just barely kept herself from groaning. It absolutely looked as if they were eating alone.

“Excellent. You and Vivi enjoy dinner.”

He scurried out of the dining room and Tucker faced her.

As always, he wore a dark suit that looked to have been made for him, white silk shirt and silver tie. She wore a light-weight floral dress with thin straps, something she’d bought at the end of the season the year before and paid less than half price for. Her hair hung straight—freshly washed, but just straight. His shiny dark hair had been combed to perfection.

If that wasn’t a reminder that they lived in two different worlds she didn’t know what was. He’d never make a pass at her and, if he did, she’d never flirt back because they did not belong together. They were too different.

But even before she finished that thought, he loosened his tie and pulled it off then undid the top two buttons of his shirt.

“Good evening, Miss Prentiss.”

Oh, Lord. He was dressing down for her. And casually, so he wouldn’t embarrass her. It was the sweetest thing, but she reminded herself they weren’t a good match. He might be the first guy she was attracted to since Cord, but he wasn’t interested in her. He was only being polite. A man who was interested wouldn’t call her Miss Prentiss.

“Good evening, Mr. Engle.”

He motioned toward a chair and she walked over. He pulled it out and she sat.

Ambling to the seat across the table from hers, he asked, “Do you know what Constanzo’s cook prepared?”

“This afternoon he told me she was making a lasagna as lasagna is supposed to be made.”

He laughed. “Leave it to him to be melodramatic.”

“If it tastes as good as it smells, I think he’s allowed a little melodrama.”

As servants filled their glasses with water, Olivia struggled to think of something to say. Thick with the protocol of servants and a long row of silverware, the scene reminded her yet again that she and Tucker Engle had nothing in common.

When the servants left, she took a quiet breath and said, “Constanzo beat me in four games of pool this afternoon.”

“It was kind of you to entertain him.”

“He says it’s boring for an old man to sit around his house with nothing to do. He says he should have grandkids and be teaching a little girl how to swim and a little boy how to hustle pretty girls in pool.”

He laughed.

Her chest loosened a bit. This wouldn’t be so bad. All she had to do was keep talking. “I think he was just distracting me with chitchat so I wouldn’t notice how badly he was beating me.”

Servants arrived with salad and bread and they dug in. For the next few minutes conversation revolved around how delicious the crusty bread was, then the table grew quiet.

She scoured her brain to think of something to say and couldn’t come up with anything. Seconds ticking off the clock felt like hours, reminding her yet again that she shouldn’t be attracted to a man with whom she had nothing in common.

The main course came. At the first bite they groaned in ecstasy and complimented the lasagna, but the conversation stopped again. The longer they were quiet, the more obvious it was that they had nothing to say to each other and that any attraction she felt for him was foolish.

When she finished her dessert, she looked at her watch. Not even nine o’clock.

Across the table, Tucker surreptitiously looked at his watch, too.

For two people with palpable chemistry, they were certainly eager to get away from each other.

Tucker rose from his seat, tossing his napkin to his empty dessert plate. “So how about if you and I play a few games of pool?”

Her head snapped up. “Really?”

“If we go to bed now, we’ll be up at four o’clock. Do you want to sit around with nothing to do for hours and hours?”

“I was kind of thinking if we went to bed now I’d sleep for hours and hours.”

He laughed. “Are you ready to retire for the night?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I think your idea of staying up a few more hours might be better.”

“Great.”

They walked to the den in silence. As she chose her pool stick, Tucker racked the balls. With a nod toward the table, he let her break. She dropped one of the striped balls into the pocket but missed her second shot and Tucker took over. The den filled with the crack of his stick against the balls and the plop, plop, plop of ball after ball falling into a pocket.

In the face of the beating she was taking, she forgot all about the quiet. Why was it she could beat any group of guys in a bar, but not whip the butts of two billionaires?

“Okay. I wasn’t quite ready to play. Rack the balls again. This time I won’t be so easy.”

He laughed. “We’ll see.”

“Ah, smug, this time around?”

Tucker arranged the balls on the table. “Not smug. I just watched how you play. My technique is better.”

“Right.”

He motioned to the table as he walked behind the bar to pour himself a draft. “Go ahead. I’ll give you the advantage. Break again.”

She strolled up to the table, aimed her stick and broke with a resounding crack that echoed around them. Two solid balls dropped. She faced him with a grin. “I have you now.”

He leaned against the bar. “What? You think solid is going to be lucky for you?”

“Yes.” She walked around the table considering her next shot. When she found it, she bent across the table to take aim.

But Tucker shook his head. “Your form is all wrong.”

“My form is fine.”

“No. Look at your stick. It wobbles.” He walked behind her and leaned down with her so he could adjust her arm. “See? Isn’t that better?”

The feeling of his chest along her back sent waves of awareness flowing from her back to her toes. He stepped away, as if totally oblivious and, shell shocked, she took the shot.

Miraculously, the ball she aimed for fell. She jumped up with a whoop of joy. “I did it!”

He motioned at the table. “Keep going.”

She picked a shot and leaned over the table, but again he shook his head.

“Your stick still wobbles.” Positioning himself over her, he leaned down and straightened her arm. Then he froze.

The room grew quiet.

Warmth radiated from him into her and would have sent a shudder through her if she hadn’t ruthlessly stopped it. She turned her head slightly to catch his gaze. His green eyes smoldered.

Oh, boy. This wasn’t good.

* * *

Tucker stayed frozen. The woman was the softest thing he’d ever touched. Every hormone in his body awakened at the feel of her skin sliding against his. His hand itched to leave her pool stick and cruise along the curve of her waist, to turn her around, so he could kiss her.

The instinct was so strong, so natural that it shook him to his core and brought him back to planet earth. She was an employee. Smart executives did not kiss employees.

He stepped away and ambled back to the bar, pretending nothing had happened, confused that he couldn’t seem to get himself under control around her.

As he picked up his beer from the bar, Constanzo walked in.

“Great! I see I’m just in time! I’ll play the winner.”

Olivia took her next shot but missed this time. Without looking at him, she said, “Your shot.”

He licked his suddenly dry lips. Okay. That thing between them? He now had confirmation she felt it, too. But he could handle this. They could handle this. They’d just pretend it hadn’t happened.

He set down his beer, picked up his pool cue and walked to the table. He got two balls in then missed, surprising Olivia who quietly walked up to the table again. She hit the remainder of her balls into the pockets, beating him soundly.

“Looks like you and me, Vivi,” Constanzo said, happily rubbing his hands together.

But Olivia yawned. “You and Mr. Engle play. I think it’s time for me to go to bed.”

He didn’t know if she really was tired or trying to get away from him, but he breathed a sigh of relief.

Until Constanzo said, “Tucker will walk you to your room.”

The blood froze in his veins. He couldn’t walk her to her room! He was unstable around her. Confused. He wanted to be away from her, not walking down a dark corridor with her.

Olivia shook her head. “I’m fine. I know the way.”

But Constanzo said, “Vivi, you will not go upstairs alone. Walking a lady to her room is what a gentleman does.”

It was what a gentleman did and that reminder corralled Tucker’s hormones and got him back to reality. He was a gentleman and she was an employee. Worry that he couldn’t keep himself in line was ridiculous.

He set his beer glass on the bar. “Nonsense. You’re asleep on your feet. I’ll walk you to your room.”

They said goodnight to Constanzo who racked the balls again. Walking out of the den, Tucker heard the sound of silence left in their wake. Constanzo had put on the soccer game, and there was noise when he broke the balls on the pool table, but just beneath the surface of those sounds was a quiet nothing. And he suddenly understood why Constanzo wanted his son. When he retired, this would be his life. Entertaining an occasional visitor or two would fill the void, but mostly he would be alone. He wanted that “nothing” filled with the sound of his child, and maybe, someday, grandchildren.

“Why do you call me Miss Prentiss?”

They’d reached the end of the hall and were heading for the stairway in the front foyer. Focused on Constanzo, he hadn’t noticed how far they’d come. He’d also forgotten about his attraction. But the minute she spoke, his body reacted.

Still, she was an employee and he was a gentleman. He motioned for her to precede him up the stairs. “I call you Miss Prentiss because it’s your name.”

“So is Olivia. Or Vivi.” She stopped and peered back at him. “And I have to admit, sometimes it feels a bit weird having to call you Mr. Engle when everybody else is calling you Tucker.”

Just what he and his hormones needed, for another of the barriers between them to come tumbling down. “I’m always on a first name basis with people I do business with. You are an employee.”

“An employee who has to call you something different from what everybody else calls you.”

He should have been annoyed with her impertinence. Instead, he understood. They were two incredibly attracted people who, in any other circumstance, would be getting to know each other, probably pursuing this attraction. But she was an employee. And he was a gentleman.

He repeated it like a mantra in his head as they walked down the hall. When they reached her door, she stopped and faced him.

“Good night, Tucker.”

Damn it. He almost laughed. She could be such a smart-ass. Worse, he’d liked the sound of his name on her lips. He liked that she was so bold.

“You’re a brat.”

“No. I just don’t appreciate anyone trying to make me feel less than.”

Confused, he stepped closer. “You think that’s what I’m doing? Trying to make you feel less than me?”

She shrugged. “Isn’t it?”

“No!” All this time he was fighting an attraction to her and she thought he didn’t like her? “I’m just trying to keep a sense of dignity for my office. Decorum.”

“I don’t think it works.”

This time he did laugh. “Not with you.”

When she didn’t reply, the corridor grew quiet. But this quiet was different from what he’d felt as he left Constanzo in the den. This quiet hummed with electricity.

He liked her. He didn’t want to like her but he did. And he wanted to kiss her.

He took another step closer. She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide and unsure. Temptation whispered through him. Once, just once, be with somebody who might truly understand. Be honest. Be yourself.

Her eyebrows rose.

Was she asking him to kiss her?

His gaze dropped to her mouth then returned to her eyes. He could imagine the smoothness of her succulent lips, see every move he’d make in his mind’s eye. He wouldn’t be gentle. She wasn’t gentle. She was open, frank, honest. He would kiss her that way.

A second ticked off the clock. Two. Three. He couldn’t quite get himself to bend and touch his lips to hers. Not because he didn’t want to. But because he so desperately did. An aching need filled his gut, tightened his chest. No one had ever caused feelings like these in him. No one had ever made him want so badly he could see a kiss before it happened.

She whispered, “Good night, Tucker,” and turned to grab the doorknob, her fingers trembling.

When she disappeared into her room, a rush of relief swooshed through him. They were wrong for each other. Too different. Nothing would come of them kissing. Especially not a relationship. And without a relationship, a kiss was—unwelcome? Unwarranted? A smart executive wouldn’t open himself to the trouble kissing an employee would bring.

* * *

Early the next morning, they climbed into one of Constanzo’s cars and headed even farther into the hills. Tucker set the GPS on his phone to Italian and Vivi’s mouth dropped.

“You speak Italian?”

He risked a sidelong glance. This morning she wore scruffy jeans that caressed her perfect behind and a pink casual top that brought out the best in her skin tones. After the near-miss with kissing her the night before, his body reacted as if he had a right to be interested, attracted, aroused by her innocent, girl-next-door sexiness.

He told his body to settle down. Yes, she was attractive and, yes, he was interested in her, but only sexually. In every other way they didn’t mesh. She had to be off-limits. “You don’t speak Italian?”

“No.”

Yet another thing added to the pile of reasons his attraction to her was ridiculous. “Well, don’t worry. Constanzo said his son was raised in the U.S., remember?”