“You know, when sports players aren’t on the field. They’re benched.”
“Right.” He stepped around an old rolltop desk, a layer of dust hiding what he knew would be a gleaming walnut finish. “Feel it, Mari. There’s history in this room. So much history.” If only Dean could be here sooner. They’d take an inventory and choose which pieces would be used in the decoration. Luca wanted to start right now.
But perhaps now was the time to explore.
He looked over at Mari. Prickly as thorns, but he could tell she was enjoying this. It was in the way her eyes lit up, or her fingers daintily touched the back of a tufted chair. She was picking her way to the far right, stepping gingerly and careful not to disturb the dust. She was a careful one, he was coming to understand. Always a deliberate move. Always a purpose. He wondered why. What had made her so cautious, when it was clear that inside she had vision fighting to get out?
“Here it is.”
He gave a plush wine velvet divan a longing look as he passed by, making his way to her. Only to find her standing beside a huge gilt and crystal chandelier that had been hidden by two armoires.
“It’s seen better days. But I thought I remembered it here.”
Luca reached out and touched a large teardrop shaped crystal, sending it tinkling against identical drops. “It’s stunning. It’s perfect.”
“It is lovely.”
Luca looked up at her. Ah, so the chandelier’s magic wasn’t all lost on her. The wistful turn of her lips told him so. A tendril of hair had come loose from her ever-present bun and kissed her cheek. She looked up at him and their eyes met, held. He could already picture the chandelier gracing the ballroom, the shots of light glancing off the crystals on to the gleaming floor and polished wood. Could picture Mari in the middle of it, slim and elegant in a golden evening dress, smiling at him. She was, he realized, cool class and grace. Timeless. His ingénue.
“You love it, too. I can see it on your face.”
Something changed at his words, breaking the spell. Her eyes cooled and she straightened her shoulders, looking away. “It makes perfect sense to use these things if they fit in with your renovations. Much cheaper than purchasing new.”
“Oh, it’s not about the money, don’t pretend otherwise. Look at this place.” He turned, laughing to himself to shake away the intensity he’d felt in the moment. At least she was consistent, protesting about the bottom line. But he’d seen the look of longing in her eyes and he’d wanted her to look at him that way. Every moment she intrigued him more, but he was also increasingly aware that she wasn’t the kind of woman a man trifled with. He forced himself back to the task. “Each of these pieces has a story, can’t you feel it?”
He took a few steps and stopped in front of a gilded mirror. He swiped a hand over the glass, clearing a stripe of dust away. “Oh, Mari, such beautiful pieces. Neglected for so long, forgotten. Just waiting for someone to discover them and make them new again. To make them shine.”
When she said nothing, he looked back. She was trapped with the armoires on one side, the chandelier on the other and he was blocking her path back to the door. She was standing so very still, as if he’d struck her, and he didn’t know why. He got the sense that she was crying, but that was ridiculous because her eyes were bone-dry in her pale face. For some odd reason he wanted to erase the distance between them and take her in his arms. As soon as he thought it, he mentally stepped backward.
Enjoying playing cat and mouse was one thing. Having fanciful thoughts was well and good. Acting on it was another. And this situation was already complicated enough without him adding to it by getting involved with the hotel manager. It wouldn’t be suitable. It would be messy. And he didn’t do messy relationships. He didn’t do any relationships at all, beyond the no-strings-attached ones. He’d determined long ago not to let his heart get involved with a woman. He never wanted to give a woman the power to destroy him the way his mother had his father. The way Ellie had nearly destroyed him.
“Please excuse me, I need to get back. If you’ll lock the door when you leave…”
She took halting steps toward him, cueing him to move out of the way. But he couldn’t, not hearing that cold, dry tone in her voice. He didn’t know what he’d said to cause such a reaction but he knew for certain that she was not all right and that superceded his own concerns.
She stopped a few feet from him. “Please, excuse me,” she repeated, her eyes gray against her washed-out pallor.
He started to step aside so she could pass, but at the last moment he couldn’t let her go without checking she was okay. He moved forward, reached out, clasped her elbow.
“Get your hands off me.”
She said it quietly, calmly, but the underlying venom in it shocked him so much that he stepped back, immediately releasing her elbow. He hadn’t thought it possible but she paled even further.
“Don’t ever touch me again,” she said stridently, as she quickly picked a path around the scattered forgotten furniture. She scrambled out the door, leaving it open. Seconds later he heard the elevator pause, open and close again.
He sat down on the nearest chair, releasing a puff of dust. He’d only been trying to be a gentleman when she was clearly in distress. It was obvious that whatever attraction he’d felt earlier was not reciprocated. She was cold, irritating, dictatorial. Nothing but a complication. He should fire her and get on with turning the Fiori Cascade into the hotel it was meant to be.
But he couldn’t do that. She was good at what she did, he could tell. He’d promised her no one would lose their jobs. That had included her.
And Luca Fiori was a man of his word.
When he went back to the administration offices, her door was closed. He knocked, then opened it.
It was like the scene upstairs had never happened. Her suit was straight, brushed of any dust. Her color was back, enhanced by fresh lipstick and her hair was tidied, even more severely pinned in place, if that were possible.
The sting of the insult had worn away and he’d been left with the very empty knowledge that for some unknown reason, Mari was afraid of him.
“I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
She looked up from what she was writing and pasted on what he was rapidly coming to understand was her face-the-public smile. “I’m fine, thank you. A little behind after our tour, though.” She looked back down at her paper and began writing again.
He wrinkled his brow. The woman before him was cool, assured, in control. A direct contrast to the woman who’d nearly come unglued the moment he’d put a hand on her elbow. A woman practiced at hiding her feelings, who happened to have slipped and let him witness a weak moment.
He should nod and walk away. It was none of his business. But then he remembered the stark look of nakedness he’d seen on her face when he’d spoken of the antiques. She’d looked like a woman who’d been stripped bare. He couldn’t ignore that, even if he wanted to. If he let this go now, it would stand between them the entire time they worked together. It would be far better to get it out in the open. Move on.
“Do you want to talk about it, Mari?”
With a sigh she put down the pen, placed her hands flat on her desk and crossed her legs. “Talk about what, Luca?”
“About what happened in the attic.”
She looked away. “No, I don’t.”
“You were frightened. I want to know why.”
“I was not frightened. I happen to be…claustrophobic.”
It was paltry and he saw through it. But he could not make her talk and he hardly knew her well enough to pry. Still…
“I