He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and tugged it back, his face so close to hers now that she could see the slight widening of his pupils, the flare of his nostrils. He wasn’t just playing with her, something whispered at the back of her mind.
“Even I didn’t realize how perfect we are for this pretense. It’s clear that I’m not the type of woman who could interest you in a million years.” The sound of his choking laugh made her glare at him “And... I could never have a relationship with a man like you.”
“Non?”
“No. You’re arrogant, cynical and...far too gorgeous for me. I’d have to beat off women for the rest of my life. I’d be reminded every day how fortunate I was to have you. Things would always be unequal between us. Love or not, I’m determined not to be with a man who looks down on me, who thinks he’s doing me a favor by being with me.”
A faint flush appeared under his cheekbones. “Pia, whatever that lowlife said—”
“Let’s not forget the whole you despising marriage thing,” Pia cut in, refusing to let him finish. The last thing she needed was Raphael’s pity.
“You still want to marry?”
“Of course I do. I refuse to let Frank break my beliefs that’ve been a part of me much longer.” Though he had come pretty close. “My parents, from what I remember of them, were devoted to each other. I want a man who’ll respect our relationship, a man who’ll trust me, a man who wants to spend his life with me. And in the meantime, I can hone myself on you, can’t I?”
“What would this...honing yourself on me entail exactly?” He made the words sound so utterly debauched, so wickedly filthy that Pia could feel heat burning up her neck.
Turning the handle behind her, she slipped out without answering. But his laughter, a deep, sexy sound, a sound that rendered his assistants awestruck, a sound that sent tingles up her spine, stayed with her all the way through the ride home.
Making her wonder what she’d signed up for.
Dress for me tonight.
RAPHAEL’S TEXT THAT very evening, just as she had been getting ready to leave with Gio, mere hours after they’d made their deal, stopped Pia in her tracks.
Dinner at his sister’s house. It was the perfect occasion to advertise their new relationship. She could just imagine the arrogant gleam in his eyes, the roguish curve of his mouth as if he were standing in front 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