“You are frowning,” he remarked.
“I’m trying to recall the last time you visited Expressive Gems,” she evaded. “It’s been months.”
“At least nine. Much, much too long.” His gaze skimmed down from her face and he murmured, “Che bella.”
Rachel exhaled softly between her teeth. If someone were to bottle up that sexy accent and sell it as an aphrodisiac, they could make a fortune. And that was before his voice dropped to a husky whisper and he asked, “Have you missed me?”
The gooseflesh was back. Or more likely it never had left.
“Of course, I have. After all, you’re one of our favorite customers.”
Not to mention the one whose patronage was going to help fund a good portion of the upstairs renovation.
He chuckled at her diplomatic dodge. “Your husband is a lucky man, carina.”
He’d made that very comment several times in the past. Should she correct him? She kept her smile in place and instead decided to let it pass. She folded her hands in front of her. Tony studied her, one side of his mouth turned up in consideration. While he appeared perfectly at ease, she discreetly nibbled the inside of her cheek. The coffee wasn’t ready yet. In the quiet shop, she could hear the machine still gurgling away in the break room. She would offer him a cup when it finished. For now she said, “Let me take your coat.”
“Grazie.”
As he slipped off the trench, she was determined not to let the conversation lapse again. “You’re out and about early today.”
“Jet lag. I just returned to town yesterday. I could not sleep. I have been up for hours.” His smile turned apologetic. “I saw the lights on while I was on my way to the bakery for bagels and decided to take the chance that you would be willing to let me in a little early. Allora…” He shrugged.
He used that word a lot. She wasn’t sure exactly what it meant, but it seemed to act as the Italian equivalent of “so.”
“I got in early myself. I like to arrive before my employees. I get the coffee going and just relax for a little while.”
“Ah, then I really must thank you for taking pity on me.”
A man such as Tony Salerno inspired many emotions. Pity, however, was not among them.
As Rachel hung his trench on the coat tree next to the door, she caught a whiff of his cologne. The scent was sensual, sexy, sigh-worthy. The conversation she’d had the evening before with Heidi popped into her head.
The first guy doesn’t count anyway. Everyone understands he’ll just be your rebound man.
Tony Salerno would make one heck of a rebound.
What was she thinking?
Rachel tossed Tony’s coat onto a hook and turned back to him with a guilty smile. Her tone was a little breathless when she said, “I’m afraid I have no bagels to offer, but the coffee is almost ready. Would you like a cup?”
“Si, per favora. I take it—”
“Black,” she interjected.
His lips curved. “You remember.”
It was her job to remember the preferences of her best customers. The fact that she couldn’t think how any of her other regulars took their coffee didn’t mean anything. She went to pour them each a cup.
When she returned to the showroom, he was sitting on a tall metal stool in front of the long glass case that held her designs. The heel of one supple leather loafer was hooked on the bottom rung. Despite his claim of jet lag, his appearance was impeccable. No bloodshot eyes. No dark circles. And his hair looked gently tousled rather than ravished by the wind. With his lean build, he wore clothes well, whether the style was casual or formal and sophisticated. Today he had on a toffee-colored sweater—she’d bet it was cashmere—and black gabardine trousers that probably cost more than the shop’s monthly mortgage. He straightened when he saw her, and then stood to take one of the white porcelain mugs adorned with the shop’s logo.
“Thank you, signora.”
Rachel’s understanding of Italian was limited, but she understood courtesy titles. This made twice he’d referenced her marital state. She decided to correct him this time.
“Actually, it’s miss now. I’m divorced.” The words came out with surprising ease. Apparently, all of that practice in front of the bathroom mirror earlier had paid off.
“Signorina.”
Tony said it slowly, almost as if testing the word on his tongue. Then his mouth curved with another of those toe-curling smiles that made her feel so self-conscious. She held the mug of steaming coffee close to her face and sipped, pretending to be unaware of the way he was studying her.
“Should I offer my condolences on the demise of your marriage?” he asked after a moment.
“Condolences? No,” she said honestly. She set the coffee down on counter. In the case beneath it, the gemstones she’d worked into various designs winked as they caught the light. The sight always reminded her of Christmas. The holiday would be here before she knew it. It wouldn’t be her first without Mal. They’d spent it apart last year, as well. She’d been sad then, shell-shocked by all of his deceptions. She was nobody’s fool now.
Next to her, Tony sipped his coffee. “But I gather that congratulations would not be appropriate, either.”
She nodded, surprised he understood, even more surprised when she confided, “My sister claims I’m starting an exciting new chapter in my life.”
“This sister, is she older?”
“Younger. Just out of college.”
“Well, younger or not, she is correct. Am I correct in thinking you do not quite agree?”
Rachel focused on the colorful gems. “It’s all so new.”
“If there is anything I can do…” Tony left it at that.
Several other people—Rachel’s friends, her employees, Heidi and her mother—had made similar offers over the months as Rachel’s attempts to resuscitate her marriage failed and she was forced to accept the inevitable. Tony’s was probably rooted in politeness more so than practicality. They had no real relationship, after all, save for a business one. Even so, she appreciated the gesture.
“Thank you. That’s kind.”
His voice lowered and his gaze turned intense. “I say what I mean, signorina. If you need anything—anything—you have only to ask.”
He laid a hand over hers as he said it. His fingers were long and tapered, and adorned with one simple gold ring that bore a crest of some sort. The design wasn’t hers, but she admired the excellent workmanship. She focused on the ring, afraid to meet his gaze. She wasn’t sure which had her more discombobulated, the heat radiating from his hand or the fact that he clearly meant what he said. Either way, she was being foolish. She had to swallow twice before she could speak and change the subject.
“So, where did your travels take you this time?” As surreptitiously as possible, she pulled her hand free and picked up her coffee mug once again.
Tony wrote features for a travel magazine that catered to upscale tastes. In fact, he owned the magazine, as well as a couple of others, all of which were based in New York and aimed at people who had more money than they could spend in five lifetimes.
He knew his target audience well, since he counted himself among their elite number. From the