“It’ll be nice to have a girl to talk to about...you know...things.”
Luca looked away. Of course she could do with a woman in her life. Someone to fill even a small portion of the hole left when her mother had been killed in that insane accident. A massive truck hurtling toward them from the other side of the tunnel with nowhere else to go...
“Zio! I think I see Freda!”
“Who’s Freda?”
“Freda’s the dog!”
“Right.”
“And it is a her! She’s a her!”
“Who? The dog?”
“The trainer!”
Pia was clapping with excitement now and Luca couldn’t help but crack a smile. His first genuine one in the last twenty-four hours.
“Zio! Comb your hair. She’s almost here!”
Luca laughed outright. Fat lot of good a comb would do with the rest of him covered in sawdust and paint.
A far cry from his Armani-suited and booted days at his consultancy in Rome. The one none of his colleagues had been able to believe he’d just up and leave for a life in the hinterlands. He wouldn’t have wished the life lessons he’d had to learn that night on anyone. His cross to bear. The suits were moth food as far as he was concerned.
He tugged both hands through his hair and messed it up werewolf-style.
“Suitable?”
Pia gave his “makeover” the kind of studious inspection to which only a sixteen-year-old could add gravitas, then rolled her eyes.
“It’s not my fault if you’re a fashion plate,” he teased.
“I’m trying to save you from yourself,” Pia shot back. “What if she’s a beautiful blonde and you fall in love?”
“Nice try, Pia. I’m officially off the market.”
“Officially off your rocker, more like,” she muttered with an eye roll. “Look! They’re turning onto the bridge!”
He spotted the vehicle, then looked out beyond the road and took in the sparkle of the sun upon the Adriatic Sea. Italy’s most famed coastline. Croatia and Montenegro were somewhere out there in the distance. Dozens of ports where the world’s billionaires parked their superyachts. The price tag of just one of those would have him up and running in no time.
He gave himself a short sharp shake. This wasn’t the time for self-pity or envy. It was time to prove he was worthy of the name he’d been given. The name he hoped would stay on this village he now called home.
“Shall we go and greet our new guest?” Luca flourished a hand in the direction of the approaching vehicle, even though his niece already had the wheels of her chair in motion.
* * *
Fran had to remind herself to breathe. Way up there on the hilltop was the most beautiful village she’d ever seen. Golden stone. Archways everywhere. The hillsides were terraced in graduated “shelves.” If one could define countless acres of verdant wildflower meadows and a generous sprinkling of olive trees to be the “shelves” of a mountainside.
It was almost impossible to focus on driving, let alone the figures coming into view in the courtyard at the end of the bridge. She rolled down the window to inhale a deep breath of air. Meadow grass. The tang of the sea. The sweetness of fruit ripening on trees.
Heaven.
For the first time in just about forever, Fran wondered how she was going to find the strength to leave.
Was that...? Wait a minute.
All the air shot out of her lungs.
Long, lean and dark haired was no anomaly in Italy, but she recognized this particular long, lean, dark-haired man. As she clapped eyes on the tall figure jogging alongside the beaming girl in the wheelchair, her heart rate shot into overdrive.
Fight or flight kicked in like something crazy. Her skin went hot and cold, then hot again. Not that it had anything to do with the picture-perfect jawline and cheekbones now squaring off in front of her SUV.
No wonder Beatrice had been all mysterious and tight-lipped last night.
Un-freakin’-believable.
Mr. You-and-I-Will-Never-Be-Friends was her new boss.
Chills skittered along her arms as their gazes caught and locked.
From the steely look in his eyes he hadn’t exactly erased her from his memory either.
From the flip-flop of warmth in her tummy, her body hadn’t forgotten all that glossy dark hair, tousled like a lusty he-man ready to drag her into a cave and—
Silver linings, Fran. Think of the silver linings. He hates you, so flirting isn’t something you need to worry about.
The dogs were both standing up in the back now, mouths open, tongues hanging out as if smiling in anticipation of meeting Pia. Trust them to remember they were here to help—not ogle the local talent.
Take a deep breath... One...two...three... Here goes nothing.
She pulled the car up to where the pair were waiting, then jumped out and ran around the back to the dogs. The dogs would be the perfect buffer for meeting—
“Francesca.”
Gulp! His voice was still all melted chocolate and a splash of whiskey. Or was it grappa because they were in Italy? Whatever. It was all late-night radio and she liked it. Precisely the reason to pretend she didn’t by saying absolutely nothing.
“We meet again.”
Mmm-hmm. All she could do was nod. Luca had looked a treat in his fancy-schmancy suit yesterday, but now, with a bit of sawdust... Mmm. The sleeves of his chambray shirt were rolled up enough to show forearms that had done hard graft...and he wore a pair of hip-riding moleskin trousers that looked as if they’d seen their fair share of DIY...
Mamma mia!
Of all the completely gorgeous, compellingly enigmatic Italians needing an assistance dog for his...
“Allow me to introduce my niece, Pia.”
Fran shook herself out of her reverie.
Niece! Nieces were nice.
“Yes! Pia—of course.” She swept a few stray wisps of hair behind her ear and turned her full attention on the teenager whose smile was near enough splitting her face in two. “I bet you’re far more interested in meeting these two than me.”
They all turned to face the back of her SUV, where two big furry heads were panting away in anticipation of meeting their new charge. Fran deftly unlocked the internal cage after commanding the two canines to sit.
“If you’d just back your chair up a bit, Pia. They are both really excited to meet you.”
“Both?” Luca’s voice shuddered down her spine.
“Yes, both,” she answered as solidly as she could. “Not everyone gets off on the right foot when they first meet.”
She lifted her gaze to meet his.
Luca’s eyebrow quirked.
“Is that so? I thought dogs were instinctive about knowing a good match.”
“Dogs are,” Fran parried, with a little press and push of her lips. “People sometimes need a second chance to get things right.”
Luca’s eyebrow dipped, then arced again, and just when she was expecting a cutting remark she saw it—the kindness she’d knew she’d seen lurking somewhere in those smoky brown eyes of his.