Falling For The Venetian Billionaire. Rebecca Winters

admitted to the group seated with her that she was upset for not having allowed enough time to go to Venice and really explore it. She needed another month, but that was impossible. Her one day in Venice would have to count!

      Dr. Manukyan, the Armenian professor and host, smiled at her. “Just remember that Byron’s most important time in Venice was spent at the Armenian Monastery during his San Lazzaro period in 1817.”

      Ginger nodded. “I plan to spend the whole day there engrossed.”

      “As you probably know, the island of San Lazzaro was named after Saint Lazarus, the patron saint of lepers,” he explained. “The four-hundred-year-old leper colony existed from the twelfth to the sixteenth centuries. At the end of that time, Mechitar, an Armenian monk, escaped from the Turks and arrived in Venice, where he was given the island for his Dominican congregation.

      “Now there are a dozen-plus monks and Armenian students who come to study Italian and are in charge of its precious museum and library. During his travels in Europe, Byron turned to a new intellectual amusement to supplement physical pleasures and decided to learn Armenian.”

      “That’s what I want to learn more about,” Ginger exclaimed. “I know he worked on an English-Armenian grammar book. I’m fascinated by the way Byron’s brain worked and what motivated him.”

      Dr. Manukyan nodded. “Byron set himself a project to study the Venetian dialect, too. In truth, Lord Byron had one of his most productive periods in Venice. Besides his work at the monastery, he wrote the first half of Don Juan while there.”

      Ginger couldn’t get enough of learning about Byron, while they enjoyed a delicious seafood dinner followed by dessert and coffee. Afterward, Dr. Manukyan announced some other Byron conclaves being held in the future. Too bad she would have to be back in California teaching during those dates and would have to miss them.

      With her thoughts on her friends, knowing she would be with them soon, Ginger sat back in the chair pleasantly tired and drank her coffee. Since January, Ginger had been in Italy digging for any fresh information on the life of the poet. Before Christmas her department head at Vanguard University in Costa Mesa, California, where she’d been teaching, had approached her.

      Would she like to attend a workshop in Los Angeles on a new academic project about Lord Byron for the famous Hollywood film director Magda Collier? Her revered mogul friend would be producing it, and research was needed to supply original material for the screenwriters.

      Ginger would have to leave the university for a semester and travel to Europe. After having lost her husband, Bruce, to cancer over two years before, Ginger had jumped at the opportunity to work in Italy, hoping for new experiences that would help put her pain behind her.

      No man could ever replace Bruce. Her pain was doubly excruciating because he’d died before they could have children. Ginger had wanted children more than anything. Her therapist had suggested that since she’d dabbled in writing over the years, she should work on a children’s story, something her own children would have loved.

      After so much sorrow and anguish over broken dreams, Ginger knew she needed to concentrate on something else and took her therapist’s advice.

      At the seminar she’d met Zoe Perkins and Abby Grant, who’d also been hired. All three had obtained master’s degrees in literature from UCLA, San Jose State University and Stanford respectively, focusing on the romance poets and writers.

      Abby had been sent to Switzerland and Zoe had been assigned to Greece, but all three of them had kept in touch through Skyping and phone calls. Her travels and theirs began to feed her imagination, and she got the idea to write about children around the world when she couldn’t do her research.

      As Ginger had explained to the others at the table aboard ship, tomorrow she would take the train to Venice and spend time at the monastery in the afternoon. That evening she’d meet Zoe at the airport and they’d take the night train to Montreux, Switzerland, where they planned to pick up a hire car and then join up with Abby at Saint-Saphorin on Lake Geneva, where they’d begin their vacation.

      Magda had rewarded them with a month’s stay on a vineyard there. They could use it for their home base while they did whatever they wanted.

      Ginger turned to ask Dr. Manukyan a few more questions, but he suddenly said, “Excuse me for a minute,” and got up from the table.

      Surprised, she watched him walk toward a thirtyish-looking man with raven black hair who’d just entered the dining room. Everything about him, including his elegant dark blue suit and tie, shouted sophistication and an aura of authority he probably wasn’t even aware of.

      He stood tall and was the most gorgeous, virile Italian male she’d ever laid eyes on in her life. Every feature from his olive skin to his powerful jaw mesmerized her.

      Her heart thumped as the two men walked over to the table. “Everyone,” Dr. Manukyan began, “I’d like to introduce you to Signor Della Scalla. He’s not only responsible for the souvenir menus you’ve all been given, he’s the one who made it possible for us to have dinner aboard ship this evening.”

      “I hope you’re enjoying it.” The striking man spoke excellent English with an enticing Italian accent.

      Della Scalla. The name was synonymous with one of the most renowned shipping and passenger lines in Italy, let alone Europe. But there were probably hundreds of Italians with the same last name.

      Ginger listened while their host introduced the five members of their party to the stranger. When it came her turn, she found herself captivated by a pair of black-fringed cobalt-blue eyes the color of handblown Venetian glass.

      Those penetrating orbs seemed to take her all in, as if he were searching for the very essence of her. For the first time since Bruce’s death, another man had managed to take her breath away. Who was he?

      “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he spoke to all of them, but his gaze remained focused on her.

      “Won’t you sit with us for a moment?” Dr. Manukyan asked.

      “Thank you, but I’m afraid I’m pressed for time. If you’re finished with your meal, does anyone need a ride back to Ravenna? It’ll be on my way. You’re welcome to come in the limo.”

      Dr. Manukyan looked pleased. “We’re staying at the Palazzo Bezzi Hotel and were going to call for a taxi. But we’d love a ride, if it isn’t too far out of your way.”

      “Not at all.”

      “We appreciate your kindness for everything.”

      “Let me escort you out.”

      Ginger couldn’t credit that they’d be driving back to town with him. She stood up and followed the others to the elevator. It took them down to the deck, where they walked through the covered passageway to the dock.

      A black gleaming limousine stood parked right there. Ginger was the last person to climb in. She decided this man had to be an important person, but she couldn’t ask Dr. Manukyan because they weren’t alone.

      When Signor Della Scalla came around to help her in, she felt his arm brush hers by accident. A shiver of awareness ran through her.

      He rode in front with the chauffeur. Before long they arrived at the hotel near the old town where she’d gone exploring early in the morning before meeting the group. Again, he was there to open the door. Everyone thanked him and said goodbye. Then it was her turn.

      “Signora?” She looked up at him before getting out. She found herself drowning in his gaze once more. “How long are you going to be in Ravenna?”

      Ginger’s heart was still overreacting, especially when she noticed he didn’t wear any rings. She wasn’t wearing any rings either. Whoever he was, Ginger couldn’t believe she felt such an instant attraction to him. Though she’d been coming to terms with her loss, she wasn’t sure about loving another man again. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”