Her Amazing Boss!: The Daredevil Tycoon. Nikki Logan

there,” she said. She could sit on the blanket or wrap it around her. She wished they’d brought one of the sleeping bags.

      He pulled her closer, next to him, and threw his blanket over their legs. “Combined body heat is better than both of us freezing. Later, you’ll have to give up the comfort of sitting on that blanket for added warmth.”

      They sat in silence for a few more minutes.

      “The interesting thing about you, Amalia,” he said at last, “is that you rarely complain. This is not the way I envisioned the race. You’d have every reason to complain about the circumstances, the weather, everything.”

      “It’s hardly your fault the rain came.”

      “Doesn’t stop some people.” He reached out and took her left hand. “You’re cold.” He engulfed both of hers with his own, which were much warmer.

      “For the most part I’m comfortable,” she said. Or as comfortable as she could be snuggled up to Rafael.

      “Let’s spread the other blanket.”

      “Then we’ll be sitting on the cold ground, with only the wicker between us.”

      “Then, this is what we’ll do.” He encircled her shoulders again and pulled her partway across his chest, looping his other arm around her waist. “Better?” he asked.

      He was like a warm furnace, generating enough heat to keep both of them warm all night long, she thought.

      “Thanks.”

      The wind howled. The drumming of the rain on the plastic sounded unusually loud. Slowly Amalia began to relax. She was warm, dry and safe. Granted no one knew when the chase team would arrive, but they had showed up last night and would surely arrive before long today.

      “So tell me about this family you hope to have one day,” Rafael said just as Amalia was thinking about trying to sleep.

      “And open myself up to sarcasm? You’ve made your position clear.”

      “Hey, just because marriage isn’t for me doesn’t mean it’s not for other people. I do have a couple of friends who seem to be making their marriages work. So what’s your timetable? Marry by thirty, have two point three kids and get a large flat with a roof garden or something?”

      “I have no timetable. There’s no guarantee I’ll ever find a man to love. Or one who will love me. But if I do, I’d want a full family life. Wherever we could afford to live would be fine. Though I hope it’s near the water, I love the beach.”

      “I could take you sailing one day,” he murmured.

      She ignored his comment.

      “Then, when the time is right, we could have some children. I know I’d like a couple, I liked having a younger brother. But I’d have mine closer together than my folks did. There are almost eleven years between me and Jose.”

      “But lucky for him there was. You were able to raise him, keep your family intact.”

      “You’re right. That’s important.”

      “So what will this dream husband be like?” Rafael asked curiously.

      She frowned. “Probably unlike anyone you know,” she said. “Solid, down-to-earth, grounded. He’ll have a good job, and like to spend time doing family things—even when it’s just us before—and after the children arrive.”

      “No fancy parties, exotic vacations?”

      “A week or two traveling each year might be nice. There are a lot of places in Europe I’d like to visit.”

      “But no camping,” he said, his mouth right by her ear.

      She shook her head. Though she’d never forget sleeping beneath the stars last night. Or the kiss they’d shared before the others arrived.

      “So what do you see as your future? Dating different women every month, getting older while they get younger? Don’t you get tired of such a superficial life?” she asked.

      “You’re more cynical than I thought,” he said. Rafael didn’t like the picture she painted. He had been going out less and less frequently in the last couple of years. He didn’t mind spending time alone and it suited him to read a good book or watch something worthwhile on the television rather than a constant round of parties or social events.

      “Like father, like son,” she murmured.

      Was that how others saw him, as careless and clueless as his father? The man couldn’t settle on one woman, he was always dating new and even younger women.

      “Do you ever wonder what older men trying to cling to their youth find to talk about with younger women? There have no shared histories of events. Music is probably different,” she mused.

      “Some women will say whatever a man wants to hear, just to keep him entertained.”

      “Good grief, that would drive me nuts. I want honesty in both parts,” she said.

      “I agree.” One reason he dated and then moved on was the inane conversations he often ended up with. Yes, Rafael, of course you’re right, Rafael. He could hear the echoes of their sultry voices. What he wanted was someone to stand up to him. Challenge his glib statements. Argue with him sometimes.

      He suspected Amalia was exactly the kind of woman to challenge any statement she didn’t agree with. He couldn’t see her as a yes-woman even to her boss.

      “How do you and Stefano get along?” he asked, testing his theory.

      “Fine. He tries to get his own way in things, and succeeds for the most part, but not with my off hours. He’s very controlling, but I draw the line sometimes.”

      It fit the image Rafael had of Stefano Vicente. The man was a control freak and driven, to boot. But not as much as Rafael was, which showed in their respective bottom lines.

      Their talk during the afternoon ranged from mutual likes in music to differences in books they’d read. While coming from different backgrounds, they discovered they had similar ideas in entertainment—except for Rafael’s extreme-sports bent.

      When hunger drove them to raid the snacks, Amalia felt the chill of the day when Rafael no longer held her close. They ate quickly and then naturally moved back together as if they’d been a couple for a long time.

      The afternoon passed slowly. The rain settled into a steady beat on the plastic roof.

      “Tell me about your home,” she said at one point, wishing to learn as much about him as she could. When would she ever have such a chance?

      “It’s up on the Via della Rosa, overlooking the city and the sea. It’s primarily built from stone with lots of glass. I bought it about eight years ago. I have a housekeeper who keeps it in order for me.”

      “It’s large, I suspect,” she murmured.

      “Too big for one man, but it’s also an investment for the future. I expect it will appreciate in value and then I’ll sell it for a profit.”

      “Do you see everything in profit and loss instead of it being your home?”

      “I’m not there that much.” Rafael had no special attachment to his house. It pleased him to live there, but if he sold it tomorrow, he’d find something else just as suitable. “Besides, it’s just stone, wood and glass.”

      “A home should be a special place—comfortable to give you rest, secure to give you safety, a place to shut out the world.”

      “And your little apartment is that?” he asked. It had looked cramped to him.

      “As close as Jose and I can make it. It was different when we lived at home with our parents.” She fell silent for a moment.

      Rafael felt a stirring of envy.