Dreaming Of… Italy. Alison Roberts

caught his gaze. “Olivia.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “I like it when you call me Olivia.”

      He took a step closer. “Really?”

      She shrugged, trying to make light of her request. “Everybody calls me Vivi. Sometimes it makes me feel six again. Being called Olivia makes me feel like an adult.”

      “Or a woman.”

      The way he said woman sent heat rushing through her. Once again, he’d seen right through her ploy and might even realize she was attracted to him—

      Oh, who was she kidding? He knew she was attracted to him. After the episode playing pool the night before, neither one of them could be coy anymore.

      Even as yearning nudged her to be bold, reality intruded. The guy she finally, finally wanted to trust was rich, sophisticated and so far out of her league she was lucky to be working for him. She knew better than to get romantically involved with someone like him.

      She stepped back. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

      He caught her hand and tugged her to him. “I would.” He kissed her so quickly that her knees nearly buckled and her brain reeled. She could have panicked. Could have told him to go slow because she hadn’t done this in a while, or even stop because this was wrong. But nobody, no kiss, had ever made her feel the warm, wonderful, scary sensations saturating her entire being right now. Not just her body, but her soul.

      His lips moved over hers smoothly, expertly, shooting fire and ice down her spine. Her breath froze in her chest. Then he opened his mouth over hers and her lips automatically parted.

      The fire and ice shooting down her spine exploded in her middle, reminding her of where this would go if she didn’t stop him. Now. Just as Antonio’s mom had been, she was poor. Very far out of Tucker’s league. It was foolish to even consider kissing him.

      She jerked away, stepped back. His glistening green eyes had narrowed with confusion. He didn’t understand why she’d stopped him.

      Longing warred with truth. If he could pretend their stations in life didn’t matter, she could pretend, too. Couldn’t she?

      No!

      She’d done this before. She was a small-town girl and he was a man of wealth and power. She might be nothing more to him than a conquest. She was too wounded, too cautious to take the risk that someone like him could be serious about someone like her.

      She took another step back. “Well, okay then. I guess I’ll see you at breakfast.”

      It was the stupidest, most inane thing she could have said but she took pride in having any voice at all as she turned and raced to her room. She closed the door and leaned against it. She hadn’t even kissed a man in years, but in another thirty seconds, she would have willingly let him take her. A man she barely knew. A man with whom she had nothing in common. A man who might only want sex from her. Hell, she wasn’t even sure he liked her. Yes, he was attracted to her, but it never really seemed that he liked her.

      And her feelings for him? Well, they were getting out of control and she had no idea how to stop them.

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      THE NEXT MORNING, THE FULL idiocy of what she had said—and done, she couldn’t forget she’d run from the patio—hit her, and when she went downstairs for breakfast she had to steady herself outside the dining room door.

      She ran her damp palms down the skirt of her second sundress, grateful to have her favorite dress to wear for confidence. But that didn’t help much now that she was two seconds away from seeing the man she’d kissed last night, the man she was growing to like, even though it was wrong.

      She didn’t know how to stop any of this. Her fears after being attacked had robbed her of the normal dating experiences most women had. Though those fears were subsiding and Tucker was making her long for things most women took for granted, she knew—absolutely knew—she was going to get hurt.

      Still, she had to go in. If she didn’t, it would only make things worse. With a deep breath, she held her head high and stepped into the dining room to find Constanzo and Tucker reading the paper.

      Constanzo rose. “Sweet Vivi, good morning.”

      He pulled out her chair and helped her sit. When he returned to his seat, Tucker looked up from the newspaper.

      “Good morning...Olivia.”

      Her blood rushed hot through her veins again, but she refused to be embarrassed or even think through what it might mean. Had he taken her request to heart that she liked to be called by her first name? Or was he taunting her? Reminding her of a kiss that had warmed her blood and made her feel like a woman just as he’d suggested the night before.

      Constanzo’s maid brought a woman who looked to be about thirty into the dining room. Wearing a suit that had to be handmade and carrying a Gucci bag, she could have given Maria Bartulocci a run for her money.

      Constanzo jumped up again. “Patrice!” He caught her hands and kissed both of her cheeks. “Tucker, Vivi, this is Patrice Russo.”

      After shaking both their hands, she said something to Constanzo in Italian. Constanzo smiled. “Tucker speaks Italian. Vivi, no.”

      “Then we speak English.”

      Constanzo pulled out a chair for Patrice. “Would you like breakfast?”

      “Just coffee.” She smiled at Vivi. “So you are my contact.”

      “Actually, Mr. Engle is in charge of the project.” She glanced at him briefly, long enough to see his eyes narrow as she spoke. Embarrassment flared. Why couldn’t she have thought of something suave, something sophisticated to say before she’d ran from him and his earth-shattering kiss? Why couldn’t she have sashayed into the house as if the kiss had meant nothing?

      Taking his seat, Constanzo laughed. “She is modest, our Vivi. This is her plan.”

      Vivi’s gaze shot to Tucker again. He turned his attention to his breakfast. “It is her plan. And Antonio seems to respond to her. She should be your contact.”

      A serving girl poured coffee for Patrice, and Vivi explained her idea. Patrice very quickly outlined the process of bringing an artist’s work to a gallery for a showing.

      “The very least amount of time we’d need would be two weeks. But I’d suggest a month. We’ll spend the first week ironing out the details of our agreement and then I’ll take three weeks to choose paintings and get things set up.”

      “Sounds great.”

      After finishing breakfast, they wasted no time. Constanzo called for a limo to be brought out front. Vivi and Patrice entered first. Constanzo slid in and sat beside Patrice. Tucker automatically sat beside Vivi. No hesitation. No comment. No complaint.

      Knowing it would look childish to slide as far away from him as she could, she stayed where she was, but it was torture. The vague scent of him brought back memories of that kiss. Worse, she had no idea what he was thinking. Had he even liked kissing her? Did he think she was an idiot?

      Probably.

      When Antonio answered the door, Patrice took over, stepping forward and shaking his hand. “Antonio! It’s wonderful to meet you. Mr. Engle and his assistant, Miss Prentiss, raved about your work and we knew we had our artist for the showing Mr. Bartulocci wants to do.” She stopped talking, turned to Constanzo and brought him forward. “This is Constanzo Bartulocci. He is your benefactor for the show we’d like to put together.”

      Tears filled Constanzo’s eyes and Vivi blinked back a few of her own. He was meeting his child, his son, the person who should be heir to everything he owned. The person who should be filling his quiet life with noise