"I'm concerned about Cesare," she said. "And we have unsettled business between us."
"You are worried about our personal contract?"
She nodded, for though she wanted to trust him at his word, she knew she'd be a fool to do so. Especially since she was sure to displease him when she suddenly disappeared later today.
He lightly grazed her cheek with a bent knuckle. Tendrils of energy flowed from his touch to set her insides spiraling out of control.
"It will be drafted by tomorrow and ready for your signature," he breathed near her ear.
She gave in to a shiver. "Good. I can sign it when I return from visiting my nonna."
"When did you decide to do this?" he asked, trailing that finger down her throat.
"After that episode with my brother," she breathed, fighting the urge to tip her head back and sigh her pleasure.
"I'll go with you."
"No. I need to do this alone and you need to stay here with Cesare," she said, and when his eyes narrowed she added, "Please. She wouldn't understand me bringing my boss home."
"Very well. We will sign the papers upon your return, then celebrate tomorrow night, hmm?"
"Yes," she said, her breath quickening at the thought of lying in his arms again.
His fingers stroked her throat before spreading around her neck, not with threatening pressure but firm nonetheless. "Who is Rachel?"
She went deadly still, unable to move. He'd heard her talking to herself after all.
Gemma couldn't swallow. Couldn't do anything but stare up into his eyes that had gone hard and black again.
"The child of a dear friend," she said, speaking the truth and knowing he'd doubt her.
"Don't lie to me," he said.
"I'm not," she said.
She sensed the subtle shift of emotion in Stefano, a tightening of his muscles. A snap of annoyance in his eyes.
He pressed his face close to hers and she helplessly lifted her head for the kiss that wasn't about to come. And why would she even want to kiss a man who was being irrationally obdurate?
But he surprised her with a quick, hard kiss that left her wanting so much more. He withdrew his mobile and punched in a number. "I'll have my driver take you to the train station. He'll be waiting for you at the door."
"That isn't necessary."
"I insist."
He was laying down an order that she had no intention of obeying.
She had something important to do before she boarded the train to Milan. Something that would only raise more questions if he knew. Questions that she still couldn't answer.
"Thank you," she said with a smile, and hoped to hell he couldn't read the lie in her eyes.
CHAPTER NINE
THE second his driver phoned to let him know that Miss Cardone had never left the hospital, Stefano knew she'd tricked him. She'd looked him in the eyes as the lie tumbled from her ripe lips.
She must have slipped out a side door of the hospital. But as he stood outside under a full Tuscan sun, he had no way to know which direction she'd taken.
This was Saturday morning. Whether she'd visit her nonna in Manarolo was moot. If her habits held to form, she would take the train to Milan.
This time instead of traveling with his papa, she'd go alone. Unless Stefano was lucky enough to speed to the station and catch her before her train left.
He'd just about decided she'd caught the train that had just pulled out when he saw her hurry into the train station. She had a carry-on gripped in one hand and a wrapped package in the other. A gift. For the mysterious Rachel?
Though his possessive bent urged him to make his presence known now, he feared she'd likely forfeit her visit if he did so. Such loyalty to his papa!
What did he have to do to earn that same devotion?
Trust.
He'd never granted it to her, nor had she to him. They were very much like feral cats circling one another, both wary, both knowing any mating would come in an explosion of emotion.
Perhaps that was what drew him to her. She didn't throw herself at him or play mind games as too many of the women he'd dated had done.
With the exception of these jaunts she'd taken to Milan, she'd been honest and real with him. He was surprised that he enjoyed being with her more than he'd ever enjoyed the company of another woman. She held his interest and stoked his desire, whether they were verbally sparring or making love.
Yes, he'd used the wrong tactic with Gemma Cardone from the start. She didn't cower to threats or confess all in the throes of passion. She kept her head and she held her confidences close to the heart.
Too close perhaps, for she put her loyalty above all else.
Milan.
The city she and his father had escaped to with aching regularity. He suspected that he'd find the mysterious Rachel here.
The child of a friend.
What he couldn't imagine was how the hell had his father figured into this?
A grim smile touched his lips as the train chugged toward Milan. It was just a matter of time now before he caught her in her lies.
The trill of her phone sounded overly loud in the confines of the train. Gemma answered it immediately, fearing that Cesare had taken a turn for the worse and Stefano was calling her.
Instead it was the banker she'd contacted a couple of days ago regarding the loan. Before she could tell him it wasn't necessary, he launched into a heated diatribe of the shortcomings of the inn.
"Our inspectors paid special care to the property," he began, "and there wasn't any evidence that restorations had been done in years."
"That's impossible. I sent home thousands of euros for the repairs."
"Perhaps you did," the banker said. "But I can assure you not a bit of it was used to upgrade or repair the inn. For that reason alone we can't possibly grant a loan for any amount."
She hung up, dazed and heartsick. She didn't doubt the man. Nor did she have to wonder what had happened.
She'd trusted her brother to see to the renovations. She'd believed him when he'd given her updates. She'd been grateful that she hadn't had to take time away from her initial healing, and then from her job to see to the work herself.
He and his wife had lied to her for a year. She doubted Nonna was aware of it, for she'd only promised she'd make the inn a beautiful place again.
No wonder the older woman had given Emilio her shares. He'd clearly deceived her as well.
And the money? He'd gambled it away. She was sure of it.
Her heart ached for what she must do now. She had to tell Stefano the truth.
She couldn't deceive him in this since he'd paid her brother a fat sum for his shares. It didn't matter that he was rich and could afford the loss.
She couldn't welcome him into her arms with another lie between them. If he discovered the state of the inn, he'd surely believe she'd duped him from the start.
No, she'd have to trust he'd believe her in this. And if he didn't?
Gemma swallowed hard and stared out the window. If he rescinded his offer, fired her or both, she didn't know what she'd do.
Stefano wondered who'd phoned Gemma for though the call was brief, it had changed her demeanor. Perhaps deflated her spirits was a more accurate description.
Her smile had vanished and she appeared pensive.
He ached to go to her. Comfort her. But he couldn't let her know he was following her for she'd likely alter her plans.
He couldn't risk that, not after coming this far, not when he would finally discover who Rachel was and what her tie was between Gemma and his father.
So he shifted uneasily on the bench and tried to harden his heart to her distress. For the first time he failed miserably.
The Benevenuto Scuola sprawled on the fringe of the second ancient wall surrounding Milan and provided a relatively large yard for exercise in a city that was mostly marble and concrete. Like the private school Stefano had attended as a boy, the building was aged.
But old in Milan screamed Renaissance and this school was no exception.
He'd kept a careful distance from Gemma as she wound her way from the train station to the school. But now that she was going inside, he picked up his pace.
He didn't wish to lose her after trailing her across Italy. The sun had warmed his body while the rumba sway of her hips had heated his blood.
The spirited clack of her heels on the marble floor echoed in the vast hall like a pagan beat. He felt her tension pound in his head, felt her anxiety reach out to him, felt her pulse thrum in time with his own.
She was a few feet from a massive horseshoe staircase that rose to a second floor. Students milled about on the balcony with some leaning over the thick marble banister.
They were all adolescent girls dressed in sedate uniforms, and he'd place the pupils in age from six to mid-teens.