Saved by the CEO(11)

"Which anyone who knows me will immediately recognize as a complete fabrication. I'm not and have never been the lovesick type."

A fact that should comfort her, seeing as how she was now sleeping under  his roof. It didn't, though. Instead, she felt a dull ache in the pit  of her stomach.

"So what was yesterday? An anomaly?"

He looked away. "Yesterday I caught a man breaking into your home. I was  upset for your safety. This," he said as he waved his cup over the  tabloid "is entirely different."

"How? It's still an invasion of privacy. And the things they wrote about  us..." As though Nico were some kind of fly trapped in her web. She  shivered. "Surely you care what people think."

"I already told you, anyone who knows me will recognize it for the garbage it is."

"Why is that?" Not that she wasn't glad, but she wanted to know why he was so certain.

A strange shadow appeared behind his eyes, turning them darker than  usual. "Like I said, I'm not the lovesick kind," he replied. "Now, the  fact they referred to me as the 'royal vintner'? That is something I  hope people will believe. You cannot buy better publicity."

"Glad you're happy." One of them should be.

She took a look around the surroundings that were to be her home away  from home for the next few days. Worn out and uncomfortable last night,  she'd insisted on being shown straight to her room. Nico's  rust-and-green kitchen was warm but dated, like the kitchen of a man who  didn't spend too many meals at home. Did that mean he didn't entertain  much either? Would people notice he had company?                       
       
           



       

A sudden, horrifying thought struck her. Now that Nico had been  identified, the press would start stalking him, too. For all they knew, a  telephoto lens could be trained on them right now. Reflexively, she  looked over her shoulder at the kitchen window.

"Relax," Nico told her. "I drew the curtains when we got home last night. No one can see you."

Sure, they couldn't see her now. But eventually... "This was a mistake. I'm better off just going to Florence."

"No one is going anywhere except to the winery." Nico's hand reached  across the table and grabbed her wrist, preventing her from standing.  "Trust me, everything is going to be fine. In a few days, another  scandal will erupt and the press will forget all about you."

Louisa looked down at the bronzed hand gently encircling her arm. His  thumb brushing her pulse point, the tiny movement as soothing as a  caress. That his slightest touch could calm her was disturbing in  itself.

Slipping free, Louisa reached for the newspaper and flipped it back  over. The picture on the front page showed the two of them with their  heads together in quiet conversation. Arm slung casually over the back  of her chair, he was leaning forward as she spoke in his ear, her hand  resting lightly on his forearm. She remembered the moment. The orchestra  had started playing, and she'd moved closer so she could comment on the  song selection. Thanks to the angle, they looked more like a couple who  had eyes only for each other.

A second photo greeted her when she turned the page. The two of them  dancing. No need to mess with the angle this time. Their gazes were  locked; their bodies pressed together like lovers'. Must have been taken  only moments before Nico had kissed her.

What if there was a photo of them kissing? Louisa's stomach dropped. The  blogosphere would have a field day. Her horror must have shown on her  face, because when she looked up, Nico was watching her. "If they had a  photo, they would have used it," he said, reading her mind.

He was right, Louisa thought, letting out her breath. "The one they used  is bad enough. Did we really look like that?" Like they couldn't get  close enough.

"Considering what followed, I would have to say yes."

That's what she was afraid of. Louisa dropped her head on her arms with a  groan. "It's only a couple of photographs," he said, patting the back  of her head. "We'll survive."

He didn't understand. Any photograph was one photograph too many.  "Believe it or not," she said, lifting her head, "there was a time when I  liked having my picture taken." She remembered her first public date  with Steven and how the local press surrounded them. She'd felt like  someone had dropped her on a Hollywood red carpet. "I thought being  featured in the paper was the coolest thing ever."

Letting out a long breath, she balanced her chin on the back of her  hand. "After Steven was arrested, reporters started camping out in cars  across the street. They'd call my name each time I left the house, and I  would hear the cameras snapping. Click-click-click-click. It never  stopped. After a while I stopped going out unless it was to go to court.  I had my food delivered. I kept the curtains drawn. I swear Steven had  more freedom in prison." Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Nico's  gaze slide toward his windows and the green linen drapes blocking the  view.

"Did you know, I couldn't even take out my garbage, because they would  go through the contents?" she asked. "I had to let it pile up in the  basement until after the trial was over." If she concentrated, she could  smell the stench. The horrible sour smell that drifted up the stairs  every time she opened the basement door. "I actually dreamt once that  the bags overflowed and buried me alive."

"Bella mia..." He reached for her hand.

Louisa pulled back with a shake of her head. No more comforting touches.  "I wasn't trying to make you feel sorry for me." Honestly, she didn't  know why she'd told him at all. The memory had simply popped out and it  had been the first time she shared the secret with anyone. She supposed  it was because the situation was repeating itself again now.

"Well, I promise no garbage here."

How was it he knew the way to make her smile no matter how aggravated or  sad she got? "Well, if there is," she said, "you're responsible for  taking it out."

"Agreed." Nico smiled, and the warmth in his eyes was as reassuring as  any embrace. For that moment, anyway, Louisa felt as if everything would  be okay.

* * *

Seeing Louisa smile cheered him. It was strange how important seeing her  smile was becoming to him. Nico tried to imagine what it must have been  like for her during the trial, trapped inside her home while the wolves  with their cameras gathered around in wait.                       
       
           



       

It made him doubly glad that he had lied about the photographs not  bothering him. He would never tell Louisa, but seeing the pictures  actually bothered him a great deal, although not for the reason she  thought. It was his expression in the photographs, a dazed, trancelike  appearance that upset him the most. He'd been photographed by the press  dozens of times, but never could he remember seeing a shot where he  could be seen looking so intently at his partner. Then again, he  couldn't remember ever sharing a dance as memorable as the one he shared  with Louisa either. Looking at the photograph had brought every detail  back into focus, from the softness of her silk gown to the floral scent  of her hairspray as she curled into his neck.

Unfortunately, Louisa's reaction was far different. Even though he  expected her to get upset, he was surprised at the disappointment her  response left in his stomach. Clearly, being the one who usually kept  the emotional distance, Nico wasn't used to a woman's disinterest.

Sensing her attention about to return to the headlines, Nico gathered  the newspaper and folded it in two. "No more gossip," he said, slapping  the paper on the countertop. "We move on to better topics. You need to  finish your breakfast. Today is a workday. If you're serious about  earning your keep, then we need to get to the winery."

"Are you always this bossy with your houseguests?" she asked, the smile staying in place.

"Only the Americans," Nico countered. What would she say if she  discovered she was the first woman to be one of his houseguests? Not  even Floriana had been given such an honor. Since his parents had moved  away, Nico had preferred the house to remain a place of peace and  tranquility, something it had never been when he was a child.

And didn't Louisa, with her damp hair and bare feet, look as if she  belonged to the place. The novelty of having company, he decided. Other  women would look equally at home, if he ever bothered to invite them.

But would other women engender such a strong desire to protect them?  Last night, he'd literally found himself patrolling the house, and again  first thing this morning. Frankly, he was surprised he hadn't stood  guard outside Louisa's bedroom door to keep her safe.