Give a Little (11 page)

Rowdy knew his jaw had to be on the floor. “He doesn’t know?”

Jasmine shrugged. “What does it matter? It won’t change his opinion of me.”

He didn’t know who he felt worse for: her or her father. Shaking his head, he looked around the room with new eyes. “You really like books.”

“No, I really
love
books.” She looked around the room as well, her glass clutched to her chest. “When I was growing up, the characters in books were my only friends. My father didn’t allow me to socialize with regular people, and the ones he pre-approved I didn’t like. So I read a lot. Reading gives you a view into worlds you may not be able to visit.”

“Which is why you teach kids to read,” he said as it all fell into place.

She looked at him with wide, earnest eyes. “Can you imagine not being able to explore other places?”

“Nope.” He sat back but kept watching her. “I wanted to see the world, so I got a job where I’d get to do that.”

“Playing rugby?”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “I loved it.”

“But you’re still retiring?” She tipped her head. “You must be able to play for a few more years. Or are you injured?”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “It was just time for a change. After a while, you want roots. I found my tribe here in London.”

She nodded slowly though her expression was puzzled.

“And you still find characters in books preferable to those in real life?” he asked.

“Sometimes.” Her smile was bitter at the edges. “They don’t judge you.”

He nodded. “What does your father think about you teaching kids to read?”

She made a noncommittal sound as she took another sip of wine.

“Wait.” He faced her, hand lifting her chin. “He doesn’t know about this either, does he?”

She would have looked away if he’d have let her, but he didn’t so she frowned at him.

“He doesn’t.” Rowdy shook his head. “Don’t you see that you’re letting him draw conclusions about who you are? If you hide yourself, how is he going to get to know you?”

“He’s my father,” she said, enunciating each word. “He should try, shouldn’t he?”

“He’s human and has flaws, but it’s obvious he loves you, even if his methods are questionable.”

“If he wants to see what he wants to see, then he can bloody well be my guest. I don’t care,” she declared, looking like a stubborn, hurt little girl.

He wanted to hug her, and shake sense into her,
and
punch her dad. But she wouldn’t appreciate any of those, so he just said, “John Hayes is an idiot.”

She smiled, the sun coming out from storm clouds. “He is, isn’t he?”

She was too, a little, but he knew better than to say that. His mama didn’t raise no dummy. Instead he cuddled Jasmine into his side and told her stories about his rugby days.

“I forged your signature and sold off all the company’s assets,” Inga said, typing onto her laptop. “I sent the profits from the sale to Thailand, to fund an elephant refuge.”

Bea hummed, glancing at the clock again. 4:26. The last flight to Florence wasn’t for another five hours, and it still had seats available. She knew that because she’d checked every hour.

Huffing, Inga closed her computer and sat back. “You aren’t paying attention to a thing I’m saying.”

“Yes, I am.” She dragged the stack of papers in front of her assistant toward her. “This is the prospectus for Q1 of next year.”

“You only know that because the cover is labeled.” Inga crossed her arms and studied her. Her eyes narrowed, shrewd, and she said, “Your man hasn’t been by in days.”

Bea stiffened, feeling her face heat. “He is
not
my man.”

Inga snorted. “I bet that’s not what he thinks.”

“Perhaps we can just concentrate on work,” she said crisply.

“I’m not the one having difficulty concentrating.” Inga stood, giving her a knowing glance as she walked out of the office.

Bea tapped her foot on the floor. Inga was right—she wasn’t getting anything done. She gathered her things and left her office, too.

Fortunately, Inga wasn’t anywhere to be seen, so Bea managed to sneak out. A bath was what she needed, and some time alone. She called Nigel before she got in the elevator for him to pick her up out front.

It seemed to take forever to arrive home. She let herself into her penthouse and set her things on the chair by the door, carrying her mobile into the kitchen. She was taking a glass out of a kitchen cabinet when she realized she wasn’t alone.

Stilling, she listened. It wasn’t a sound so much as a feeling that someone else was there with her. Setting the glass down, she headed instinctively toward her bedroom. “Vi?” she called out.

“No, darling, it’s me,” her mother replied.

She entered her room, arching her brow as her mother walked out of the closet carrying a small handful of lingerie. “What are you doing, both here and with my knickers?”

“I’m packing for you.” Jacqueline neatly set the colorful handful in an overnight case that was propped open on the bed.

“Am I going somewhere?” Bea asked carefully.

“Yes. To Italy.” Her mother held a hand up. “You don’t have time for a fit, darling. Your flight leaves in just over an hour.”

She stared at the bag and then her mother.

Jacqueline gave her a quizzical sidelong glance as she packed a few more things. “You aren’t going to argue with me?”

“Would it do me much good?”

“Not at all.” Her mother smiled and reached out to cup her face. “If you don’t do this, you’ll always wonder what would have happened. Wouldn’t you rather know for a fact that you made the right decision where Luca was concerned?”

“I don’t know that any decision having to do with Luca is a good one.” She shook her head. “How did you even know he asked me to Italy?”

“I’m your mother,” Jacqueline said simply. She zipped up the bag and set it on the floor. “There, you’re all set. Your toiletries are in your case, on the bottom.”

“It doesn’t seem like enough clothing for a week.”

“I’m hoping you won’t need many clothes.”

“
Mother
.” She gaped at the woman in front of her, who looked like the person who’d birthed her even if she didn’t sound like her.

“Did I shock you, darling?” Jacqueline flashed a sly smile. Then it dissolved into a look of concern as she took Bea’s hand. “Have an open heart, Beatrice. He’s a good man, and he loves you. Give him a chance.”

“I’ll go because he promised to introduce me to the man who runs a company I’m interested in, but only because of that,” she lied.

Her mother gave her a flat look. “You don’t believe that, and neither do I.”

“How do you know I don’t believe it?” she asked with a frown.

“I’m your mother,” she repeated, picking up the overnight case and handing it to her.

Bea got off the plane in Florence. She put on her sunglasses as she strode through the airport.

What had she done?

She was here—there was no going back. Clutching her bag, she went to the arrivals curb.

Luca was there, leaning against the passenger door of a flashy sports car in a deep burgundy. He had sunglasses on, too. In his fitted leather jacket, he looked too enticing for comfort.

Time to get this over with. As she approached him, she decided that she’d look at this like taking a client she didn’t like around town. It was a necessary evil to get the job done, but she didn’t have to enjoy it. If she kept herself distanced she’d be all right.

He pushed off the car and stepped forward. Taking her rolling bag, he kissed her on either cheek before placing a soft, lingering kiss on her lips. “
Benvenuti in Italia
,” he said against her mouth.

She stifled the shiver of anticipation and turned to the car. Stopping abruptly, she stared at the vehicle. “Is this a Stallon-E?”

“
Si
.” He grinned as he opened the door for her. “It’s beautiful, no?”

Without question. Looking at it, one would never take it for an electric car, which were generally strange looking. Like Tesla models, the Stallon-E had grace and style. “How did you get one when the prototype was only just launched?” she asked as he loaded her bag in.

“I am Luca Fiorelli,” he said simply.

Rolling her eyes, she got in. But he
was
the top Formula One driver, so she couldn’t argue with that point. At least she’d made the right decision in making this bargain with him.

She hoped.

She strapped herself in and prepared herself for the ride.

He waited until she was situated and then took off, darting through traffic with careless ease until they were on an open road.

The car handled nimbly, accelerating with ease. She took mental notes as he drove. “It drives like other sports cars,” she commented after a while.

“It does not.” He glanced at her, obviously offended. “It drives like a Ferrari,
better
than other autos. Have you ridden in Nico’s Lotus?”

“No.”

“Count yourself lucky.” He shuddered with horror.

She bit her lip, trying not to be amused. Boys and their toys.

For a while, she catalogued the vehicle, but soon the passing countryside caught her attention. The rolling hills were charming, dotted occasionally with old stone structures. Lovely. More different than the English countryside than she’d have expected.

She had no idea where Luca was taking her. Neither did she know what he expected from her. She had a feeling if she
did
know, she wouldn’t like it.

So she angled toward him. “We should set boundaries for the week.”

Luca shook his head, eyes on the road. “There will be no boundaries, Beatrice. This is my week, all for pleasure. You agreed not to work.”

A moment of weakness, obviously. “You can’t ask me to do things that I’m not willing to do.”

He glanced at her. “I’ll make sure you’re willing.”

“Don’t turn this into a challenge.” She frowned at the cows they raced by. “Where are you taking me?”

“Home.”

She pictured a stone castle with a huge bed that had iron manacles. “Where is that?”

“Bologna,” he said, his tone soft with love.

It reassured her despite herself. She sat back and tried to enjoy the rest of the drive.

Halfway between Florence and Bologna, Luca lost Beatrice’s attention to her mobile.

He gripped the steering wheel, determined not to let that bother him. He wanted to remind her that she’d promised no work during the week, but he decided to be patient. They’d arrive in a bit, and then she’d be his.

Oddly, he was nervous, the kind of nerves he got right before a race. The only difference here was that he only had one shot to win her—he couldn’t come back next year and try again.

He needed to amend his strategy. He’d been determined to give her space, to resist chasing her, knowing she’d only run away. Now it was time to show her how well he knew her—how well they fit together. To be close to her so that she’d have to admit that together they were magic.

He sped faster through the streets to his place.

Pulling up to the gate, he pressed the button for the electric door. It swung open with a rusty creak. One day he’d fix that, when he got around to it.

“This is home?” Beatrice asked, lowering her mobile to look out the window.

“The home of my heart.” He parked the car in the courtyard, next to the Ferrari he kept there. “My mother and father used to go back and forth between London and Bologna. Papa grew up here, but my mum is British, so they spent a lot of time in London. Now they divide their time between here and Rome. They’re in Rome this week.”

“Yet you have an Italian accent,” she said almost accusingly.

He arched his brow and said in a proper British voice, “I can speak as crisply as you do, if I wanted.”

“Why don’t you want to?”

“Italy is my heart. This is genuine.” He touched his chest. “I speak what is in my heart.”

She appeared to mull that over as she opened the door and eased out.

Luca got out too, taking her small luggage out of the trunk. He’d have expected a woman like Beatrice to travel with more.

“I can take that,” she said, motioning to the bag with her mobile.

He eyed the device, wanting to tell her that she should put it away and hold his hand instead. He heard his mother’s voice in his head, telling him to pick his battles, so he gestured to the front door. “This way, Beatrice.”

He smiled when he heard her sigh behind him; her heels clacking on the stones, telling him that she followed. He moved through his home, larger than his London flat but more modest in some ways.

Definitely more comfortable. It was still modern—he preferred clean, uncluttered spaces—but here his home had soft touches in which he didn’t indulge in London. For him, Italy was that way: rounded and more relaxed.

Going up the narrow stairs, he passed his bedroom and went to the one down the hall. “This is your room. There’s a bathroom attached.”

She peeked into the door he opened, her expression confused.

He smiled, wanting to kiss the lines between her eyebrows. “I know you like your space,” he explained. “I hope at night you’ll sleep with me, but if you choose not to, you can be here.”

Her thoughts were as clear as a summer day in the countryside: She hadn’t expected this. She likely thought he’d force her to his bed, like a Sabine of old. “Why are you doing this?” she finally asked.

Setting her bag on a luggage rack, he shrugged. “We’ve never slept together all night. You always leave me soon after we finish playing. Why should location change that?”

Studying him, she unwound her scarf from her neck and dropped it on the bed. “The situation is different here. You declared that I’m yours for the week.”

He heard the resentment in her voice and frowned. If he had his way, he’d tie her to his bed and keep her there until she declared undying love.

But he knew better. This was Beatrice, not some simple woman. Her heart needed to be convinced, but so did her mind. “I’m not forcing you, Beatrice,” he said, holding her gaze so she knew he was serious. “I only asked for the opportunity to show you what we could be.”