Secrets Of Bella Terra (9 page)

She reared back in incredulity. “The pep squad?”

Apparently he’d insulted her.

“Our senior year, I was the
head cheerleader
.”

For sure he’d insulted her.

“I was the only one who could do a backflip all the way down the field. You know.” She half turned as if to prove her prowess by allowing him to view her ass.

He didn’t object. It was a fine ass. But she seemed a little manic and way too impressed with herself.

When he didn’t answer, she insisted, “I dated Eric Wright, the quarterback. Remember?”

“I do remember.” Something about her stirred his demon, and he asked, “Did Eric ever come out of the closet?”

“What?” The pleasant tone was gone, given over to the snap of an insulted female.

Rafe didn’t care. “Did Eric ever come out of the closet?” he repeated.

“You mean, like, out of the closet?”

“Yes. Did he announce he was gay? I expected he would as soon as he got to college.”

“No! Don’t be silly. He wasn’t gay; he was . . . Well, he wasn’t!”

“Okay.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and tried to look peaceable. “I must have been wrong.”

She smiled, all sharp, shiny white teeth. “Why are we talking about Eric? What have you been up to?”

“Traveling.”

“I love to travel! Where have you been?”

“Here and there.” He waited for her to declare she loved here and there.

She wasn’t as dumb as she pretended, or maybe she was too self-centered to notice his evasion. “I’m the manager of the spa here at Bella Terra. If you’d like a service—a hot-stone massage or a French body polish, let me know and I’ll see to it personally.”

What was he supposed to say to that? Really, only two words would do, and the first ones that popped into his mind seemed inappropriate. So instead he said, “Thank you.”

“That sounded provocative, didn’t it?” Like a cat in heat, she rubbed her shoulder against him and giggled.

“Not at all.” He was starting to remember this chick; she’d been like a high-class groupie, making it clear she would do whatever it took to take possession of one of the Di Luca sons. Jenna was a social climber, his grandmother had declared, and none too subtle about it. Cocking his head, he studied her. “You know, I was lousy in calculus.”

She giggled. “Maybe
I
tutored
you
?”

“Maybe you did.” He took a step away. “I imagine I’ll be too busy with my family to have time for any spa treatments, but thank you for the offer.” Looking across the lobby, he saw Brooke making her way toward him. “Excuse me,” he said, and walked away, forgetting all about Jenna, her spa services, and her readily available ass.

Her ass, after all, might have been good for a grope in high school, but he wasn’t a desperate, horny kid anymore. At least, not when he looked at Jenna Campbell.

He saved all his desperation for Brooke.

Rafe Di Luca didn’t remember her.

Jenna Campbell stared at him as he walked to the check-in desk with Brooke Petersson.

Rafe Di Luca didn’t remember her.

Jenna recalled that conversation in the library, their laughter together, the way he’d looked, the way she’d bent over him, thrusting her cleavage in his face. . . . Like a starving man, he’d grabbed her, drove her against the wall, fondled her tits, thrust his tongue in her mouth over and over, as if he were desperate for a good piece of hot ass instead of his cold bitch of a girlfriend. Then he broke off and fled, as if he were too scared to do Jenna in the library.

And now Rafe Di Luca didn’t remember her at all. He had barely tried to pretend.

Humiliation curled through her.

She recalled luring him to the library with the promise of help in calculus—not that she’d had to lure very hard. She recalled every detail of the kiss, of the groping. He had been the best she’d ever had, wild, forceful, out of control. At night, she’d imagined what it would be like, a man like that, his cock big and hot, his hips pumping. He’d be able to do it more than once a night. He’d be in her all the time.

She bit her lower lip hard enough to hurt.

All her life, she’d expected Rafe would come back and finish what he started.

But he didn’t remember her.

He remembered that bitch Brooke Petersson.

Brooke Petersson.

Jenna’s boss.

Right now, he was looking at Brooke as if he were ice cream and she was hot fudge with a cherry on top.

In high school, Jenna had despised Brooke for being so droopy, so hurt by life, such a wimp. But right from the first moment, Brooke had snagged the best-looking Di Luca, becoming his boon companion. Everyone had known nothing was going on between them, because little Brookie was a virgin and too scared to do him.

Then, all of a sudden, they were an item, so hot the air around them scorched the skin. The kids all whispered about them: They were so absorbed in each other they held each other’s hands, breathed each other’s air, had eyes for only each other.

It was nauseating, and Jenna couldn’t stand it. She had convinced her daddy she needed to leave early for college so she could get to know the campus.

And when she found out Rafe and Brooke had broken up almost as soon as she left town, and she hadn’t been there to pick up the pieces, she was pissed.

After that, Jenna had waited for years for her chance to convince Rafe he wanted to fuck a real woman.

And he didn’t remember her.

Jenna’s pager went off. She checked it, expecting it would be the spa with some stupid towel-folding emergency.

Instead . . . it was
him
. Not some stupid teenage fantasy like Rafe.

Sure,
he
wasn’t rich. Yeah, he scared her sometimes. Okay, he had a mean streak that could get them both in trouble.

But he was a man, an honest-to-God man.

She stared at the number, angry that he’d contacted her here, where the danger was so great . . . and thrilled that he couldn’t keep away from her. That first night, she had been alone in the spa cleaning up after one of the stupid masseuses threw a tantrum and a bottle of oil and quit. Jenna should have had housekeeping handle it, but that housekeeping supervisor had an attitude, and while nobody much scared Jenna, Ebrillwen did.

The first time Ebrillwen realized that Jenna had been closing the spa and signing off on the cleaning before the crew was finished, she’d threatened to tell Noah and Brooke. Jenna had skated a little too close to the edge too many times; she was already on probation . . . so she had stayed to clean up the masseuse’s mess. When he broke in, she was finally done scrubbing. She’d stripped off her clothes, hopped into the shower, turned—and there he was, watching her and grinning. She’d screamed and kicked. He’d dragged her to the massage table, bent her over, and poured into her. His cock had been hot and hard and real, and he had rubbed her clit with hot stones while he did her.

That night, he’d fucked her three times. Three. Until she was sore, and each time was better than the first.

Bet you couldn’t do that, Rafe I-am-so-cool Di Luca.

Victor walked behind the concierge desk. “What can I do for you, Jenna?”

She stared at him, trying to remember, while excitement rolled off her in waves. She pressed her thighs together, trying to contain herself. But that caused a bigger ripple. So she made an executive decision: She’d take her break right now, find her guy, get laid, then teach him a few things in return. What could go wrong?

She tossed a scornful glance at Rafe and Brooke as they looked at the map of the resort.

The really important people were busy.

“Victor, I wanted to talk to Brooke, but I don’t want to interrupt her. I’ve got to leave for a couple of hours.” She made her patented embarrassed expression. “Female problems, you know.”

Victor stepped back as if she were contagious. “I’ll tell her.”

“And let the spa know so they know to call Brooke if they need help?”

“I’ll tell them, too.”

“Thank you, Victor.” Jenna fluttered her fingers. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She walked to the door and stopped. Turning, she looked at Brooke, all prissy-ass and authoritative. She looked at Rafe, leaning over Brooke and smoldering with sexuality.

God damn them.
She was going to make them sorry they were born.

G
reat
. Without even knowing where Brooke was living, Rafe had picked the cottage next to hers. She’d tried to convince him he needed bigger accommodations, but he wanted that location for the same reason she liked it—it was central to everything on the premises.

So they were neighbors. No big deal. She could handle knowing he was skulking around in the bushes. After all, his only interest in her was whether or not she’d hit his grandmother with a tire iron. That was it. He seemed much more interested in chatting up Jenna Campbell, whom he’d managed to find while Brooke was outside with his mother.

Brooke rubbed her forehead. She must be getting cranky, because she knew Jenna pretty well, and without a doubt Jenna had found him. Frankly, it was of no concern to Brooke whether he flirted with every scaggy female in town, as long as he stayed out of her bushes. So to speak.

“I’m glad that’s settled.” With expertly false sincerity—she was, after all, a concierge—Brooke smiled at Rafe. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to relieve Victor for a while, so I’ll go change.”

“Get into uniform?” Rafe asked.

“Exactly.”

“Wait here. I’ll get my bag and walk with you.”

“Get your bag and the bell staff will bring around a golf cart to take you to your cottage.”

“Why bother the bell staff when you can take me?”

“I can change without your help.”

“I want to reacquaint myself with the grounds, meet more of the employees.”

Irritated beyond reason, she snapped, “Why don’t I call a conference, line them up for you, and you can interrogate them all?”

“Casual meetings are more likely to produce results.” He seemed oblivious to her sarcasm.

She knew better. But she wasn’t going to shake him, and she was pretty sure he wanted to see where she lived, whether she had neglected to wash Nonna’s bloodstains off her bathroom vanity. “Get your bag, then. I’ll wait for you here.” She watched him stroll out the door, toyed with the idea of running the other direction, figured that was immature and silly . . . and anyway, she couldn’t run far enough or fast enough.

Besides, as soon as he walked away, a mob of guests arrived at check-in, and she moved behind the desk to help. The rush continued for the next half hour, and the only time she thought of Rafe was when she caught sight of him and Noah passing out cups of lemonade and water to the people in line, soothing male tempers and flirting expertly with the women. More of that Di Luca charm, used like a condiment to give flavor to everyday life.

When the rush subsided again, she came around to find the brothers arguing about whether Rafe should reside with Noah or Eli or on resort property. She didn’t even disagree when Rafe said, “I want to act like a guest, listen to the locals who come in for a drink, see if the maids or the gardeners know anything they’re not telling. The sooner we get this solved, Noah, the sooner I’m out of here.”

The way Noah looked at her, as if he were worried about how she would handle the situation, made her step between the brothers. “We’ll be okay, Noah; it’s not high season for the tourists, and we don’t need the cottage. I’ll take him out there. I need to talk to the staff anyway, make sure everything’s running smoothly, then get back to the hospital to check on Nonna before lights-out.”

“When do you sleep?” Rafe asked. “Seems as if you’re working overtime.”

Do not. Punch him. In full view. Of the lobby.

Turning on her heel, she started down a narrow corridor into the depths of the hotel. “It’s not work to go see your grandmother. I’m glad to do it.”

Rafe and Noah followed.

“You’re tired,” Rafe said.

Noah stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and looked at her worriedly. “Have we been driving you too hard? How about you take a couple of extra days off?”

To be at Rafe’s beck and call? Not a chance. “I’m off at ten,” she snapped, then took a calming breath and turned to Rafe. “The night staff has instructions to call Noah if there are problems, and during this emergency, Victor has truly been a godsend. As has Mrs. Jones.”

Noah shivered.

Rafe looked between them. “Who’s Mrs. Jones?”

“Our housekeeping Nazi,” Noah said.

Brooke stopped before a wide, plain door with a plaque that read,
HOUSEKEEPING
. “
Shh.
She’ll hear you.”

Noah shivered again in great exaggeration. “You two are on your own. Let me know if you need anything, Rafe. Brooke, take tomorrow off. We’ll cover for you. I’m going back to the hospital.” For a moment, the youngest Di Luca brother looked weary and worn. “I can’t stand to see Nonna in pain, but I have to keep checking on her. If I’d checked on her more often, this might not have happened.”

Brooke put her hand on his arm. “If you were always checking on Nonna, she’d slap you on the side of the head and tell you to get a life. You know that. What happened . . . happened. All we can do now is make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Both brothers spoke in unison. “It won’t.”

These two Di Lucas were the ones most likely to go head-to-head on any subject, but on this, they were in agreement.

“I know. And she knows, too.” She shoved Noah. “Take Nonna something from the restaurant. The hospital food is not good and she’s losing weight.”

“Good idea.” Noah headed down the corridor.

Turning to Rafe, Brooke said, “Noah requires that we hire half our staff locally, but a great many of the privileged young ladies from Bella Terra have never cleaned their own room, much less anyone else’s, and our former head of housekeeping had a difficult time training and maintaining discipline.” Opening the door, she led them into a room filled with buckets, bottles, and towels. A tall, thin, cold-eyed woman dressed in a blue starched maid’s uniform stood by a desk. “Rafe, this is our head of housekeeping, Ebrillwen Jones. She’s originally from Wales, the housekeeper for a large estate, but when visiting the castle and seeing her exemplary work, I lured her away with the promise of sunshine.”