Carol Grace – Mediterranean Men & Marriage: The Italian's Forgotten Baby / The Sicilian's Bride / Hired: The Italian's Bride (страница 9)

No one took anything very seriously here on the island, and everyone took everything very slowly. He supposed it had something to do with the humidity and the heat, but it was going to drive him mad in short order if he didn’t learn to ignore it.

He liked things to happen fast. He needed to find his plans and he needed to find them now. Looking down, he saw that his fingers had tightened on his glass until the knuckles were white. Carefully, deliberately, he made them relax.

And then he thought about Shayna. It had been a long time since he’d felt this sort of tug toward a woman. Over the past few years, he’d thrown all his passion into designing, into making racing yachts as beautiful and as fast as possible. And it had paid off for him. He was at the top of his game. Or at least he had been before the accident. And in his world, competition was everything. If you weren’t at the top, you were falling behind someone else. He was determined not to let that happen to him.

Women usually didn’t come into the picture. They only complicated things. As soon as they got your attention, they wanted to dominate it, and suddenly there was no room for anything but them. He’d been there. He wasn’t going there again. Life was too short.

But Shayna…

Not only was she a beautiful young woman, there was something strangely compelling about her. It was difficult to know how to treat her. He wasn’t sure what sort of relationship they’d had. He didn’t know what they’d done together, what sort of interplay they had worked out between them—what they’d decided, what they’d left for later, what they’d agreed to leave out completely. It was very odd having this chunk of his life missing. It was hard to go on without knowing where those two weeks had left him. The worst was knowing what to say to Shayna. He felt as if he were walking on quicksand there.

One thing was sure, as far as his relationship with her was concerned. He was going to have to find out what the fight on the last day of his stay had been about—just exactly what she thought he should apologize for. And she was probably the only one who could tell him.

A sense of movement made him glance up into the long mirror over the bottle-filled counter, and there she was, coming down the steps behind him into the bar area. He sat watching her with pleasure as she hesitated, looked around the room, caught sight of him and started his way. She had her hair swept up in an old-fashioned do from the World War II era. She looked stunning in a halter dress accented by a lacy throw balanced artfully at her shoulders and a wide skirt that danced around her knees as she walked. And those legs! There was no getting around it—the woman was a knockout. He could feel a slow grin starting as he met her gaze in the mirror and he had no intention of dousing it. She was playing right into his current sentimental fantasy.

She stopped right behind him, placed one hand on her hip and struck a pose as he kept watching in the mirror.

“Of all the wine spritzer bars in all the South Pacific,” she said while he turned slowly to face her, “why did you have to turn up in mine?”

He looked up and smiled, then swallowed quickly and tried to go into Humphrey Bogart mode to fit in with her scenario, putting on a world-weary attitude.

“I make it a habit to turn up in all the worst places.”

She shrugged one shoulder, looking down at him in what she obviously hoped was a sassy 1940s’ manner and flipped her hair back flirtatiously. “What’s a girl have to do to get a drink around here?”

He shrugged. “You could try a whistle.” A devilish light was gleaming from his dark eyes. “You know how to whistle, don’t you?”

Her own eyes flashed and he wasn’t sure at first if it was from annoyance or amusement.

“Spare me the mercy lessons,” she said, sinking into the chair across from him. Now he could see that her eyes were sparkling with laughter, but she was doing an admirable job of keeping a straight face. “And get me a Shirley Temple, will ya?”

“For a classy dame like you? Anything.” He signaled the waiter.

“Anything?” she responded with a quick smile. “Wow. If I’d known it would be this easy, I’d have tried this years ago.”

“It’s never too late,” he said smoothly.

Their gazes met and they both grinned, and suddenly there was a bond between them that hadn’t been there before. She glanced at his mouth, remembered how sweet and silky his kiss had been, and felt herself flushing. Just thinking of it made her ache with a dusky longing that she knew she had to suppress as quickly as possible.

“So you’ve decided to come clean, have you?” he said, not noticing her discomfort. “I have to admire your courage.”

“Admire away, big boy,” she said tartly. “I deserve it.”

“You most certainly do,” he agreed.

She laughed softly, abandoning the playacting at last. “Don’t you sometimes wish you’d lived in the first half of the last century?” she said. “They seemed to have so much more heart in those days.”

“It only looks that way from a distance,” he responded cynically. “They had the same problems then that we do now.”

The waiter appeared to take their order.

“Hey, Shayna,” he whispered, giving her the eye as he presented himself. “Lookin’ good, girl.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” she said casually.

Marco narrowly avoided rolling his eyes before ordering her a soft drink and himself another whiskey. His natural male flare for competition kicked in without delay.

“An admirer of yours?” he asked once Bobby had withdrawn.

Shayna looked up, surprised. “Not really. He’s just a kid.”

“Have you ever dated him?” he asked, watching her reaction.

She gave him a look he might have considered scathing under other circumstances. “I don’t date anyone,” she said coolly.

But Marco knew she’d time to spend with him when he was here before; at least, that was the picture he got from what others told him. A strong sense of possession rose in him. He fought it back. Where in hell had he got the idea that she was supposed to be his?

An image formed in his head. A memory? Soft skin that smelled of orange blossoms, a pristine sculptured hairline, a whisper that lingered, his lips on the long curve of a neck, a warm hand sliding inside his shirt. Just as quickly as it came to him, it faded again, but it left behind a tingle of excitement. He drew in a sharp breath and steadied himself. He had to avoid this sort of thing. He was here to find his plans, not to reignite what he assumed must have been a romance.

“I take it you’ve decided to help me after all?” he noted, looking at her.

“I’ve decided to try,” she said. “I figure two heads are better than one.”

He nodded. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

She smiled, glancing at him and then away again. If he knew her motivation for changing her mind, would he still appreciate it? Maybe not. But that didn’t really matter. She was only here to make sure he left the island as soon as possible—and before he remembered who she was or why he’d been here in the first place.

“Okay Mr. Marco Smith,” she said with a quick smirk. “What do we do first?”

“The first thing I want you to do,” Marco said, gazing at her levelly, “is to tell me who you really are.”

Shayna looked up, her eyes wide and startled. “Wh-what do you mean?” she asked quickly.

Her overreaction surprised him and made him wonder, for just a moment, what she was expecting. But he went on and very soon forgot about it.

“I’ve been sitting here enjoying the sunset and musing over this strange situation.”

Bobby brought the drinks and she reached for hers as though it were a lifeline.

“What strange situation?” she murmured, wishing he would change the subject.

“Your strange situation.”

“Oh.” She took a sip of her drink put it down again, back in control. “Why don’t you explain what you mean?” she asked him, using a steady look to cover up her unease.

He sat back and studied her from under lowered lashes. “I want to know why a woman like you would be here on her own in these islands, so far from the hope of finding…oh, say a high-end department store or a five-star restaurant. It occurred to me that it just doesn’t make any sense.” He raised one dark eyebrow cynically. “What’s the story, Shayna?”

Funny, but he’d never asked her that question before. But then, he’d known who she was then—and probably guessed why she was here. He hadn’t felt the need to probe for information. Far be it from her to help him out with his personal questions. She met his gaze steadily and answered with calm deliberation.

“Here in the islands it’s okay to ask a question like that. Some people are happy to tell you all about their background. But if someone doesn’t respond, well, right away, you leave them alone. You don’t push.”

His face changed as he realized she was challenging him. “You’re telling me to back off.”

She blinked at him calmly. “Exactly.”

He set his jaw. “I don’t want to.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, gazes locked. She knew she couldn’t do this for long. Her own feelings were going to show.

Breaking away from his hard dark eyes, she made an elaborate show of sighing. “I can understand that you might feel that way, Marco. However, I came here to talk about you and your missing plans. My unusual choices in life aren’t under consideration at the moment. Let’s just leave me out of it.”