LUCY MONROE - The Italian's Suitable Wife

“I care,” Rico informed her with an attitude that said that was all that should matter.

“Well, you are not my keeper. I haven’t got the money for a prolonged stay in a hotel room.” Particularly if she lost her job.

“I will pay for it.”

She glared at him. “No, you will not.”

“Besides, there is no need,” Andre inserted. “My suite has two bedrooms and since you won’t call Papa and Mama back from their cruise, the second one will go empty if Gianna does not stay in it.”

She thought Andre’s argument had merit. From the angry tilt to Rico’s chin, he did not agree.

He pinned her with a look that sent shivers to places she had yet to discover. “You will allow Andre to care for your needs, but you refuse my help?”

She barely suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. “It’s not the same thing. It doesn’t cost Andre anything more to give me the extra room in the suite.”

“You think I begrudge you this trifling amount?” Rico demanded.

Why was he being so obtuse? “No. Of course, not. It’s simply that I’m already there.” She laid aside her fork and allowed herself to make direct visual contact for the first time in an hour. She’d perfected the art of talking to his shoulder since almost making a complete fool of herself over that kiss.

“I don’t know what you’re so worried about, Rico. My name doesn’t make it into the social columns on a regular basis. No one cares where I sleep or who I do it with for that matter.”

His expression turned feral and she found herself scooting to the back of her chair, her body posed stiffly away from him.

“You have shared your bed with a man?”

Heat scorched up her cheeks until they burned like the Chicago fire of 1908. “That’s none of your business.”

“I do not agree.” He looked ready to get up out of the bed and shake an answer out of her.

Even knowing that was not possible did not suppress the shiver of apprehension that skittered down her spine. She swung her gaze to Andre, appealing to him for help with her eyes, but he was obviously enjoying the conversation too much to step in on her behalf. She looked back at Rico.

His expression had not softened at all.

“I really don’t want to talk about this with you.”

“You will tell me the name of the man.”

Heavens. When had her silence become an affirmative answer? And what right did he have to grill her like this? If Chiara were still a virgin, Gianna would dance naked on the top floor of the Empire State Building. “Are you saying you and Chiara don’t sleep together?”

“This is not under discussion.”

“Nothing is under discussion,” she came close to shrieking.

“You are very red. You are embarrassed, no?”

Why bother denying it? He’d know she was lying. Her blush had already given her away. “Yes.”

“A woman of experience would not be so discomfited,” he said with smug assurance.

That set her over the edge. “Are you sure about that? Maybe I’ve slept with tons of men. Maybe I’m even sharing Andre’s bed now and the two room suite is only a ruse.”

She realized she’d let her temper lead her into deep, dark waters a second before he exploded. Mr. Cool Italian business magnate sent the portable table with his dinner on it careening across the room and started shouting at Andre.

Gianna spoke fluent Italian, but she didn’t recognize some of the words. From the ones she did, she guessed they were curses. Andre’s usually smiling face was stiff with shock. He tried to tell Rico it was a joke, but Rico’s fury did not abate. His hands pounded the air, punctuating his angry speech and if he had been mobile, his brother would have been flat on his back. She was sure of it.

“For Heaven’s sake.” She jumped out of her chair and crossed to the bed, standing between Rico and Andre. “Calm down. I said what if, not that I had. Rico—”

His arms snapped around her waist and she found herself sitting next to him on the bed, her chin cradled in a surprisingly gentle but firm hold. “Do you sleep with my brother?”

“No. I’ve never been with any man,” she admitted, thinking nothing but the truth could completely diffuse the situation.

Rico’s glare was sulfuric. “Yet you taunted me with the idea you had.”

She couldn’t begin to understand why it mattered so much to him. Perhaps he felt responsible for her in some way since her father had died. She wouldn’t have known it by the way he’d ignored her for the past year, but maybe the feeling was there all the same.

“I wasn’t taunting you. You embarrassed me and made me angry. Most women are not…not…” She couldn’t make herself say the word. “Well, by my age, most women have some experience.”

“But you do not.”

“I do not.” She agreed and stifled a depressed sigh. With him marrying Chiara, that wasn’t likely to change, either.

He brushed her cheek with his fingers before dropping his hand from her face. “You should not be embarrassed to speak of these things to me.”

She didn’t know where he’d got that from. How could she help but be embarrassed to talk about it? She’d never even admitted her lack of practical application when discussing the subject with her girlfriends in college. But she didn’t want to spark another outburst so she remained silent.

She went to get up, but his arm around her waist prevented her. “Rico?”

“You are very innocent.”

She grimaced. That had been well and truly established. “If you’re finished dissecting my lack of a love life, could I get up please? I want to go back to the hotel.”

His hand was warm against her waist and he was idly brushing his thumb back and forth in a manner guaranteed to drive her mad or into a lustful frenzy. She wasn’t sure there was much difference between the two.

“You will move to another room.”

“No.” Andre’s firm denial surprised her into looking at him, regardless of the fascination Rico’s small caresses held for her.

Andre’s face was set in hard lines. “This is New York, Enrico. It would be inadvisable to allow Gianna to stay in a room by herself, even in a hotel with security.”

“Then I will assign one of my security people to watch her room.”

This conversation was growing more bizarre by the minute.

Andre shook his head in a short, decisive negative. “How can it be better for her to stay in a hotel room with a stranger than with me?”

Her attention swiveled back to Rico. He was scowling thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should get Chiara to stay in the suite as well.”

“No!” Andre and Gianna chorused at once.

Rico’s brows rose. “What bothers you about this?”

How did you tell a man you could not stand his fiancée for dirt? Gianna cleared her throat, trying to think of a tactful way of putting her absolute refusal to share living space with the selfish witch.

“Gianna told me what Chiara said about her,” Andre said, disapproval clear in his voice. “Your fiancée’s unfounded jealousy was the reason Gianna considered going back to Massachusetts in the first place.”

“Now you seek to protect her from my fiancée?” Rico asked with silky vitriol. “Are you sure there is nothing you two wish to share with me?”

She’d had about enough of Rico’s overdeveloped sense of responsibility toward her. She was not some helpless female in need of his protection. She’d been on her own, if not physically then emotionally since long before her father had died. Or maybe Rico really thought she’d set her sights on marriage to the younger DiRinaldo brother.

“This is ridiculous. I’m not about to trip Andre and try to beat him to the floor.”

Andre smiled, all Italian male. “Which is not to say, cara, that I will not be so inclined.”