Aubrie Dionne - An American Girl in Italy - HarperImpulse Contemporary Romance

What Ms. Maxhammer and the rest of the orchestra didn’t know was the only tours he had ever conducted were on his own vineyard. His family’s land had fallen to him a few years ago, and if he didn’t earn money fast, it would be history. Applying to Ms. Maxhammer’s ad was his only way out, even if he had to stretch the truth.

As if taking care of spoiled, lazy tourists wasn’t enough, the embodiment of the All-American Girl following him to the tour bus already grated on his nerves. The crazy part was that if she hadn’t been so rude, he would have thought her intriguingly attractive. Not many women in his part of the world had such white-blonde hair and pale skin, looking more like she walked out of a fairytale than an airplane. Her pale-blue eyes were gorgeous, but it was the sheer determination mixed with intense vulnerability within them that piqued his attention.

Who was she talking to and why was it so important? Usually he didn’t meddle in the affairs of others, but overhearing her desperation made him want to jump in like a knight in shining armor. All the way up until the part where she called the man an asshole. This woman could fight for herself.

So why did he feel such an inclination to help her?

Must be the big paycheck waiting for him after the tour ended. It wouldn’t solve his family’s problems, but it would buy them more time.

They reached the bus, and he turned around, wondering if he should even ask to help her with her bag again. The way she recoiled, clutching the small case to her chest made him wonder if she had trust issues. The last thing he wanted to do was piss off one of the Americans on his first day. Ms. Maxhammer had explicitly asked for the utmost courtesy.

‘Would you like some help, signorina?’ He prepared himself for the worst.

Carly narrowed her eyes, which turned to ice in the midday sun. ‘You can take this bag.’ She pointed to the large, heavy one with wheels.

‘Very well.’ He bent down and gripped the handle. His muscles bunched as he picked it up. Mio dio. What was in here — rocks?

Of course, he didn’t want her to see him strain. Gritting his teeth, he hefted the bag up the steps and onto the luggage shelf at the front of the bus. It hit the shelf, rattling all the other bags before settling.

Edda, the bus driver, who could have posed as his mother, turned around and spoke in Italian. ‘Is she the last one?’

He wiped his forehead. ‘Si.’

Carly followed him up the steps, still clutching the smaller case like a baby, with small, elegant fingers. She looked like a lost princess who had misplaced her carriage. A pang of compassion shot through his chest. The desire to scoop her up and comfort her overwhelmed him. Remember how she told that person off on the phone? You don’t want to become asshole number two.

Michelangelo scanned the seats. Every one was full, except the one next to him. Great, I’ll have to put up with her all the way to the hotel. He gestured toward the front seat. ‘Ladies first.’

She glanced around nervously, as if she’d rather sit anywhere but there. Michelangelo adjusted his collar, feeling slightly offended. He’d offered to help her with her bags twice and lifted her colossal boulder of luggage to the shelf, and this is how she treated him! Usually women enjoyed his company.

He stated the obvious, trying not to sound annoyed. ‘It is the only seat left.’

‘Oh, right.’ Carly slipped into the window seat and adjusted her flowery skirt.

Resisting the urge to glance over the way the light fabric fell around her legs, he took the seat next to her. The bus merged with traffic and turned onto Roma Fiumicino, the main highway that led into Rome. Sunswept green fields spread before them.

Remembering he was supposed to be describing the landmarks, Michelangelo brought out a crumpled note from his pocket. Holding it in the palm of his hand, where no one would see, he turned on the intercom. ‘I’d like to welcome all the members of the Easthampton Civic Symphony. Per Ms. Maxhammer’s request, I’ll be announcing important landmarks along the way.’

He checked the note. ‘To your left is Lago Traiano, an artificial lake built by Imperatore Traiano in 98—117 B.C. and used as a port in the time of Imperial Rome.’

Turning off the intercom, Michelangelo glanced longingly at the circle of pines. He’d taken the guided tour on a horse-drawn carriage with his father as a young boy. If only he was still here, he’d think of a way to save the vineyard.

He turned his attention back to Carly. Scrolling down a list of e-mails on her cell, she didn’t even look up to see the lake, which sent a dagger of pain through his gut. Stupid American, can’t even appreciate the Italian countryside. Would she stay on that thing the whole time and miss all the views?

Michelangelo sat beside her once again and tried an attempt at conversation.

‘Is this your first time in Italy?’

Carly nodded as she checked off the boxes beside the e-mails and deleted a bunch. ‘First and last.’

Wow, he’d not heard that before. No visitor he’d ever met didn’t want to come back. What was with her? Want stirred in his gut as he looked her up and down.

‘Is that so? I’ll have to change that.’ The words slipped out of his mouth as more of a challenge than a remark. Did he just hit on her? What was getting into him?

Carly dropped her phone and glanced at him with a mix of surprise and dismay, and maybe—if he didn’t imagine it—a hint of desire. She shifted a little further away, pressing her side against the window. ‘Excuse me?’

Michelangelo’s friends said he was smoother than gelato. He could work his way out of this. He shrugged. ‘Everyone falls in love with Italy. Once you’re here, you’ll always remember it.’

‘Besides music, I haven’t fallen in love with anything in my entire life.’ Carly twirled a strand of silky hair behind her ear. ‘Good luck.’

Michelangelo took that as a challenge. Whether to make her fall in love with Italy, or with him, he wasn’t sure.

Chapter Two

Carly hoped Michelangelo couldn’t see her heart beating like a metronome on vivace . She read the next e-mail, trying to focus and ignore how the hottie tour guide may have just hit on her.

Honestly, she must have read him completely wrongly, because they’d had about the worst introduction she could think of, and she’d watched a whole ton of romantic comedies in her day with Melody; While You Were Sleeping , Groundhog Day , Pretty Woman, How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days . She could go on and on—they’d even come up with their own top-fifty list.

Wait a sec. Didn’t they all have rough starts?

Michelangelo leaned over and his eyes glanced down as if reading over her shoulder.

Sighing, she shut the screen off. She’d have to wait until they reached the hotel if she wanted any form of privacy.

‘How long is this trip?’ Her tone came out more annoyed than she would have liked. All the unread e-mails, the conversation with Dino, and her embarrassing introduction to Michelangelo had raised her anxiety to momentous levels. Thank the hotel gods for mini bars.

‘It will take us about thirty minutes to reach the center of Rome, where the Villa Borghese is located.’

Great. Thirty minutes of spine-cringing awkwardness.

She turned to the window. Lush hills spread before her in blankets of emerald, accented by pointed, dark shrubs and patches of red and white wildflowers. An old farmhouse made with bleached stucco and red-orange tiled roofs claimed the side of a hill. Italy really was gorgeous.