‘Quit fretting, carina.’ Leo glanced over, then returned his attention to negotiating the chaotic morning traffic. Even on a Saturday Rome’s roads were flat-out crazy. ‘Nico has everything under control.’
She cast him a sideways look. ‘Will you stop doing that?’
‘What?’
‘Reading my mind.’
He grinned. ‘If I knew the secret to reading women’s minds, I would be a very rich man indeed.’
Had Marietta been in the mood for banter she would have reminded her brother that he was a rich man. Instead she turned her gaze out through the side window and watched the blur of busy streets and piazze and sidewalk cafés go by. She believed Leo when he said his friend had everything under control—and that was the problem. Nico had all the control and she had none. It made her feel adrift, somehow. Alienated from her life. She didn’t even know where exactly in the Mediterranean they were going. Until yesterday she’d never heard of Île de Lavande.
She rested her head against the soft leather seat.
Island of Lavender.
At least the name was pretty.
Perhaps she’d find some inspiration there for her next series of paintings? The European summer was in its twilight, but Nico had said the island was still warm, so she’d gone light on clothes and made room for packing her brushes and a set of fast-drying acrylic paints, a sketchpad and a small canvas. She’d even squeezed in a collapsible easel.
She supposed a few quiet, uninterrupted days of sketching and painting wouldn’t be so bad—but only a few. She’d agreed to a week, no longer, and she still planned to be back in time for little Ricci’s party. Nico’s men would just have to pull out all the stops to find her stalker, because she wasn’t compromising on that.
As for the gallery—she’d made two phone calls from Leo’s apartment last night: one to her boss, the owner of the gallery, who’d expressed her support and understanding once apprised of the circumstances, and the other to Lina, who’d assured Marietta that everything would run smoothly in her absence.
Too soon, the powerful car decelerated and the runway of the Aeroporto dell’Urbe came into sight. They drove through a security checkpoint and then they were on the Tarmac, headed for a sleek silver and black jet with the circular logo of César Security emblazoned on its tail.
Nico appeared in the open hatchway and Marietta leaned forward in her seat for a better view of the aircraft—and him.
And, mamma mia, he looked good. Faded jeans clung to long, muscular legs, he wore an untucked, open-necked white shirt, and a pair of dark shades obscured those deep blue eyes. His dark brown hair was stylishly mussed and his angular jaw sported a layer of stubble that only exaggerated his masculine appeal. He looked less formidable than yesterday. More relaxed, despite the ever-serious expression he wore.
Edible, an inner voice whispered, and she felt her face flame. Santo cielo! Her mind was not going there.
He jogged down the steps with an easy masculine grace, and he was pulling open the car door before her cheeks had even had time to cool. He hunkered down beside her.
‘Bonjour, Marietta.’ He removed his sunglasses and the impact of that blue gaze arrowed all the way to her stomach. ‘Are you ready for our journey?’
The morning breeze ruffled his hair and carried into the car the scent of soap and lemons, along with something more earthy and rich. Marietta tried not to breathe in, but the need for air prevailed. She frowned, growing more irritable by the second. No man should smell that enticing. That delectable.
‘Do you have half-decent coffee on board?’
A muscle quirked at the side of his mouth—a mere flicker of movement that might have turned into a smile if he’d allowed it.
/> Had she ever seen Nico smile? It occurred to her that she hadn’t—not properly.
‘The coffee is exceptionnel,’ he said, and she wished he wouldn’t speak French.
It did squishy things to her insides and there was nothing good about squishy. Nothing.
He slid his shades back on. ‘There’s a lift on standby if you want it.’
She shook her head. ‘Grazie, but Leo will carry me on,’ she said, preferring that simple, no-fuss solution over the mechanical platform that could raise her, wheelchair and all, to the door of the plane. Besides the ground crew there were few people around, but all the same she hated anything that created a spectacle or shone a spotlight on her disability. People often stared without meaning to, and though she’d grown inured to the curiosity of others, occasionally the attention still bothered her.
Minutes later her luggage was stowed and she was settled in a large, soft leather seat, her wheelchair reassembled and within reach should she wish to move about the plane’s roomy interior once they were airborne. Out on the Tarmac, Nico and Leo exchanged final words. A moment before, when Leo had kissed her goodbye, silly tears had pricked the backs of her eyes, and she blinked now to clear her vision, annoyed because she rarely allowed herself to cry. She’d taught herself to be strong, to handle whatever challenges life threw at her, and all this—this was just another obstacle to overcome.
‘I hear you’re after some good, strong coffee, honey.’
Evelyn, the flight attendant who’d earlier introduced herself and then disappeared to give Marietta and Leo privacy, stood now by Marietta’s seat, her cherry-red lips stretched into a friendly smile.
Marietta pulled herself together and looked up at the slender uniformed blonde. ‘Si. Grazie. Black and very strong, please.’