Rosetta had given her one of his shirts to wear. He recognised it as one he’d earmarked for charity donation. The material was fine, but it was huge on Alexa and he kept getting tantalising glimpses of her body, her breasts jiggling when she moved and sending a line of fire straight to his belly.
That, above all, amazed him. As he remembered it, he’d been totally impervious to her feminine allure when he’d discovered the truth about her.
‘You don’t remember anything?’ he drawled. ‘How very convenient.’
It seemed ridiculous, especially after all this time, that she could come back here. She must be desperate to try conning him again.
One thing was for sure—she’d picked the wrong man. He wasn’t as gullible as he’d been half a decade ago.
‘Actually,’ she snapped, ‘it’s veryinconvenient.’
Her chin rose and her eyes blazed angrily.
Her anger surprised him.
Alexa had always known on which side her bread was buttered. She’d been all sweetness and light around him, right until the end. He’d discovered later that others, like his housekeeper, Rosetta, had borne the brunt of Alexa’s displeasure when she didn’t immediately get what she wanted. But with Angelo she’d been all smiles and acquiescence.
He watched as suddenly her mouth wobbled.
Because she’d realised belatedly that annoyance would win no sympathy?
Yet, despite his cynicism, Angelo’s protective instincts surged. He’d looked after his widowed mother and younger sister all his adult life. He was, it was generally agreed, adecentman, kind to animals, children and those less lucky than himself. The sight of someone in distress, especially a woman, tugged at his conscience.
But this woman was the exception. ‘Don’t try that on me. If you want chivalry, you can look elsewhere.’
‘Chivalry?’ Her voice cracked. ‘How about common courtesy?’ She breathed deep as if trying to master her emotions and he had to force himself not to notice the way her nipples pressed against the thin shirt. ‘Why can’t you tell me your name and where we are?’
Angelo sighed and shrugged. ‘I have no time or inclination for these games, Alexa.’
‘Alexa?’ Two vertical lines ploughed down between her eyebrows. ‘Alexa?’ she repeated more softly, as if trying out the sound of it.
Arrested, he paused, taken in despite himself, by the sight of her bewilderment. A shudder raked her and she closed her eyes, swallowing hard.
Suddenly she didn’t look defiant or scheming but...forlorn.
Something sliced through him. A momentary doubt. A flash of sympathy and concern. But only for a moment.
When he’d met Alexa she’d been a moderately successful model with aspirations to act. She’d proved herself adept at playing a role around him and it had taken a sudden revelation for him to see through her charade. Clearly her skills had improved, if she could elicit even a moment’s sympathy from a man who knew her for what she really was.
He turned on his heel. ‘I don’t have time for this.’
‘Wait!’ Lavender blue eyes held his and despite himself something softened within him. There’d been an edge to her voice that sounded like fear and, as he stared back, he registered that her breathing had turned quick and shallow.
‘Alexa who?’
Angelo frowned. Did she still persist with this charade? ‘Alexa Barrett,’ he said finally, wondering what she hoped to achieve, pretending not to know.
Her lips moved and she silently repeated the name, as if committing it to memory. ‘And we’re in Italy.’
It wasn’t a question but a statement, yet her tone and knitted brow gave the impression she was perplexed.
‘Southern Italy,’ he murmured, leaning back and crossing his arms, curious, despite himself, to see what she’d do next. He couldn’t figure what her plan was. His knowledge of Alexa told him she must have some scheme in mind to make her venture back here.
‘The doctor.’ Her gaze met his then skittered away. It was one of the few times he’d seen her discomfited and again it gave him pause. ‘Will he come back soon?’
Angelo stared, trying to read her intentions in her features. But all he saw were hunched shoulders, the downward droop of her mouth and the fact that the hand grasping his shirt collar was white-knuckled.
He stifled automatic sympathy at the sight of a woman in distress.