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The blood froze in his veins. He couldn’t walk her to her room! He was unstable around her. Confused. He wanted to be away from her, not walking down a dark corridor with her.
Olivia shook her head. “I’m fine. I know the way.”
But Constanzo said, “Vivi, you will not go upstairs alone. Walking a lady to her room is what a gentleman does.”
It was what a gentleman did and that reminder corralled Tucker’s hormones and got him back to reality. He was a gentleman and she was an employee. Worry that he couldn’t keep himself in line was ridiculous.
He set his beer glass on the bar. “Nonsense. You’re asleep on your feet. I’ll walk you to your room.”
They said goodnight to Constanzo who racked the balls again. Walking out of the den, Tucker heard the sound of silence left in their wake. Constanzo had put on the soccer game, and there was noise when he broke the balls on the pool table, but just beneath the surface of those sounds was a quiet nothing. And he suddenly understood why Constanzo wanted his son. When he retired, this would be his life. Entertaining an occasional visitor or two would fill the void, but mostly he would be alone. He wanted that “nothing” filled with the sound of his child, and maybe, someday, grandchildren.
“Why do you call me Miss Prentiss?”
They’d reached the end of the hall and were heading for the stairway in the front foyer. Focused on Constanzo, he hadn’t noticed how far they’d come. He’d also forgotten about his attraction. But the minute she spoke, his body reacted.
Still, she was an employee and he was a gentleman. He motioned for her to precede him up the stairs. “I call you Miss Prentiss because it’s your name.”
“So is Olivia. Or Vivi.” She stopped and peered back at him. “And I have to admit, sometimes it feels a bit weird having to call you Mr. Engle when everybody else is calling you Tucker.”
Just what he and his hormones needed, for another of the barriers between them to come tumbling down. “I’m always on a first name basis with people I do business with. You are an employee.”
“An employee who has to call you something different from what everybody else calls you.”
He should have been annoyed with her impertinence. Instead, he understood. They were two incredibly attracted people who, in any other circumstance, would be getting to know each other, probably pursuing this attraction. But she was an employee. And he was a gentleman.
He repeated it like a mantra in his head as they walked down the hall. When they reached her door, she stopped and faced him.
“Good night, Tucker.”
Damn it. He almost laughed. She could be such a smart-ass. Worse, he’d liked the sound of his name on her lips. He liked that she was so bold.
“You’re a brat.”
“No. I just don’t appreciate anyone trying to make me feel less than.”
Confused, he stepped closer. “You think that’s what I’m doing? Trying to make you feel less than me?”
She shrugged. “Isn’t it?”
“No!” All this time he was fighting an attraction to her and she thought he didn’t like her? “I’m just trying to keep a sense of dignity for my office. Decorum.”
“I don’t think it works.”
This time he did laugh. “Not with you.”
When she didn’t reply, the corridor grew quiet. But this quiet was different from what he’d felt as he left Constanzo in the den. This quiet hummed with electricity.
He liked her. He didn’t want to like her but he did. And he wanted to kiss her.
He took another step closer. She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide and unsure. Temptation whispered through him. Once, just once, be with somebody who might truly understand. Be honest. Be yourself.
Her eyebrows rose.
Was she asking him to kiss her?
His gaze dropped to her mouth then returned to her eyes. He could imagine the smoothness of her succulent lips, see every move he’d make in his mind’s eye. He wouldn’t be gentle. She wasn’t gentle. She was open, frank, honest. He would kiss her that way.
A second ticked off the clock. Two. Three. He couldn’t quite get himself to bend and touch his lips to hers. Not because he didn’t want to. But because he so desperately did. An aching need filled his gut, tightened his chest. No one had ever caused feelings like these in him. No one had ever made him want so badly he could see a kiss before it happened.
She whispered, “Good night, Tucker,” and turned to grab the doorknob, her fingers trembling.
When she disappeared into her room, a rush of relief swooshed through him. They were wrong for each other. Too different. Nothing would come of them kissing. Especially not a relationship. And without a relationship, a kiss was—unwelcome? Unwarranted? A smart executive wouldn’t open himself to the trouble kissing an employee would bring.
* * *
Early the next morning, they climbed into one of Constanzo’s cars and headed even farther into the hills. Tucker set the GPS on his phone to Italian and Vivi’s mouth dropped.
“You speak Italian?”
He risked a sidelong glance. This morning she wore scruffy jeans that caressed her perfect behind and a pink casual top that brought out the best in her skin tones. After the near-miss with kissing her the night before, his body reacted as if he had a right to be interested, attracted, aroused by her innocent, girl-next-door sexiness.
He told his body to settle down. Yes, she was attractive and, yes, he was interested in her, but only sexually. In every other way they didn’t mesh. She had to be off-limits. “You don’t speak Italian?”
“No.”
Yet another thing added to the pile of reasons his attraction to her was ridiculous. “Well, don’t worry. Constanzo said his son was raised in the U.S., remember?”
Wind blew in through her open window and tossed strands of her hair across her face. Pulling them away, she asked, “Have you figured out what you’re going to say to him?”
“I’m going to flat out tell him who he is.”
She gaped at him. “I think that’s a mistake!”
And here was the real reason he wouldn’t kiss her, knew they’d never have a relationship, knew the taste of her lips that he longed for would only get him into trouble. If he wanted one route, she always wanted another. If that wasn’t proof his attraction to her was pointless, he didn’t know what was.
“I don’t think it’s a mistake. If my father had found me, that’s how I would want to be told. Up front and honest. I might be angry at first, but eventually I would mellow.”
“That just sounds wrong to me.”
“Of course it does.”
“What if Constanzo’s son’s not like you? What if he’s shy? Or quiet? Artistic types, as Constanzo’s file says his son is, aren’t like businessmen.”
“Oh, and you know a lot about this?”
She shrugged. “I know some. Everybody knows artists aren’t like businessmen. Otherwise, they’d be businessmen. They wouldn’t be artists.”
“Well, if he’s a shy starving artist who wears his heart on his sleeve, kick my shin and take over the conversation.”
“Me?”
“Hey, Constanzo wanted you here. Maybe this is why.” Which was the reason he couldn’t put her on his plane and send her back to the accounting department in the Inferno corporate offices in New York. Constanzo might pretend to be an easygoing, open book, but like any clever businessman he had his secrets, his ways of reading people. He’d seen something in Olivia that made him want her here. Tucker wouldn’t argue that. He’d use it.
She sighed and eased herself back to her seat. “I agree about kicking your shin, but if I do, you should just shift gears.”
“Let me assure you, Miss Prentiss—” he paused and sighed “—Vivi, if you kick my shin, you had better have a plan.”
The rest of the drive passed in silence until an isolated farmhouse came into view. Not renovated as Constanzo’s had been, Antonio’s run-down house had seen better days. The manicured grounds of Constanzo’s estate were replaced by fields teaming with tall grass and wildflowers.
“Obviously, the guy doesn’t own a lawn mower.”
“Or he likes nature.”
Tucker sniffed a laugh.
“What would you rather paint? A mowed lawn or a field of wildflowers against a blue, blue sky.”
Cutting the engine, Tucker rolled his eyes and shoved open his door. Vivi quickly followed suit. Behind Tucker, she picked her way up the loose stone walk. When they reached the door, he knocked three times in rapid succession.
Inhaling a big breath of fresh air, he glanced around. It really was quiet, peaceful, beautiful. He supposed he could understand why an artist would choose to live here. Especially if he’d come to Italy to get to know his mother’s country, to meet his extended family, and still have privacy.
The wooden door swung open. A man about as tall as Constanzo, wearing jeans and no shirt stood before them. “Yeah?”
“I’m Tucker Engle and this is my assistant, Olivia Prentiss.”
Vivi reached forward and extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. You can call me Vivi.”
The man cautiously took her hand, his dark eyes narrowing.
“Are you Antonio Signorelli?”
“Yes. Who are you?”
Tucker said, “Can we come in a minute?”
He started closing the door. “Actually, I’m very busy. And I don’t have time for sales people.”
Wedging his shoe between the door and its frame, Tucker laughed. “We’re not sales people. We’re here representing—”
Olivia kicked him in the shin. He yelped and jumped back.
She smiled sweetly at Antonio. “We’re representing a private collector who’s interested in sponsoring a showing of the artwork of someone new and fresh.”
Antonio visibly relaxed. “Really?”
“Look how he’s dressed?” She angled her thumb at Tucker and he glanced down at his suit coat and green tie. Sure he was a bit overdressed for the country. But he was a businessman not a hippie.
“I’m okay.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “But he’s obviously not a tourist and his clothes are too expensive for him to be a salesman. As I said, we represent a private collector.”
“And you want to show my work?”
Vivi stepped forward. “Well, we haven’t seen your work. Our client is an art patron, but he’s not a sap. Your work would have to meet certain standards.” She smiled. “We’d love to see it.”
As they waited for Antonio to take Vivi’s hint and let them in, Tucker scowled. She’d made fun of his clothes? Antonio had no shirt. Bare feet. Jeans that hung low on his hips. Sheesh. With his black curly hair tousled, the guy was a walking cologne ad. At least Tucker was fully covered.
Finally, Antonio opened the door wide enough for them to enter. “The place is a mess.”
Vivi put her hand on his forearm. “We’re not here to see the place. We’re here to see your work.” She glanced around. “I understand your primary venue is painting.”
“Yes.”
They entered a house desperately in need of updating. Lines in the plaster and a cracked window were the highlights of the room Antonio led them to. A half-finished painting sat on an easel. But many canvases leaned against the back wall.
The paintings lured Tucker into the room. Vivid colors and stark images dominated. He turned his head slightly and caught Antonio’s gaze.
“You have a unique way of looking at the world.”
Antonio laughed. “I had a unique upbringing.”
Tucker swung his gaze to Olivia. If ever there was an opening to tell him about his father, this was it. But she quickly shook her head.
He sucked back a sigh. She had better know what she was doing.
She turned to Antonio with a smile. “What was unique about your upbringing?”
He shrugged, walked to the stack of paintings where Tucker stood and flipped the first away from the second. “My mom died when I was young.” He took painting one and slid it aside so Tucker could more clearly see painting two. “I was raised in foster care.”
“So was I.” This time he didn’t look to Olivia for consent. This was Business Conversation 101. Identify with your client and have them identify with you. “Someone left me in a church.” He focused attention on the painting Antonio had bared for him. It was the proverbial field of wildflowers Vivi had talked about. Antonio had painted his backyard and it was stunning. He could almost feel the warmth of the sun, smell the flowers.
Antonio removed painting two, displaying painting three.
Olivia said, “So tell us more about yourself.”
“As I said, my mom died.” He slid it aside and stood beside Tucker again, patient, as if he’d had others view his work before and knew the drill. “I don’t know who my father is. But my mom was from around here. When I got old enough and had saved a few bucks, I came here to meet my relatives.” He laughed lightly. “And with landscapes like this to paint, you can see why I never left.”
Tucker reverently said, “I can.”
Olivia hung back. She didn’t have an artist’s eye, but she knew the paintings were good. Tucker, on the other hand, clearly thought they were magnificent. But it didn’t matter. Her brain had stalled on his quiet statement that he’d been left at a church, didn’t know his parents. Her heart broke a little bit picturing a tiny baby, wrapped in a blue blanket, alone for God knows how long in an empty church that had probably echoed with his cries.
But she forced herself to think about business. They’d opened a door for discussions about his parentage and one for displaying his work in a showing. She didn’t want to push too hard, too fast. It was time to go.
She stepped forward. “Mr. Engle will give you his cell phone number.” She smiled at Antonio, then Tucker. “And you can give us yours.” Antonio quickly tore a sheet from a drawing pad and scribbled his number before he handed it to Tucker. He tore off another sheet and offered it to Tucker to write his number too.
Instead Vivi’s boss pulled a business card from his jacket pocket.
“You’ll be hearing from us.”
Antonio beamed. “Great.”
