Under The Tuscan Sun...: A Bride for the Italian Boss / Return of the Italian Tycoon / Reunited by a Baby Secret

That night when she called Paul, he immediately asked when she was returning. Her heart lifted a bit hearing that. “I hate talking on the phone.”

It was the most romantic thing he’d ever said to her. Until he added, “I’d rather just wait until you get home to talk.”

“Oh.”

“Now, don’t get pouty. You know you have a tendency to talk too much.”

She was chatty.

“Anyway, I’m at work. I’ve got to go.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Call me from your apartment when you get home.”

She frowned. Home? Did he not want to talk to her for an entire month? “Aren’t you going to pick me up at the airport?”

“Maybe, but you’ll probably be getting in at rush hour or something. Taking a taxi would be easier, wouldn’t it? We’ll see how the time works out.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“Good. Gotta run.”

Even as she disconnected the call, she thought of Rafe. She couldn’t see him telling his almost fiancée to call when she arrived at her apartment after nearly seven months without seeing each other. He’d race to the airport, grab her in baggage claim and kiss her senseless.

Her breath vanished when she pictured the scene, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She really could not think like that. She absolutely couldn’t start comparing Paul and Rafe. Especially not when it came to passion. Poor sensible Paul would always suffer by comparison.

Plus, her feelings for Rafe were connected to the rush of pleasure she got from finding a place in his restaurant, being more than useful, offering ideas a renowned chef had implemented. For a former foster child, having somebody give her a sense of worth and value was like gold.

And that’s all it was. Attraction to his good looks and appreciation that he recognized and told her she was doing a good job.

She did not want him.

Really.

She needed somebody like Paul.

Though she knew that was true, it didn’t sit right. She couldn’t stop thinking about the way he didn’t want to pick her up at the airport, how he’d barely had two minutes to talk to her and how he’d told her not to call again.

She tried to read, tried to chat with Louisa about the house, but in the end, she knew she needed to get herself out of the house or she’d make herself crazy.

She told Louisa she was going for a drive and headed into town.

* * *

Antsy, unable to focus, and afraid he was going to royally screw something up and disappoint a customer, Rafe turned Mancini’s over to Emory.

“It’s not like you to leave so early.”

“It’s already eight o’clock.” Rafe shrugged into his black wool coat. “Maybe too many back-to-back days have made me tired.”

Emory smiled. “Ah, so maybe like Dani, you need a day off?”

Buttoning his coat, he ignored the dig and walked to the back door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

But as he was driving through town, he saw the ugly green car Dani drove sitting at the tavern again. The last time she’d been there had been the day he’d inadvertently insulted her. She didn’t seem like the type to frequent taverns, so what if she was upset again?

His heart gave a kick and he whipped his SUV into a parking place, raced across the quiet street and entered the tavern to find her at the same table she’d been at before.

He walked over. She glanced up.

Hungrier for the sight of her than was wise, he held her gaze as he slid onto the chair across from her. “So this is how you spend your precious time off.”

She shook her head. “Don’t start.”

He hadn’t meant to be argumentative. In fact that was part of their problem. There was no middle with them. They either argued or lusted after each other. Given that he was her boss and she was engaged, both were wrong.

The bartender ambled over. He set a coaster in front of Rafe with a sigh. “You want another bottle of that fancy wine?”

Rafe shook his head and named one of the beers on tap before he pointed to Dani’s glass. “And another of whatever she’s having.”

As the bartender walked away, she said, “You don’t have to buy me a beer.”

“I’m being friendly because I think we need to find some kind of balance.” He was tired of arguing, but he also couldn’t go on thinking about her all the time. The best way to handle both would be to classify their relationship as a friendship. Tonight, he could get some questions answered, get to know her and see that she was just like everybody else. Not somebody special. Then they could both go back to normal.

“Balance?”

He shrugged. Leaning back, he anchored his arm across the empty chair beside him. “We’re either confiding like people who want to become lovers, or we fight.”

She turned her beer glass nervously. “That’s true.”

“So, we drink a beer together. We talk about inconsequential things, and Wednesday when you return to Mancini’s, no one snipes.”

She laughed.

He smiled. “What did you do today?”

“I went to the town where my foster mother’s relatives lived.”

His beer arrived. Waiting for her to elaborate, he took a sip. Then another. When she didn’t say anything else, he asked, “So did you find them?”

“Not yet. But I will.”

Her smooth skin virtually glowed. Her blue eyes met his. Interest and longing swam through him. He ignored both in favor of what now seemed to be a good mission. Becoming friends. Finding a middle ground where they weren’t fighting or lusting, but a place where they could coexist.

“What did you do today?”

“Today I created a lasagna that should have made customers die from pleasure.”

She laughed. “Exaggerate much?”

He pointed a finger at her. “It’s not an exaggeration. It’s confidence.”

“Ah.”

“You don’t like confidence?”

She studied his face. “Maybe it’s more that I don’t trust it.”

“What’s to trust? I love to cook, to make people happy, to surprise them with something wonderful. But I didn’t just open a door to my kitchen and say, come eat this. I went to school. I did apprenticeships. My confidence is in my teachers’ ability to take me to the next level as much as it is in my ability to learn, and then do.”

Her head tilted. “So it’s not all about you.”

He laughed, shook his head. “Where do you get these ideas?”

“You’re kind of arrogant.”

He batted his hand. “Arrogant? Confident? Who cares as long as the end result is good?”

“I guess...”

“I know.” He took another sip of beer, watching as she slid her first drink—which he assumed was warm—aside and reached for the second glass he’d bought for her. “Not much of a drinker?”

“No.”

“So what are you?”

She laughed. “Is this how you become friends with someone?”

“Conversation is how everyone becomes friends.”

“I thought it was shared experience.”

“We don’t have time for shared experience. If we want to become friends by Wednesday we need to take shortcuts.”

She inclined her head as if agreeing.

He waited. When she said nothing, he reframed his question. “So you are happy teaching?”

“I’m a good teacher.”

“But you are not happy?”

“I’m just not sure people are supposed to be happy.”

He blinked. That was the very last thing he’d expected to hear from his bubbly hostess. “Seriously?”

She met his gaze. “Yeah. I think we’re meant to be content. I think we’re meant to find a spot and fill it. But happy? That’s reserved for big events or holidays.”

For thirty seconds, he wished she were staying in Italy. He wished he had time enough to show her the sights, teach her the basics of cooking, make her laugh, show her what happiness was. But that wasn’t the mission. The mission was to get to know her just enough that they would stop arguing.

“This from my happy, upbeat hostess?”

She met his gaze again. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about work.”

“We’re talking about you, not work.”

She picked up her beer glass. “Maybe this isn’t the best time to talk about me.”

Which only filled him with a thousand questions. When she was at Mancini’s she was usually joyful. After a day off, she was as sad as the day he’d hurt her feelings? It made no sense...unless he believed that she loved working in his restaurant enough that it filled her with joy.

That made his pulse jump, made his mind race with thoughts he wasn’t supposed to have. So he rose.

“Okay. Talking is done. We’ll try shared experience.” He pointed behind her. “We’ll play darts.”

Clearly glad they’d no longer be talking, she laughed. “Good.”

“So you play darts at home in New York?”

She rose and followed him to the board hung on a back wall. They passed the quiet pool table, and he pulled some darts from the corkboard beside the dartboard.

“No, I don’t play darts.”

“Great. So we play for money?”

She laughed again. “No! We’ll play for fun.”

He sighed as if put out. “Too bad.”

But as they played, she began to talk about her search for her foster mother’s family. Her voice relaxed. Her smile returned. And Rafe was suddenly glad he’d found her. Not for his mission to make her his friend. But because she was alone. And in spite of her contention that people weren’t supposed to be happy, her normal state was happy. He’d seen that every day at the restaurant. But something had made her sad tonight.

Reminded of the way he had made her sad by saying she wasn’t needed, he redoubled his efforts to make her smile.

* * *

It was easy for Dani to dismiss the significance of Rafe finding her in the bar. They lived in a small town. He didn’t have a whole hell of a lot of choices for places to stop after work. So she wouldn’t let her crazy brain tell her it was sweet that he’d found her. She’d call it what it was. Lack of options.

Playing darts with her, Rafe was kind and polite, but not sexy. At least not deliberately sexy. There were some things a really handsome man couldn’t control. So she didn’t think he was coming on to her when he swaggered over to pull the darts from the board after he threw them. She didn’t think he was trying to entice her when he laughed at her poor attempts at hitting the board. And she absolutely made nothing of it when he stood behind her, took her arm and showed her the motion she needed to make to get the dart going in the right direction.

Even though she could smell him, feel the heat of his body as he brushed up against her back, and feel the vibrations of his warm whisper as he pulled her arm back and demonstrated how to aim, she knew he meant nothing by any of it. He just wanted to be friends.

When their third beer was gone and the hour had gotten late, she smiled at him. “Thank you. That was fun.”

His silver eyes became serious. “You were happy?”

She shook her head at his dog-with-a-bone attitude. “Sort of. Yes. It was a happy experience.”

He sniffed and walked back to their table to retrieve his coat. “Everyone is made to be happy.”

She didn’t believe that. Though she liked her life and genuinely liked people, she didn’t believe her days were supposed to be one long party. But she knew it was best not to argue. She joined him at their table and slipped into her coat.

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

She shook her head. “No.” Their gazes caught. “I’m fine.”

He dipped his head in a quick nod, agreeing, and she walked out into the cold night. Back into the world where her stable fiancé wouldn’t even pick her up at the airport.

CHAPTER SEVEN

WHEN DANI ENTERED the restaurant on Wednesday ten minutes before the start of her shift, Rafe stood by the bar, near the kitchen. As if he’d sensed her arrival, he turned. Their gazes caught. Dani’s heart about pounded its way out of her chest. She reminded herself that though they’d spent an enjoyable evening together playing darts at the tavern, for him it had been about becoming friends. He hadn’t made any passes at her—though he’d had plenty of chances—and he’d made a very good argument for why being friends was a wise move for them.

Still, when he walked toward her, her heart leaped. But he passed the podium to unlock the front door. As he turned to return to the kitchen, he said, “Good morning.”

She cleared her throat, hoping to rid it of the fluttery feeling floating through her at being in the same room with him. Especially since they were supposed to be friends now. Nothing more. “Good morning.”

“How did your search go for your foster mother’s relatives yesterday?”

She shook her head. “Still haven’t found them, but I got lots of information from people who had been their neighbors. Most believe they moved to Rome.”

“Rome?” He shook his head. “No kidding.”

“Their former neighbors said something about one of their kids getting a job there and the whole family wanting to stay together.”

“Nice. Family should stay together.”

“I agree.”

She turned to the podium. He walked to the kitchen. But she couldn’t help thinking that while Paul hadn’t said a word about her quest for Rosa’s family, Rafe had immediately asked. Like someone who cared about her versus someone who didn’t.

She squeezed her eyes shut and told herself not to think like that. They were friends. Only friends.

But all day, she was acutely aware of him. Anytime she retrieved him to escort him to a table, she felt him all around her. Her skin tingled. Everything inside her turned soft and feminine.

At the end of the night, the waitstaff and kitchen help disappeared like rats on a sinking ship. Rafe ambled to the bar, pulled a bottle of wine from the rack behind it.

The Chianti. The wine he’d ordered for them at the tavern.

Her heart trembled. She’d told him she liked that wine.

Was he asking her to stay now? To share another bottle of the wine she’d said she liked?

Longing filled her and she paused by the podium. When he didn’t even look in her direction, she shuffled a bit, hoping the movement would cause him to see her and invite her to stay.

He kept his gaze on a piece of paper sitting on the bar in front of him. Still, she noticed a second glass by the bottle. He had poured wine in one glass but the other was empty—yet available.

She bit her lip. Was that glass an accident? An oversight? Or was that glass her invitation?

She didn’t know. And things were going so well between them professionally that she didn’t want to make a mistake that took them back to an uncomfortable place.

Still, they’d decided to be friends. Wouldn’t a friend want another friend to share a glass of wine at the end of the night?

She drew in a slow breath. She had one final way to get him to notice her and potentially invite her to sit with him. If he didn’t take this hint, then she would leave.

Slowly, cautiously, she called, “Good night.”

He looked over. He hesitated a second, but only a second, before he said, “Good night.”

Disappointment stopped her breathing. Nonetheless, she smiled and headed for the door. She walked to Louisa’s beat-up old car, got in, slid the key in the ignition...

And lowered her head to the steering wheel.

She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to tell him about the countryside she’d seen as she looked for Rosa’s relatives. She longed to tell him about the meals she’d eaten. She yearned to ask him how the restaurant had been the two days she was gone. She needed to get not just the cursory answers he’d given her but the real in-depth stuff. Like a friend.

But she also couldn’t lie to herself. She wanted that crazy feeling he inspired in her. Lust or love, hormones or genuine attraction, she had missed that feeling. She’d missed him. No matter how much she told herself she just wanted to be his friend, it was a lie.

A light tapping on her window had her head snapping up.

Rafe.

She quickly lowered the window to see what he wanted.

“Are you okay?”

Her heart swelled, then shrank and swelled again. Everything he did confused her. Everything she felt around him confused her even more.

“Are you ill?”

She shook her head.

Damn it. She squeezed her eyes shut and decided to just go with the truth. “I saw you with the wine and thought I should have joined you.” She caught the gaze of his smoky-gray eyes. “You said we were going to be friends. And I was hoping you sitting at the bar with a bottle of wine was an invitation.”

He stepped back. She’d never particularly thought of a chef’s uniform as being sexy, but he’d taken off the jacket, revealing a white T-shirt that outlined muscles and a flat stomach. Undoubtedly hot from working in the kitchen, he didn’t seem bothered by the cold night air.

“I always have a glass of wine at the end of the night.”

So, her instincts had been wrong. If she’d just started her car and driven off, she wouldn’t be embarrassed right now. “Okay. Good.”

He glanced down into the car at her. “But I wouldn’t have minded company.”

Embarrassment began to slide away, only to be replaced by the damnable confusion. “Oh.”

“I simply don’t steal women who belong to other men.”

“It wouldn’t be stealing if we were talking about work, becoming friends like you said we should.”

“That night was a one-time thing. A way to get to know each other so we could stop aggravating each other.”

“So we’re really not friends?”

He laughed and glanced away at the beautiful starlit sky. “We’re now friendly enough to work together. Men only try to become ‘real’ friends so that they can ultimately become lovers.”

The way he said lovers sent a wave of yearning skittering along her nerve endings. It suddenly became difficult to breathe.

He caught her gaze again. “I’ve warned you before to be careful with me, Dani. I’m not a man who often walks away from what he wants.”

“Wow. You are one honest guy.”

He laughed. “Usually I wouldn’t care. I’d muscle my way into your life and take what I wanted. But you’re different. You’re innocent.”

“I sort of liked being different until you added the part about me being innocent.”

“You are.”

“Well, yeah. Sort of.” She tossed her hands in exasperation, the confusion and longing getting the better of her. “But you make it sound like a disease.”

“It’s not. It’s actually a quality men look for in a woman they want to keep.”

Her heart fluttered again. “Oh?”

“Don’t get excited about that. I’m not the kind of guy who commits. I like short-term relationships because I don’t like complications. I’m attracted to you, yes, but I also know myself. My commitment to the restaurant comes before any woman.” He forced her gaze to his again. “This thing I feel for you is wrong. So as much as I wanted you to take the hint tonight and share a bottle of wine with me, I also hoped you wouldn’t. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“We could always talk about the restaurant.”

“About how you were missed? How a customer actually asked for you?”

She laughed. “See? That’s all great stuff. Neutral stuff.”

“I suppose you also wouldn’t be opposed to hearing that Emory thinks that after the success of your lunch menu, we should encourage you to make suggestions.”

Pride flooded her. “Well, I’ll do my best to think of new things.”

He glanced at the stars again. Their conversation had run its course. He stood in the cold. She sat in a car that could be warm if she’d started the darn thing. But the air between them was anything but cool, and she suddenly realized they were kidding themselves if they believed they could be just friends.

He looked down and smiled slightly. “Good night, Dani.”

He didn’t wait for her to say good-night. He walked away.

She sat there for a few seconds, tingling, sort of breathless, but knowing he was right. They couldn’t be friends and they couldn’t have a fling. She was innocent and he would hurt her. And though technically she’d stretched the truth about being engaged, it was saving her heartbreak.

After starting her car, she pulled out, watching in the rearview mirror as he revved the engine of his big SUV and followed her to Monte Calanetti.

* * *

Though Dani dressed in her usual black trousers and white blouse the next morning, she took extra care when she ironed them, making them crisper, their creases sharper, so she looked more professional when she arrived at the restaurant.

Rafe spoke sparingly. It wasn’t long before she realized that unless she had a new idea to discuss, they wouldn’t interact beyond his thank-you when she introduced him to a customer who wanted to compliment the chef.

She understood. Running into each other at the tavern the first time and talking out their disagreement, then playing darts the second, had made them friendly enough that they no longer sniped. But having minimal contact with her was how he would ignore their attraction. They weren’t right for each other and, older, wiser, he was sparing them both. But that didn’t really stop her attraction to him.

To keep herself from thinking about Rafe on Friday, she studied the customer seating, the china and silverware, the interactions of the waitresses with the customers, but didn’t come up with an improvement good enough to suggest to him.

A thrill ran through her at the knowledge that he took her ideas so seriously. Here she was, an educated but simple girl from Brooklyn, being taken seriously by a lauded European chef.

The sense of destiny filled her again, along with Rafe’s comment about happiness. This time her thoughts made her gasp. What if this feeling of rightness wasn’t about Rafe or Italy? What if this sense of being where she belonged was actually telling her the truth about her career choice? She loved teaching, but it didn’t make her feel she belonged the way being a part of this restaurant did. And maybe this sense of destiny was simply trying to point her in the direction of a new career when she returned to the United States?

The thought relieved her. Life was so much simpler when the sense of destiny was something normal, like an instinct for the restaurant business, rather than longing for her boss—a guy she shouldn’t even be flirting with when she had a marriage proposal waiting for her at home.

Emory came to the podium and interrupted her thoughts. “These are the employee phone numbers. Gio called off sick for tonight’s shift. I’d like you to call in a replacement.”

She glanced up at him. “Who should I call?”

He smiled. “Your choice. Being out here all the time, you know who works better with whom.”

After calling Zola, she walked back to the kitchen to return the list.

Emory shook his head. “This is your responsibility now. A new job for you, while you’re here, to make my life a little easier.”

She smiled. “Okay.”

Without looking at her, Rafe said, “We’d also like you to begin assigning tasks to the busboys. After you say goodbye to a guest, we’d like you to come in and get the busboys. That will free up the waitresses a bit.”

The feeling of destiny swelled in her again. The new tasks felt like a promotion, and there wasn’t a person in the world who didn’t like being promoted.

When Rafe refused to look at her, she winked at Emory. “Okay.”

Walking back to the dining room, she fought the feeling that her destiny, her gift, was for this particular restaurant. Especially since, when returning to New York, she’d start at the bottom of any dining establishment she chose to work, and that would be a problem since she’d only make minimum wage. At Mancini’s, she only needed to earn extra cash. In New York, would a job as a hostess support her?

The next day, Lazare, one of the busboys, called her “Miss Daniella.” The shift from Dani to Miss Daniella caught on in the kitchen and the show of respect had Daniella’s shoulders straightening with confidence. When she brought Rafe out for a compliment from a customer, even he said, “Thank you, Miss Daniella,” and her heart about popped out of her chest with pride.