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He didn’t roll his eyes but he came damned close. “What business is that?”
“My company provides travel, translation and executive support services for Americans doing business in Europe. I’m here to scout locations for a high-level conference for one of our clients.”
He nodded, but made no comment as they approached the red convertible. Raising a knee, he balanced her on a hard, muscled thigh and reached down to open the passenger door. Despite her efforts to protect her ankle, Sabrina was gritting her teeth by the time he’d jockeyed her into the seat.
“My purse,” she ground out. “It’s in the rental car.”
He did the almost-eye-roll thing again.
Okay, so leaving her purse unattended in Italy—or anywhere else!—wasn’t the smartest thing to do. She certainly wouldn’t have done so under normal circumstances. But this was such an isolated stretch of road and she’d kept her rental car in view the whole time. Except when she’d nose-dived over the side of the cliff, of course.
Good thing she didn’t have her purse with her then. If she had, it might have gone the way of her cell phone. God knew where that was right now. One thing’s for sure, she wasn’t crawling back down the slope to look for it.
“I locked your car,” the doc informed her when he returned with her purse and the keys. “I’ll send someone back for it while you’re being attended to.”
He folded his muscular frame behind the wheel with practiced ease and keyed the Ferrari’s ignition. It came to life with a well-mannered growl.
“I’ll take you to the clinic in Positano. It’s small but well equipped.”
“How far is that?”
“Just there.” He indicated the cluster of colorful buildings clinging to the side of the cliff. “The place you were photographing,” he added on a dry note.
Sabrina was too preoccupied at the moment to respond. Navigating these narrow, twisting roads in the driver’s seat was nerve-racking enough. Sitting in the passenger seat, with a perpendicular drop-off mere inches away, it was a life-altering experience.
Stiff-armed, she braced her palms against the edge of her seat. Her uninjured leg instinctively thumped the floorboards, searching for the nonexistent brake on every turn. She sucked air whenever the Ferrari took a curve but gradually, grudgingly, had to admit the doc handled his powerful machine with unerring skill. Which didn’t explain why he’d seemed to aim right for her a while ago.
She must have startled him as much as he had her. Obviously, he hadn’t expected to encounter a pedestrian on that narrow curve. He wouldn’t encounter this one again, Sabrina vowed as the convertible hugged the asphalt on another switchback turn. She’d learned her lesson. No more excursions beyond the protection of the guardrails.
Dragging her attention from the sheer precipices, she pinned it on the driver. “Your name and accent are Italian, but your English has a touch of New York City in it.”
“You have a good ear. I did a three-year neurosurgical residency at Mount Sinai. I still consult there and fly over two or three times a year.” He sent a swift glance in her direction. “Are you a New Yorker?”
“I was once,” she got out, her uninjured foot stomping the floorboard again. “How about you keep your eyes on the road, Doc?”
She didn’t draw a full breath until the road cut away from the cliffs and buildings began to spring up on her side of the car.
Positano turned out to be a small town but one that obviously catered to the tourist trade during the regular season. This late in the year, many of the shops and restaurants were shuttered. Those still open displayed windows filled with glazed pottery and bottles of the region’s famous limoncello liqueur.
The town’s main street led straight down to a round-domed church and a piazza overlooking the sea, then straight up again. Since it was only two days past Christmas, the piazza was still decorated with festive garlands. A life-size nativity scene held the place of honor outside the church. Sabrina caught a glimpse of colorful fishing boats pulled up on a slice of rocky beach just before the doc made a sharp left and pulled into a small courtyard.
Killing the engine, he came around to the passenger side of the Ferrari. Once again she looped her arm around his neck. Her cheek brushed his when he lifted her. The bristles set the nerves just under her skin to dancing as he carried her toward a set of double glass doors.
The doors swished open at their approach. The nurse at the counter glanced up, her eyes widening in surprise.
“Sua Eccellenza!”
Sabrina’s German and French were much better than her Italian, but she was fairly certain nurses didn’t routinely accord physicians the title of Your Excellency. The rest of their conversation was so machine-gun fast, however, she didn’t have time to figure that one out before the nurse rushed forward with a wheelchair.
“Rafaela will take you to X-ray,” the doc said as he lowered her into the chair. “I’ll speak with you after I review the films.”
She must look like she’d just fallen off a cliff, Sabrina thought ruefully. The nurse gave her a fish-eyed stare until a sharp order from the doc put her in motion. With a squeak of the chair’s rubber wheels, she propelled Sabrina through another set of double doors.
Marco remained in the reception area for a long time after the doors swished shut. He couldn’t blame Rafaela for gaping at this woman, this Sabrina Russo. The resemblance was incredible.
So incredible, he’d almost lost control of his car when he’d spotted her back there on that narrow road. Thank the Lord instinct had taken over from his shocked brain! Without thinking, he’d cut back into the proper lane and jammed on the brakes.
Then his only concern was getting to her, making sure she’d survived the fall. But now …
Now there was nothing to keep him reliving those terrifying seconds just before she fell. One thought and one thought only hammered into his skull.
He might have killed her. Again.
His jaw clenched so tight his back teeth ground together. Unseeing, Marco stared at the double doors. A phone buzzed somewhere in the distance. Outside, a horn honked with typical Italian impatience.
He heard nothing, saw nothing but the image of the woman who’d disappeared behind the doors. Her face, her features remained vivid in his mind as he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket.
The picture he drew out of his wallet was old and dog-eared. It was the only snapshot he hadn’t been able to bring himself to pack away. His throat tight, he stared down at the laughing couple.
He’d been in his early twenties, a premed student at the University of Milan. Gianetta was three years younger. She looked so vibrant, so alive in this faded picture that a fist seemed to reach into Marco’s chest and rip out his beating, bleeding heart.
How young they’d been then. How blinded by lust. So sure their passion would stand the test of time. So heedless of the words of caution both his family and hers felt compelled to voice.
He should have listened, Marco thought savagely. He’d been premed, for God’s sake! He should have recognized the signs. The soaring highs. The sudden lows. The wild exuberance he’d ascribed to the mindless energy of youth. The seeds had been there, though. He could see them now in the laughing face turned up to the camera.
A face that was almost the mirror image of Sabrina Russo’s.
She could be Gianetta’s sister. Her twin. They had the same sun-streaked blond hair. The same slanting brown eyes. The same stubborn chin.
Or …
His stomach knotting, Marco echoed the irrational, improbable thought that had leaped into his mind when he’d glimpsed the woman in the road.
She could be his wife.
Gianetta, who had insisted on launching the sailboat despite the weather warnings.
Gianetta, whose frantic radio call for help still haunted his dreams.
Gianetta, whose body had never been recovered from the sea.
With a muttered oath, Marco shook his head. He’d been working too hard. Performing too many difficult surgeries. The long hours and unrelenting pace had gotten to him. How absurd to fantasize for so much as a single second that this American, this Sabrina Russo, could be his dead wife!
He was glad now his surgical team had pleaded with him to take a long-overdue break between Christmas and New Year’s. Obviously, he needed it.
With another impatient shake of his head, he pushed through the double doors and strode down the hall toward X-ray.
Two
Wincing, Sabina swung her legs off the X-ray table and sat up on the edge. The remains of the boot they’d had to cut off lay discarded beside the table.
“Allow me to assist you, Ms. Russo.”
Rafaela nudged the wheelchair closer. After a somewhat graceless transfer, the nurse got Sabrina settled into the chair.
“I shall take you to an exam room, yes? Dr. Calvetti will review the X-rays and consult with you there.”
“You called him something else when we first came in,” Sabrina commented as she was wheeled into the corridor. “Eccellenza, wasn’t it?”
“Si.”
“What’s with that?”
“He prefers to use his medical title here at the clinic, but I forget myself sometimes. My mother cooks and cleans for him when he’s in residence at his villa, you see.”
“Not really. Who is he?”
“His Excellency Don Marco Antonio Sonestra di Calvetti, twelfth Duke of San Giovanti, fourteenth Marquis of Caprielle, ninth Marquis d’Almalfi, Count Palatine, sixteenth Baron of Ravenna …” She paused. “Or is it the seventeenth Baron Ravenna?”
“You got me.”
“There are more titles. Many more.” Smiling, Rafaela steered her patient into an exam room and set the brake. “Mama can recite the entire list without taking a breath. She has worked for the Calvetti family since she was a young girl.”
Okay, Sabrina was impressed. So the doc was also a duke. Not to mention a world-class hunk. The combination was almost enough to make her forget how close His Excellency had come to flattening her into roadkill.
But not quite enough to keep her from scowling when he delivered the good news/bad news.
“The X-rays show no sign of concussion or fractured bones in your ankle. However, you may have damaged or torn a ligament. We won’t know for sure until we perform a stress test.”
“Where and when do we do that?”
“It’s a simple test. A manipulation of the foot and ankle. I’ll do it now if you can stand the pain.”
Uh-oh! That didn’t sound good.
“Once we are done, I will prescribe painkillers. But you must be alert for the manipulation, so you can tell me when I hurt you.”
When, not if. That sounded even worse.
“Okay, Doc, let’s get this over with. Or should I say duke?”
“Either will suffice.” Those dark eyes held hers. “Given the circumstances, perhaps we should dispense with titles altogether.”
She wasn’t sure exactly what circumstances he referred to but had no problem with a more egalitarian approach. “That’s fine with me.”
“Good. You must call me Marco. And may I call you Sabrina?”
She granted the polite request with a regal nod. “You may.”
“Very well, Sabrina. Rafaela and I will help you onto the exam table.”
She managed it with their assistance and a couple of hops. Once they had her in place, Rafaela rolled up the hem of the wool slacks. The bruised, inflated sausage she revealed made Sabrina grimace.
“Lovely,” she muttered.
“It will get worse before it gets better,” the doc—duke—Marco warned.
He washed his hands at the sink in the exam room. The scent of antibacterial soap came with him as he rolled a stool close to the table, seated himself and cupped her heel. His touch was gentle, lulling Sabrina into a false sense of security. That lasted only until he flattened his other hand against her shin and applied pressure. The pain almost brought her off the table.
“Okay, okay,” she gasped. “You found the not-so-sweet spot.”
He relieved the frontal pressure and applied it sideways. More prepared this time, Sabrina merely gritted her teeth.
“It is not as bad as I feared,” he said when he’d completed the test.
“Easy for you to say!”
“I don’t believe you’ve torn the ligaments, merely strained them. We will wrap the ankle in a compression bandage. Then you must stay off your feet, apply ice and take the painkillers I will prescribe.”
“Stay off my feet for how long?”
“As a minimum, until the swelling goes down and the pain lessens. After that, you may require crutches for a few days to a week.”
“A week!”
Sabrina swallowed a groan. Her tight schedule was disintegrating before her eyes. She’d already rearranged it once to spend Christmas Day in Austria with her two best friends and business partners.
Sabrina, Devon McShay and Caroline Walters had met years ago while spending their junior year studying at the University of Salzburg. Filled with the dreams and enthusiasm of youth, the three coeds had formed a fast friendship. They’d maintained that friendship long distance in the years that followed. Until last May, when they’d met for a minireunion.
After acknowledging that their lives hadn’t lived up to their dreams, they’d decided to pool resources. Two months later, they’d quit their respective jobs and launched European Business Services, Incorporated. EBS for short. Specializing in arranging transportation, hotels, conference facilities, translation and other support services for busy executives.
Now Devon McShay, the former history professor, Caroline Walters, the quiet, introverted librarian, and Sabrina the one-time rebel and good-time girl were hard-nosed businesswomen. They had an office and a small staff in a Washington, D.C., suburb and had spent megabucks on advertising. They’d landed a few jobs, but nothing big until aerospace mogul Cal Logan hired EBS to work his short-notice trip to Germany.
Sabrina had done most of the frantic prep work for Logan’s five-day, three-city blitz, but came down with the flu the day before she was supposed to fly to Germany. Devon took the trip instead, with some interesting results. Sexy Cal Logan had made it plain he wanted to merge more than business interests with Devon.
Dev was now scrambling to put together a conference for high-level Logan Aerospace executives while Caroline and Sabrina divided forces to scout locations for the lucrative new contract they’d just landed with Global Security International.
Their client wanted to hold the conference the second week in February in either Italy or Spain. Caro and Sabrina had jumped on the computer to find locations with sufficient available rooms and conference facilities on such short notice.
Their choices narrowed to a handful of potential sites, Caro flew into Barcelona to physically inspect those along Spain’s Costa Bravo. Sabrina was supposed to check the possibilities here, on Italy’s Amalfi Coast. They had less than two weeks to put together an acceptable proposal, and Sabrina wasn’t about to let a little thing like a sprained ankle deter her.
There was another side to her determination. One that went deeper and struck at what she was. Or what she used to be. She’d struggled too long to get out of her father’s shadow … and taken too much crap from him and his lawyers when she’d resigned from the board of the Russo Foundation to go into business with her two friends. Sabrina fully intended to make it on her own and make a success of EBS, which meant hopping off this exam table and getting her butt in gear.
She aimed her best smile at the doc/duke. “Bring on the ace bandage and painkillers, and I’ll be on my way.”
“Your way to where?”
“I’m booked in a hotel in Ravello tonight. I’m scouting it as a possible conference site.”
