Slow Tango With a Prince (Royal Scandals) (25 page)

To her credit, Emily remained silent, her caring expression and gentle touch making it clear she was willing to listen and offer comfort, but at his pace. He hadn’t realized until now how desperately he craved it. He covered her hand with his own and exhaled as he closed his eyes. “I tried to tell myself that her boyfriend must’ve done it. I imagined him as a maniac who’d lost it when he discovered his career plan had been shot to hell. But I knew in my heart that wasn’t true.” The laugh that escaped him sounded pained, even to his own ears. “Didn’t stop me from checking to see where the bastard was when she died. Turns out he was working on a movie set in Berlin with dozens of witnesses. Had been for weeks, since before I’d learned the truth and ended things.”

The day after Vittorio received Carmella’s letter, Alessandro had caught Vittorio at his computer, searching for information on Carmella’s lover. Alessandro placed a hand over the screen and told Vittorio to stop grasping at straws. Carmella’s boyfriend may have been a dishonest slime, but he wasn’t a murderer, and they both knew it.

Still, what choice did Vittorio have but to grasp at straws? He couldn’t fathom why Carmella had taken her own life when she had so much for which to live. Despite their breakup, she still had a career in ascent and a family who loved her deeply. She had to have felt she had no options, and he was the only one who could’ve made her feel that way. It’d taken several weeks on his own in Argentina to finally forgive her for what she’d done.
 

But Vittorio wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive himself. He could only move forward.

Turning slightly into his pillow, he managed to blot away the tears that had pooled in the outer corner of his eye. It appalled him that Emily might’ve noticed. “Part of me wonders if I could’ve prevented her suicide if I’d taken her at her word and given her a second chance, or if I’d tried to look at the situation from her perspective, to see that she’d been trapped between a rock and a hard place with her boyfriend telling her he was willing to blackmail her….”
 

Emily started to speak, but he shook his head, cutting her off. He swallowed hard, driving back the mass in his throat. “None of it even matters now. I was so focused on my own reputation and on seeing things as black or white, right or wrong, that I isolated her completely. Four times in those weeks between our breakup and her suicide, she tried to call me on my private line. I didn’t answer. Deleted her messages without listening to them. Then I blocked her number.”

He’d never confessed the phone calls to anyone, even Alessandro. “I was so stubborn, so holier-than-thou, that I ended up with two deaths on my hands.”
 

Chapter Seventeen

Emily ached to pull Vittorio to her, to cradle his dark head in the crook of her neck and offer reassurance, but the vehemence in his tone gave her pause. He didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for him, and he’d view any attempt at physical comfort as such. She strongly suspected he didn’t want to be forgiven, either. He wasn’t ready. Too much guilt weighed on him. But he needed to know it wasn’t his
fault
. If he couldn’t come to believe that, it’d be a festering wound on his soul for as long as he lived. He’d never get to the point where he could forgive himself.

Rather than offer placating words, she opted for a lighthearted approach. “Here I was beating myself up for quitting a job I loved to make a guy happy.”
 

It had the desired effect. His mouth lifted at one edge.

Bolstered, she spoke quietly, keeping her voice matter-of-fact rather than sympathetic. “I can’t begin to put myself in your shoes, but no matter what else you believe, your girlfriend’s death wasn’t your fault.
She
made that choice. And despite the circumstances, the fact is that you didn’t know about the baby. Again, it was
her
choice. There’s a lot I don’t know about you, but I know enough to believe with absolute certainty that you’d never harm another human being. You should know yourself well enough to believe that, too.” She tapped his chest. “Even if you are a terrible judge of character.”
 

She half-expected him to lash out, to tell her she had no idea what she was talking about, didn’t know the people involved or understand how awfully he’d treated his ex. Instead, he surprised her with his steadiness. “Logically, I understand that. But it’s another thing to know it in your heart. It takes time.” A self-deprecating laugh emerged from him, shaking her fingertips where they lay over his heart. “At least five months.”

She was gratified by his response. “She’s why you came to Argentina.”

“She’s why I came. But
you
are why I’m going home. You convinced me it was time.”

He said it as a compliment, which touched her. “I’m sure your family is worried, given all you’ve been through and how long you’ve been away.”

“They don’t know about it.” One of his eyebrows jerked. “Well, not all of it. They know that we broke up and that she committed suicide shortly thereafter. My mother is the only person who knows of the deception, though she may have confided in my father. She doesn’t know about the letter. However, one of my brothers knows of the letter and its contents because he was with me when it arrived. Otherwise, I’d never have told them.”

“That’s a lot to keep to yourself.”

He gave her the barest of shrugs in response. “In the long run it was good my brother was there. He’s the one who encouraged me to travel and clear my head. He also knew what to do to ensure I was covered at work. But now it’s time to go home.”

“Though you’ll be back.” At the odd look that passed over his face, she clarified, “Given that you’re looking at apartments.”

“Of course.” His brow furrowed as if he’d temporarily forgotten his quest for a getaway spot. “It’s a good city for getting one’s bearings.”

“Funny, I’ve discovered the same thing.”

They lay quietly, only the sounds of their breathing and the low hum of distant traffic breaking the silence. Just as she was drifting off to sleep, Vittorio pushed the hair back from her face, then rolled so she was on her back with his forearms braced on either side of her.

Exhaustion couldn’t stop her from snaking her arms around his waist. “Not that I object, but you’ve got to be kidding.”

That drew a wide smile from him, enough to show his straight, white teeth. “No, I’m afraid I don’t have it in me at the moment. But” —his voice dropped to a sultry pitch— “if you can handle one last confession?”

“Sounds scandalous. Please, do share.”

“I’ve never had a one-night stand before. Never considered myself the type.”
 

“That’s…interesting.” She waited a few beats for doubt to creep into his expression at her word choice before she whispered, “I can make that same confession.”

One side of his mouth curved upward, turning her inside out. “Interesting.”

Once more she wondered what he’d look like without the dark, foreboding facial hair. Given his even olive skin, strong cheekbones, and the bright brown eyes that studied her from behind his thick lashes, she imagined he’d be even more captivating, though perhaps not as mysterious.

His gaze followed his touch as he combed through her hair, spreading it across the pillow before he caressed the outside of her ear and traced her earring with his index finger. “I know this can’t last. I’m flying home Monday to face the real world and you’re going back to New York to prepare for another successful season of
At Home Abroad
” —he winked as he said it— “but before this ends, I want you to know that kissing you tonight was the best promise I’ve ever broken. If someone told me I’d have a one-night stand at some point in my life, I’d choose you a thousand times over.”

It was the most contradictory yet romantic thing she’d ever heard. Emily reached for his nape, pulling him to her for a kiss. She wanted to remember the feel of his sinful mouth melding to hers, the masterful swirl of his tongue, the electricity of his touch for as long as she lived.

“Tonight has been very good for me. As well as very good…period.” The sincerity in his lush accent fired her blood as powerfully as his kisses.

“I suspect we both needed this.” He was such a dynamic, resilient man, one who likely had women falling for him left and right. Hell, if she allowed herself, she’d fall for him, too.
 

“Tomorrow, after your filming wraps, what would you say to a second one-night stand?”

Yes. A thousand times over.
A deep sigh escaped her. “Unfortunately, I can’t. We always go out for a celebratory dinner on the last day of filming. Rita and I treat the crew and office staff as thanks for the time and effort they’ve given to the show. The reservations are already made and I suspect it will last until the early morning hours.” Taking a chance, she added, “But if you’re not busy on Saturday night—”

He cut her off with a kiss. “It’s a date.”

* * *

Summer was winding down in Buenos Aires, yet Emily wouldn’t have known the date if she had to judge by the temperature. It was barely ten in the morning, yet the cloudless sky and reflected heat from the glass buildings and asphalt roadways combined to raise a sheen of sweat on her skin. Her makeup artist wouldn’t be pleased. It was bad enough Emily had been compelled to explain away the redness on her cheeks this morning as a possible case of windburn when the woman dabbed concealer over the abrasions left behind from a night of kissing Vittorio.

Emily smiled to herself. If the croissants she carried tasted half as good as they smelled, perhaps she’d be forgiven for requiring a touch-up.

She ducked into the refurbished apartment building’s sleek marble foyer, so grateful for the coolness of the space as she greeted the doorman that she nearly missed Vittorio standing a few feet in front of her waiting for the elevator.

“You’re early,” she said as he turned to greet her. And gorgeous. While Emily knew how little sleep he’d had, his appearance didn’t reflect it. His hair was neat, his eyes were bright with energy, and his soft blue shirt had been tucked evenly into a pair of summer-weight gray slacks devoid of wrinkles. When she’d kissed him goodbye a block from her bed and breakfast at five a.m. after he insisted on walking her there, he’d been sporting running shorts, a T-shirt, and a serious case of bedhead. He’d watched her all the way to the door, a tired—but satisfied—smile on his face. She wasn’t sure which version of Vittorio she found more sexy.
 

He held the elevator door, ushering her in ahead of him. “Traffic was light. I’m surprised you’re not upstairs already.”

“I arrived at eight-thirty to meet with the agent, but apparently there was a water leak at her office. We knew you wouldn’t be here for some time, so Rita and I told her to go take care of it.” She held up the bag of croissants. “I decided to make a run for necessities.”

He sniffed the air. “Necessities? Smells like pastries.”

“Like I said. I’m craving buttery carbs this morning.”

“Wonder why?”

She shrugged, resisting the urge to hit the stop button and kiss him again. Instead, she settled for studying his reflection in the elevator doors. His name fit perfectly. Vittorio embodied exactly what he was, strong, contained, and—she suspected—whip smart. He exuded intelligence without needing to demonstrate it. He struck her as a leader—a victor—and not from the hints he’d given her as to the responsibilities of his job, but from the way he carried himself.
 

As the elevator ascended, he kept his focus squarely on the panel over the door as it ticked off the floors. “There’s a camera in here.”

Her gaze went to the black ball mounted in the front corner of the carriage. “You said you wanted a secure building. The feed goes to the security desk near the front door. It’s also kept on file for a week in case there’s ever a break-in or other issue.” Another reason not to kiss him in the elevator.

“Impressive. Though it also means I can’t act on what I’m thinking right now.”

Her stomach tightened at the flirtation in his tone. “And what’s that, Bob?”

One of his eyebrows ratcheted up at her use of the name. “I’ll let you guess.” The elevator slowed as it reached the top floor and he lowered his voice. “Assuming you don’t want me to pick you up at your bed and breakfast tomorrow night, how about I meet you outside the florist shop at the end of your block at eight? We can find a quiet place for dinner.”

“That would be lovely.”
Lovely
being an understatement. After last night, she couldn’t wait to be alone with Vittorio again. To hole up in an out-of-the-way restaurant, learn more about him over a glass of rich red wine, then savor the wonders of a second one-night stand.

She wished there could be a hundred. She doubted she’d ever have her fill of him.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing a brightly lit, rectangular foyer with apartment doors on either side of a spectacular Impressionist painting. She strode to the door on the left, telling herself to focus on business. Much more time in the elevator with Vittorio and her coworkers would notice her flush. They wouldn’t buy her explanation of windburn a second time.

“There are two penthouse apartments. Both are available,” she explained. “The units are identical, but this one has better morning light and has been staged with furniture, so I expect we’ll get most of our footage here. Then we’ll go across the hall so you can see what it looks like empty and check out the view from that side of the building.”