Her Italian Millionaire Read Online Free PDF Page A

very unflattering picture of her and her wallet with the photograph of her with her arm around a young man who looked very much like her. He studied it for a brief moment. It was probably her son, though she looked too young to have one that old. Next he went through the rest of the suitcase in seconds, sifting through her underclothes and finding nothing incriminating. And nothing remotely sexy, just the most sensible all-cotton panties and bras he'd ever seen - and he'd seen quite a few. No thongs or bikinis here, no lace or silk. All clean and wholesome, and all-American - but for some reason her clothes came across as innocent and sexy at the same time. Just like her.
     Other than clothes, there was a book with pictures of adolescents, staring earnestly at the camera. Cougars High School Yearbook. Marco ran practiced fingers over the cover and the binding and detected nothing hidden there. Then he flipped through it and looked for her, but there was only one Jackson - a boy named Dan. He took more time than he should to go through the pages until he found an Anne Marie Rasmussen. She looked nothing like this woman, but who else could it be? Underneath the photograph it said:
     
    Honor Society, International Club, Volleyball.
    Prediction: First woman to land on Mars
    Dream: To own her own bookstore.
    He shook his head. She should have followed that dream. What had happened instead? He didn't pretend to understand the criminal mind, despite the training he'd received. He understood greed and hunger and revenge, all common motives. But this woman was not a common criminal. He knew women and he knew there was nothing common about this one.
    Next he found Giovanni's picture, the face of his nemesis smiling from the page of the book, his dark eyes concealing secrets, his charm hiding the greed and ambition that were to be his downfall. That must be his downfall, if there was any justice in this world. Soccer star, artist, charming rogue. Yes, he was all of those. He could have been anything, but he'd chosen to follow in his family's tradition. And that was his mistake.
     Marco would see to it he would make one final mistake. Today, tomorrow or next week, he had the means to make it happen. The woman had what Giovanni wanted, and Marco had Ana Maria - and he wasn't going to let her go - until he'd caught him receiving one spectacular stolen diamond, and he saw Giovanni behind bars.
    Marco slammed the book shut, replaced it and checked under the mattress and in the closet. The closet was empty and so were the dresser drawers. It had to be here. Where was the dazzling gem that was so famous it was once displayed in a museum? He expertly tapped the suitcase with his knuckles to see if it had a false bottom. Nothing.
    Next he went through her tote bag. In it were two guidebooks on Italy, a diary, a paperback novel and a box of elaborately decorated chocolates visible through the cellophane wrapper. The note taped to the box read, “For my homesick cousin Misty. Enjoy. Love, Evie.” He had no idea why women got so homesick for a certain candy that they had to import it. His grandmother sent his sister boxes of marzipan from a certain candy shop in town. Surely that was proof Isabella was not cut out for an ascetic life, eating bread and thin soup behind cloistered walls. But that was none of his business.
    In the bathroom he went through Ana Maria's cosmetics, checking everything, even squeezing the American toothpaste and twisting her lipstick tube. Nothing.
    The envelope was on the night stand next to the bed. He read the note quickly and nodded to himself. Paestum was the perfect place for a hand-off. Did Giovanni have any feelings for this woman? Or was he using her as he'd used so many other women for his own ends and to throw Marco off the track?
    He heard footsteps in the hall and he froze. They came closer and the key turned in the lock. Four giant steps and he reached the balcony seconds before the door opened and she