Her Italian Millionaire Read Online Free PDF

came in. What was the matter with him? Now his body was plastered against the outside wall on the balcony where he could easily be seen from the pool. He forced himself to breathe slowly, praying she wouldn't come out here. If she did, what could he say? He was checking for termites, bringing extra towels, fixing the plumbing?
    He could hear her inside the room, walking around on bare feet and opening drawers. His mind was racing, his body stiff. Then he heard water running in the bathroom. A shower—he was in luck!
    He peered around the corner of the doorway and saw her through the open bathroom door, bent over to pick something up from the floor. He had a great view of her bare backside and rounded hips. He paused and looked . . . and looked. Idiot! He made a silent run for it, slipping on the wet floor where she'd dripped water from her suit. He cursed under his breath, opened the door, then went out into the hall and closed the door softly behind him. He was breathing hard. Whether from the close call or the view of the sweetest ass he'd seen in a long time, he didn't know. Maybe both - he hadn't seen many bare asses since he'd sworn off getting involved with women.
    He walked down the stairs casually and confidently, and stopped by the front desk.
    “Where did the message for the Americana come from?” he asked.
    The clerk shrugged.
    Marco pulled out his ID card.
    The clerk glared at him. Nobody wanted the government meddling in their business.
    “I don't know. There was a call. They read the message, I wrote it down.”
    “A local call?” Marco asked.
    The man didn't know.
    “I want to know when she leaves the hotel and where she's going,” Marco said, handing the clerk his card with his cell phone number.
    “How should I know where she's going?” the clerk asked sullenly.
    “She's a tourist. You could suggest a restaurant, offer to give directions.”
    “What am I? The tourist information bureau?”
    Marco sighed and went outside to smoke a cigarette, but before he could light up his phone rang.
    “ Pronto , Marco. What about tonight? When do you pick me up?”
    Damn. He'd forgotten all about Adrianna, but she hadn't forgotten about him. The minute she heard he was back in town, she'd been after him to spend time with her. He'd finally given in and told her he'd meet her for dinner. “I told you not to call me on my cell phone. It's for business.”
    “Business, pfah . Other policemen don't have such business.”
    “I do. I'm sorry, I have to cancel our dinner tonight. I have work to do.”
    “What work? I don't believe you. What kind of a policeman has no days off, who's always working?” He could picture her full lips in a pout. “Where are you?”
    “Working.” No one knew that he hadn't been a simple agente di polizia for years. Not since he was assigned to the Guardia Financia y Straniero, who were working with the South African diamond syndicate to put a stop to illegal diamond trading between the US and Italy.
    If his grandmother knew, she'd consider it her right to brag about him to her friends.
    “My grandson is no longer directing traffic on the Coast Highway or arresting petty thieves. He's too good for that. Too smart. He's chasing one of the country's biggest jewel thieves,” Nonna would say. “When he cracks this case he will be famous. His name will be in all the papers. And my granddaughter will finally understand why we broke her engagement.”
    Word would instantly spread through town and he'd be useless in his job. It would be impossible to catch Giovanni. The bureaucrats who oversaw his agency would lose confidence in him and Silvestro, his boss. They might close the office, and they'd both be out of a job. Marco's real job must be kept secret.
    “You said that,” Adrianna said. “You promised dinner tonight. I'll meet you, where?”
    He shook his head. She reminded him of one of those lampreys that clung to the rocks at the sea, impossible to pry off. “All right, the