The Vendetta Read Online Free PDF Page B

line of inquiry became less general. Here was common ground, a common interest.
    “Your degree is in art history?” He seemed fascinated.
    “Yes,” she said. “I even spent a year in Rome studying the Baroque sculptors.” She hadn’t been able to say that in conversation with a man in a long time. If ever.
    “Then you speak Italian,” he said in that language.
    “Yes, but I have not spoken it in five years,” she replied, also in Italian. She wrinkled her nose and switched back to English. “Not great, huh?”
    “On the contrary, you speak it well,” he replied.
    She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “My grandmother did insist on correct pronunciation.”
    “Your grandmother? Who—”
    “But what about you?” she interrupted, trying to find an opening. She was tired of talking about herself and reluctant to discuss her connection with an Italian principessa. Normally, the topic of Gran was off limits. Lisa couldn’t imagine why she’d mentioned her.
    “Why does an Italian businessman speak American English with very little accent?” she asked, to skirt further probing about her relatives.
    He nodded his head toward the living room. “I think we’re done eating. Why don’t we continue our conversation in front of the fire?”
    Apparently it was Nick’s turn to avoid a question.
    When they were settled on the sofa, he spoke first. “Did you live with your grandmother during your studies?”
    “Nick.” Her tone was a warning.
    He spread his hands in a smooth gesture. “OK. What do you want to know? I live in Rome. No pets, no brothers or sisters, no wife or girlfriend. I collect art, and I export luxury goods.”
    She wanted to know about the luxury goods and why he lived alone. She especially wanted to know about the art collection. Truthfully, she wanted to know everything about him. She took a breath to speak just as he leaned forward to stroke her cheek with his warm fingers. The movement stunned her to silence. His hand trailed down the line of her neck to her shoulder.
    “My apartment is in the Aventine,” he said, naming an exclusive section of Rome. “You are always welcome there.”
    Her mouth dropped open, and she pulled away. “Listen, I wasn’t trying to wangle an invitation, Nick. I was just trying to find some common ground here. I have been answering questions all night. You now know just about everything about me, and I still know next to nothing about you. I—”
    “‘Wangle’ an invitation?” His amused tone irritated her further.
    “Yes, you know. Wangle. Contrive, wheedle, finagle. For someone so fluent in English you—”
    “Finagle? I like that one even better.” He captured her hand and slowly pulled her forward. She wasn’t quite ready to give up her annoyance or the safe distance between them, though, so she resisted.
    His teasing smile drew her forward, and he cupped her jaw. The warmth of his other hand—stroking her neck, cruising down her back—melted her reluctance. She knew she was staring at him like he had just spoken Martian, but she couldn’t seem to formulate a coherent thought.
    “You’re a regular Oxford English Dictionary .” He grinned and then he placed one kiss on her cheek near the corner of her mouth. “I think I need you to come to Rome,” another kiss on the other corner, “so I can increase my vocabulary.”
    Lisa frowned. She wasn’t a complete novice, but after a disastrous relationship in college, she had been conservative in her approach to men. She wasn’t prepared, then, for the desire that welled up inside her. The seductive whisper of her body urging surrender. Caution dictated she should unwrap her arms from the strong column of his neck, but she didn’t want to let him go. She struggled to focus.
    “Now who’s wangling,” she said, her voice husky. “And you’re trying to distract me. Your English is perfect and you know it.”
    “Not perfect. But let’s see, what will convince you to accept my