the actress’s suicide. Gage obviously hadn’t, and the corner of his mouth tightened.
“Just part of my actor’s bag of tricks.”
She felt him distance himself, which was exactly what she wanted, but the flash of unguarded pain she’d seen on his face before he’d wiped it away bothered her. She had many faults, but deliberate cruelty wasn’t one of them. “I didn’t mean-”
He checked his watch. “Time for me to hear confessions.
As he turned to walk away, she reminded herself that he’d taken a dozen pokes at her, so she had no reason to make amends. Except that the poke she’d taken had drawn blood, and she was a healer by nature, not an executioner. Still, she was dismayed to hear herself call out to him. “I’m going to Volterra tomorrow to do some sightseeing.”
He looked back and cocked a brow. “Is this an invitation?”
“All right, I accept.”
“Fine.” She cursed herself. There must have been a better way to make amends than this. “I’m driving,” she said begrudgingly. “I’ll pick you up at ten.”
“In the morning?”
“Is that a problem?” A problem for her. According to the schedule, she should be writing at ten o’clock.
“You’re kidding, right? That’s before dawn.”
“Sorry you can’t make it. Maybe some other time.”
“Okay, I’ll be ready.” He started off, then looked back. “You’re not going to pay me to have sex with you again, are you?”
“I’ll do my best to resist the temptation.”
“Attagirl, Fifi. See you at dawn.”
She climbed into her car and shut the door. As she stared glumly through the windshield, she reminded herself that she had a Ph.D. in psychology, which qualified her to make a fairly accurate diagnosis: She was an idiot.
Ren ordered an espresso at the counter of the bar on the piazza. He carried the tiny cup to a round marble table and settled in to enjoy the luxury of sitting undisturbed in a public place. After giving the drink a few moments to cool, he downed it in one gulp just as his
He wished he hadn’t let the feisty Dr. Favor get to him there at the end. He’d coasted along with ass-kissers for so long that he’d forgotten what it was like to have to pay attention, but if he intended to hang around with her, he’d better get back into the habit. She sure wasn’t impressed by his fame. Hell, she didn’t even like his movies. And that moral compass strapped to her back was so heavy she could barely stand up straight. So did he really intend to spend the day with her tomorrow?
Yeah, he really did. How else was he going to get her naked again?
He smiled and toyed with his cup. The idea had taken hold the moment he’d seen her with that postcard. Her forehead had been furrowed in concentration, and she’d been nibbling those full lips she tried to downplay with boring lipstick. Her streaky blond hair had been neat as a pin except for a wayward lock curling across her cheek. Neither the pricey little cardigan she’d knotted around her shoulders nor her buttoned-up, toast-colored dress did all that great a job of concealing a body that was way too curvy to be wasted on a do-gooder.
He kicked back in his chair and let the idea settle in. Something had gone wrong the first time he and the good doctor had made love, but he’d make sure it didn’t go wrong again, which meant he might have to take it a little slower than he’d like.
Contrary to popular opinion, he had a conscience, and he gave it a quick check. Nope. Not even a twinge. Dr. Fifi was an adult, and if she hadn’t been attracted to him, she wouldn’t have gone off with him that night. Still, she was resisting him right now, and did he really want to work hard enough to get past that?
Yeah, why not? She intrigued him. Despite her sharp tongue, she had a decency about her that was oddly alluring, and he’d bet the farm that she believed what she preached. Which meant that-unlike last time-she’d expect some sort of relationship first.
God, he hated that word. He didn’t do relationships, at least not with any degree of sincerity. But if he were just straightforward enough, without letting down his guard for a second, and-it went without saying-being completely devious the whole time, he might be able to slide through the relationship thing.
It had been a long time since he’d been around a woman who interested him, not to mention one who offered genuine entertainment. Last night he’d had his first decent sleep in months, and so far today he hadn’t felt the need to pull out his emergency cigarette. Besides, anybody could see that Dr. Fifi would benefit from a little corruption. And he was just the man for the job.
A rush of hot water greeted Isabel the next morning. She reveled in a warm bath, taking her time as she shampooed her hair and shaved her legs. But her gratitude toward her landlord faded when her hair dryer wouldn’t go on, and she discovered the house had no electricity.
She stared in the mirror at her towel-dried hair. Blond ringlets had already started to form at her ears. Without her hair dryer and brush, she’d end up with a headful of curls that all the gels and conditioners in the world couldn’t tame. In twenty minutes she’d look just as messy as her mother used to look after she’d come home from one of her extracurricular tutoring sessions with a studly undergrad.
The psychological roots behind Isabel’s need for order weren’t buried very deeply. Being a neat freak was a fairly predictable outcome for someone who’d grown up in chaos. She considered phoning the villa and canceling the trip, but Gage would think she was afraid of him. Besides, she wasn’t that neurotic about her hair. She simply didn’t like the way untidiness made her feel.
To compensate, she dressed in a simple black mock-neck sundress cut high on her shoulders. With the addition of slimly sculpted mules, her gold BREATHE bangle, and a natural straw sun hat pulled low over her curls, she was ready to go. She wished she’d been able to meditate that morning to calm herself first, but her mind had refused to quiet.
Although she’d planned to arrive at the villa fifteen minutes late, just for the pleasure of making Mr. Movie Star wait, she was habitually punctual, and at 10:05, she started to hyperventilate and had to head for her car. She glanced into the rearview mirror as she pulled up to the front entrance of the villa. The curls peeking out from beneath her hat made her want to rush back to the farmhouse and organize something.
She noticed a man skulking in the shrubbery-a very badly dressed tourist, by the look of him. She felt an unwilling flash of sympathy for Gage. Despite his disguise yesterday, he hadn’t been able to keep his hiding place a secret from his fans.
The fan wore an ugly checked sport shirt, baggy Bermuda shorts that nearly brushed his knees, and thick, crepe-soled sandals with white socks. A Lakers cap shadowed his face, and a camera hung from a strap around his neck. His purple fanny pack sagged like a bruised kidney at his waist. He spotted her car and began walking toward it, shifting his weight from side to side in the awkward gait of the overweight and out of shape.
She braced herself for a confrontation, then looked more closely. With a groan, she banged her forehead against the top of the steering wheel.
He stuck his head in the door and grinned. “Morning, Fifi.”
8
I refuse to be seen in public with you!”
His knees bumped the dash as he folded himself into her Panda. “Believe me, you’ll enjoy the day more this way. I know this is going to be hard for you to believe, but the Italians love my films.”
She gazed at his geeky outfit. “You have to lose the fanny pack.”
“I can’t believe I’m out of bed this early when I don’t have to work.” He slouched down in the seat and closed his eyes.
“I mean it. The fanny pack goes. I can deal with the white socks and those sandals, but not that fanny pack.” She looked again. “No, I can’t deal with the white socks either. They both have to go.”