“I’ll send a car for you.”
He would send a car for her?
Grace was only too aware that the rich and entitled sent cars to pick up people for them, and it was usually when they couldn’t be bothered to do it themselves. In this case, it was a rich and entitled Italian man who intended to send a car and driver to collect her.
Besides, she wasn’t dressed for going out. “Er—no,” she refused even as she gently but firmly pulled her hands free of his. Reaction over what he was, what she was doing by accepting his invitation, was starting to set in, and she didn’t want this man to be able to feel the trembling of her body.
She was also able to draw a deep breath into her starved lungs once he was no longer touching her. Which was probably as well, because she had seriously been in danger of fainting from lack of oxygen.
“I would need to go home, feed Mr. Darcy, and change before going out.”
“Who the fuck is Mr. Darcy?” Matteo demanded harshly.
Grace took a step back at his aggression. “My cat?”
“Oh. Okay. Sorry.” Matteo knew he was seriously in danger of frightening Grace with his intensity, and she already looked as if she was ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. “You look beautiful just as you are,” he assured warmly. If she looked any more beautiful, Matteo was going to spontaneously combust—or just come in his boxers. He wasn’t sure which was going to happen first.
“I’ll still need to go home and feed my cat,” she insisted stubbornly.
He had no idea if Grace was wearing a perfume or if the heady scent of flowers and musk was unique to her. Whichever it was, it was a lethal combination to his senses. Every time he inhaled, that musk only increased his desire for this woman. “Okay, I’ll come by and pick you up here at seven o’clock. I can drive you home and then wait outside in the car if you don’t want me to go inside,” he added at her doubtful expression.
She blinked. “I thought you intended sending a driver for me?”
“I’ve changed my mind.” Matteo was well aware Grace might change her mind if left to her own devices. “I’ll pick you up here. Unless you would rather meet me at the restaurant.” It wasn’t what Matteo wanted, but the important thing right now was to ensure Grace spent the evening with him.
And if Leon Brunelli discovered Matteo had dinner with and spent the evening—night?—with Grace, this close to the announcement of his engagement to the other man’s daughter, Matteo could, and probably would, end up having his balls removed. One at a time, probably, and painfully.
But still, Matteo couldn’t walk away without knowing he was going to see this woman again. “Grace?”
Grace would really rather not arrive at a restaurant alone and hope that her date, Matteo, was already there, rather than having to sit at the table alone and hoping, praying, he would turn up so she wasn’t left feeling totally humiliated.
Was she seriously thinking of spending the evening with this man? Did she have a choice?
“Matteo who?” Grace wasn’t sure what his suddenly closed expression meant but she was pretty sure it meant something. As did the way he continued to hesitate for several seconds before answering, as if he was unsure of what to say. Which, considering she had only asked him his surname, was more than a little unsettling. “Matteo?” She frowned her puzzlement at his delay.
“Zalotti,” he bit out harshly. “My name is Matteo Zalotti.”
Grace had no idea why he looked and sounded so challenging. She could only assume it was because revealing his surname was supposed to tell her something else about him. Except Grace had absolutely no idea what that something was when she had deliberately distanced herself from all things Italian since moving to England.
Nor could she fire up her tablet and look up the name Zalotti with Matteo standing directly in front of her. Which wasn’t to say that wasn’t exactly what she was going to do once he’d left the store.
She sincerely hoped he didn’t turn out to be a serial killer recently released from prison!
An assumption that was way out there, but was probably preferable to the unsettled feeling she experienced just from hearing his name, along with his wary expression as he watched and waited for her reaction.
“Okay, Matteo Zalotti,” she mocked. “I’ll see you back here at seven this evening.”
He had been dismissed, Matteo realized incredulously. When did that last happen? Even during those bleak years of being the puppet head of the Zalotti family, in public, Matteo had maintained every ounce of the Zalotti power. Consequently, no one had dared to dismiss him in a very long time, if ever.
Until Grace. “You haven’t told me your surname.” He let her know he had noted the omission.
A deliberate one if the way she lifted her chin in challenge was an indication. “Morrissey,” she stated flatly. “My name is Grace Morrissey.”
There was something about the guarded way she said that which made Matteo doubt she was telling the truth…
Which was reason for concern.
Not that he thought their having met had been in the least contrived on Grace’s part. How could it have been when Matteo having come into the bookstore at all today was purely accidental, because of his need to avoid the heavy rain falling outside?
No, his unease was twofold.
One, because of who he was.
Second, because of the delicate situation with Leon Brunelli.
He gave a snort. His future engagement to Brunelli’s daughter wasn’t a situation, it was a fact. Unbreakable, if he didn’t want to end up with Brunelli as an enemy. Now there was a situation guaranteed not to end well.
But if the name Morrissey was an assumed one rather than Grace’s true surname, why had she changed it from the original and what was she hiding?
Matteo straightened. “Very well, Grace Morrissey.” He deliberately
