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“This is one hell of a major decision, Jeff. I can’t just let her—”
“Yeah, pal. You can.”
Stefano reached for his discarded trousers, dug into the pockets and took out the slip of paper on which Jeff had written the names and numbers of the surgeons he’d recommended.
Okay. Jeff was the doctor; he was just a man so much in love that he could hardly see straight. He’d play this whatever way Fallon wanted, and—
The front door opened, then slammed shut.
Stefano frowned. “Fallon?”
Yes, it was Fallon. He could hear the tap of her heels coming up the stairs. Quickly, he ran his hands through his damp hair. She was early. He hadn’t had time to make the Margaritas or chill two glasses…
“Stefano.”
He swung toward the bedroom door. He’d only been gone a few hours but seeing her reminded him of how he’d missed her.
“Cara…”
Whoa. That look on her face. Cold eyes, rigid posture. Trouble was coming, with a capital T.
“What’s wrong?”
Fallon tossed her purse in the direction of the dresser. It landed on the carpet instead, but she made no move to pick it up. Neither, after another look at her eyes, did Stefano.
“Wrong? Why should anything be wrong?”
“Well, I don’t know. You look—you look—”
“What? Angry? Furious?” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “How do I look, Stefano?”
“Upset,” he said warily.
“Good guess.”
“Sweetheart.” He cleared his throat. Something had gone wrong. Carla, he thought instantly, and started toward Fallon. “Does this have anything to do with—with what we talked about last night?”
“As I recall, we didn’t talk about anything last night. Correction. I talked. You danced.”
He paused a couple of feet away. “Danced?” he said, even more warily. “I don’t understand.”
“Oh, it’s simple. I talked. I asked questions. You danced around them. Why should I quit my job? Why shouldn’t I work for Carla? Because you wanted it that way, that was why.”
Fallon could feel her pulse racing. All the way here, she’d imagined what she’d say to Stefano. She hadn’t really sorted out the words but she’d reached one sure conclusion.
She wouldn’t cry. Wouldn’t tell him how humiliating it had been, learning about him and Carla the way she had. Wouldn’t tell him that it killed her, killed her, to know he’d made love to Carla in that same bed in the castello where he’d made love to her, in the same bed here in his apartment, that Carla had walked out on him and her leaving had angered him so much that he’d become vengeful and taken another woman on the rebound.
“You son of a bitch,” she said, and all her good intentions flew out the window. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d been Carla’s lover?”
“Cara. Sweetheart—”
“Do not ‘cara’ me. Do not ‘sweetheart’ me! Do you know what it was like, hearing about your affair from her?” Fallon rushed forward and slammed her hands against Stefano’s chest. “How would you like it if you were at a meeting and the man you were doing business with leaned over, smirked and said, ‘I used to sleep with Fallon O’Connell.’
“I’d kill him,” Stefano said darkly.
“Ha!”
She hit him again and Stefano caught her wrists.
“Listen,” he said, “I know I should have told you.”
“She walked out on you. That was why you wouldn’t let us into that—that crypt you call a castle, why you spied on us while we worked. She walked out and you were miserably unhappy.”
“I threw her out.”
“So you claim.”
“I threw her out, Fallon. I wouldn’t let any of your crew into the castello because I’d never wanted to let Carla use it in the first place.”
“Oh, please. As long as she was sleeping with you, you were happy to give her whatever she wanted, but when she broke up with you—”
Stefano’s expression turned grim. “Is that what she says? It’s a lie.”
She wanted to believe him, oh, she wanted to, but he’d lied to her already. Why wouldn’t he lie again?
“As for why I watched you work, I told you the reason.” His hands tightened on her wrists. “I was watching you. Only you. That day at the airport changed everything. I saw you, I wanted you—”
“And you always get what you want. Isn’t that how you view life?”
Stefano let go of her, spun on his heel and strode across the room. He muttered something his Sicilian grandmother would have erased with a mouthful of soap, then stalked toward Fallon again.
“I’m not going to fight with you,” he said as calmly as he could. “I admit, I should have told you.”
“Yes. You should have. If you lo—If you respected me, you’d have at least told me last night.”
“You’re right. I did a stupid thing.” He hesitated. He had news that would make her happy, but how could he tell it to her when she was almost shaking with anger?
“Fallon.”
“If you’re going to try and sweet-talk your way out of this—”
“I’m not.” He reached for her. She let him cup her shoulders but she wouldn’t let him draw her to him. All right. He deserved what she was doing to him but that would all change in a minute. “Don’t you want to know where I was today?”
“No.”
So much for the easy lead-in. “I flew to Boston, to see an old friend.”
“How nice for you. Did you sleep with her, too?”
“For God’s sake, Fallon!” Stefano let go of her, took a steadying breath. “I’m trying to tell you something important. Something I know will make you happy.”
That you love me, Fallon thought, so clearly, so distinctly, that for an instant she was afraid she’d spoken aloud. Because that was the only thing she wanted to hear, the only thing that could make what had happened today fade away.
That was what her anger was about, what everything was about. She needed to hear Stefano say, I love you. I love you exactly as you are. I’ve never loved anyone else, never wanted anyone else, as I love you.
“Sweetheart.”
Her eyes met his. Something glittered in those deep brown depths, something she’d never seen there
before. Her heart lurched. She felt as if she were going to do something really stupid, like faint or throw herself into his arms and say, I know what you’re going to tell me, Stefano, and I love you, too.
“I have something for you,” he said softly.
He reached into his pocket. Fallon’s heart did an unsteady two-step. All her life, she’d thought stuff like marriage proposals and engagement rings were for other women. Now, she knew they were the most important things in the world, and what else could Stefano be taking from his pocket but a ring? What else would make him hold out his hand as if he were handing her the earth?
A piece of paper. That’s what. A paper with a couple of names and phone numbers scrawled on it.
She took it, stared at it, then at him.
“I don’t understand. What is this?”
He smiled, as if he were giving her not just the earth but the sun and the moon, too.
“The names of the two best plastic surgeons in New York. If anybody can make you look the way you once did, it’s one of them.”
He was smiling. He looked so happy. So smug. So certain he was handing her something that would solve all their problems.
“The way I once did?” she said in a papery whisper. “Like Fallon O’Connell, supermodel. Is that what you mean, Stefano?”
He nodded. She nodded, too. Then she tore the paper in half, dropped it at his feet as she walked out of the bedroom.
He called her name, shouted at her to come back, ran after her and reached for her, but she shrugged him off and kept on walking, out of his apartment and out of his life.
CHAPTER TWELVE
FALLON stepped from the elevator and almost ran through the lobby of Stefano’s apartment building.
The doorman smiled and touched a finger to his hat.
“Afternoon, Miss O’Connell. Do you want a—”
“No,” Fallon said, and brushed past him.
Of course she wanted a taxi. She wanted a rocket to Mars, whatever would get her out of here fast, but if the doorman hailed a cab for her he’d be able to tell Stefano where she was going…
And she never wanted to see him again.
