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“If you were, you’d most likely lie about it,” she pointed out practically. “But thanks for the reassurance, anyway.” She rose from the table, twisting her hair into a more manageable rope that she draped over one shoulder in a quick, practiced movement before she reached for her bag, a cloth tote in a batik print that rivaled her dress with its explosion of color. “Okay, lead on, Macduff,” she announced grandly, her mouth twitching again in a smile. “Take me to my taxi,” she added, like she was a queen and he was her lackey. Her eyes were still sparkling, and Christos had no response, because this woman was strange and funny and beguiling in a way he really hadn’t expected and affected him in ways he didn’t understand.

As he led the way out of the café, he realized he had no idea what to make of Rose Delaney. Everything about her was unexpected, making him feel wrong-footed, and yet some part of him was actually enjoying the charming weirdness of their encounter, which wrong-footed him again. He hadn’t expected her to agree so easily to a meeting. At the same time, he sensed a surprising strength to her spirit, beneath her whimsical attitude and teasing tone, that made him wonder how she would respond to his proposal.

He had no idea, and he didn’t like not knowing. He was a man who dealt in percentages and probabilities, in calculated risks and certain profits. Rose Delaney did not fit into any category or calculation; he’d known her for five minutes, and she was already defying his expectations at every turn. He had no idea how she would react to his suggestion—no, his insistence—that she come to Italy, but come she would. No matter what.

He’d make sure of it.

* * *

Rose still felt like she should be looking for hidden cameras as she followed Christos Amanti out to the street, where he flagged her a taxi and then opened the door so she could step inside before informing the driver of the location. She had no idea if she was being totally crazy, agreeing to this, but she was more than a little curious, and she had always been up for an adventure.

But more than that, when she’d seen the flash of grief in Christos’s eyes, heard it in the catch in his voice, when he’d told her his brother had died in a car accident…well, she’d basically had no choice but to agree then. Because she knew exactly how he felt, times two.

A sigh escaped her, and she leaned her head against the seat. The taxi headed downtown to the hotel where Christos had told her he’d meet her. She really hoped she wasn’t making a very stupid, very costly mistake, all because of that moment of remembered grief, a sense of both loneliness and empathy she’d so briefly shared with a man she didn’t know at all. A complete and utter stranger, something she needed to keep in mind. The trouble was, he was so good-looking it was hard to remember he might very well have nefarious intentions. At least half of her brain power was spent trying not to react to him on a purely physical level, or at least in a revealing way. As long as he didn’t know that she was thinking about his eyelashes and how his lips looked both hard and soft…

Rose let out a soft laugh as she shook her head. This really did feel like the craziest situation. She didn’t know whether she was living like she was in the pages of a romance…or a thriller.

Fifteen minutes later, the taxi pulled up in front of one of the city’s most luxurious hotels. A bellhop sprang forward smartly to open the door of Rose’s taxi. As she stepped out, a suited concierge walked swiftly toward her with a polite, professional smile in place.

“Miss Delaney? Your room is ready and waiting for you.”

Still feeling as if she was in a dream, Rose followed him into the marble-floored lobby of a hotel she wouldn’t have dreamed setting foot in before this morning. It even smelled expensive, she mused, as she passed a huge display of lilies and roses in the center of the lobby before following the concierge to a private salon tucked off a hallway in the back. It was luxuriously appointed with a thick carpet and a few leather sofas and chairs. A tray of pastries, fresh fruit, coffee and juice had been set up on a table by the door.

And Christos Amanti was standing in the middle of the room, looking even more darkly handsome than Rose remembered from just a few moments ago. As she stood in the doorway, her heart starting to beat hard, she wondered once again if she’d made a mistake, and yet this time for a different reason.

This man was powerful. She felt the magnetic pull of his laser-like gaze trained on her, his eyes a whiskey-brown and yet glinting pure, hard gold in their depths. There was something very focused about him, unrelentingly so, and she didn’t understand it. She didn’t understand her own response to him, either, a kind of unwilling fascination tugging her toward him, forcing her forward. Was it just because he was so incredibly good-looking, or was it something more?

And how stupid was she being, thinking like this, or even being here at all?

“You came,” he said quietly, his voice a low thrum that hummed right through her. “Thank you.” He nodded toward the concierge, who closed the door discreetly behind her, leaving them alone in a way that felt both bizarre and intimate. Rose still couldn’t get a handle on this conversation, this man, anything. What could he possibly want?

“Please, help yourself to whatever you would like.” He gestured to the tray of snacks and drinks.

Rose brandished her phone, half joking, half serious. “I did text someone,” she told him like a warning, even though she hadn’t. In the surreality of the experience, she’d totally forgotten, and she wasn’t sure who she would text, anyway.

New York City was a transient place—people came and went—which meant she didn’t have any long-term friends. Most of the teachers at the school had spouses and families, which had left her on the periphery of their lives, a place she was all too depressingly used to—and another reason for her to have a family of her own. A family that this man might be threatening now.

She really hoped she hadn’t made a mistake in coming here.

“I’m glad you did,” Christos replied smoothly. “I do not want you to feel in danger in any way, because I assure you, you are completely safe.”

“I don’t know what I feel,” Rose replied honestly. Her emotions were a jumbled mess of contradictory feelings—excitement, alarm, curiosity and fear. And a physical response to the hard beauty of this man that she was trying desperately to repress, because that really complicated things.

“Maybe you should just tell me what you wanted to talk about,” she suggested. Her voice came out a little unsteadily, because as curious as she was, she wasn’t sure she really did want to know why Christos Amanti had come all the way to New York to find her. A man like him—rich, powerful, resourced—surely didn’t hunt someone like her down just for kicks. He wanted something…and considering that he’d said his brother was the biological father of her baby, she was afraid she might be able to guess what it was.

As soon as she had that thought, however, her mind scurried away from it, unwilling to consider the matter more, at least not until Christos told her what he wanted…if he wanted anything. Maybe she was overreacting, and he’d just come here to tell her about her baby’s father. Or something like that.

She could hope, anyway.

“Please.” Christos gestured to one of the sofas. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Okay.” Rose walked over to the sofa and plopped herself down, grateful to get off her feet. She eyed Christos uncertainly as he took a seat opposite, crossing one leg neatly over the other, every inch the powerful, assured entrepreneur. The gold and silver links of what had to be a very expensive watch gleamed on one powerful wrist as he stretched his arm along the back of the sofa.

Rose took a deep breath, breathing in the pine and citrus scent of him, and then let it out slowly. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she stated formally. “As I said, I understand how that feels, how devastating it can be. But how can you be sure that your brother was—is—the sperm donor I chose? It’s meant to be an anonymous process. Even I didn’t know his name.”

“I am aware of that,” Christos replied, his tone measured, his expression coolly composed. “You received his medical history and some information about his personality, interests and hobbies.” From the inside of his suit jacket, he pulled out a piece of paper, unfolded it and held it out to her. “This.”

Silently Rose took the piece of paper and scanned its lines. Six-foot-two, one hundred seventy-five pounds, dark hair, blue eyes. Clean medical history and interests in tennis, indie music and poetry. There had been something whimsical about the way he’d filled out the boxes, a hint of personality that Rose had liked because she fancied she shared it. And really, she’d had to choose someone, so why not Donor 645, as he’d been known to her? Athletic, musical and handsome, at least on paper. What was there not to like? And really, it had been a decision born of the utter determination she’d felt to have her own child. Her own family.