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“There is no emotional entanglement. It’s a physical relationship.” As if reading her confusion, he added bluntly. “I don’t love them. And they don’t love me.”
“What do they get out of the relationship then, besides sex?”
“Great sex. And gifts.”
Her brows arched. “That sounds horrible. Have there been many?”
His mouth curved, a crooked mocking smile. “I’m in my late thirties. So yes, there have been many.”
“What are they like? Do you have a type?”
He leaned against the wall, hands buried in the robe pockets. The robe was pulling open, revealing the hard, muscular plane of his chest and a hint of his carved, chiseled torso. “I make it a point not to discuss past relationships.”
She forced her attention from his incredibly fit body to his ruggedly handsome face. “I suspect it’s not because you’re protecting them, but because you don’t like remembering. For you, there is no point in remembering. What’s done is done. What’s gone is gone.”
Gio’s black brow lifted. “You presume to know me?”
She shrugged. “You’re an engineer. I work with engineers every day. You’re all excessively practical.”
“Next thing I know you’ll be saying we lack imagination.”
“Not so. You have excellent imaginations. If you didn’t, how would you problem-solve? You have to imagine something to be able to build it.”
“You fascinate me, bella.”
“I doubt that very much.”
* * *
His gaze met hers and held. He looked at her so intently that he made her grow warm all over again.
“I like smart women,” he said quietly. “I like successful women. I wouldn’t say I have a type but I am drawn to brunettes with interesting faces—mouths that are generous, noses that aren’t too short or small, jaws that aren’t weak.”
Heat rushed through her, even as her stomach turned inside out.
She didn’t know where to look, or what to do. Spellbound, she stared across the room at a man who was absolutely larger than life and beyond anything she could have imagined for her. There was no reason he should like her, or be fascinated by her.
When little spots appeared before her eyes she realized she needed to breathe, and she dragged in a breath, dizzy, and dazed.
He couldn’t possibly be serious, and yet he didn’t seem to be laughing at her, or mocking her. He wasn’t even smiling.
No, he looked very hard and very virile and far too self-assured. What she wouldn’t give to have that kind of confidence.
Heart hammering, she glanced down at the baby in her arms. Michael had finally fallen asleep, his plump cheek pressed to her breast, his thumb against his mouth. He was so sweet, so beautiful. She loved him so much.
“He’s out,” she said. “I think he’ll sleep the rest of the night without any more tears.”
“That’s good.”
“It is,” she agreed, kissing the baby again before crossing to his crib. Bending over, she carefully placed him on his back. In his sleep, Michael sighed and stretched, tiny fingers opening and then relaxing. She watched him a moment, suffused with so many different emotions. Love, tenderness, worry, hope.
Across the room she heard a soft click. Rachel looked up only to discover that Gio was gone.
* * *
Rachel woke up to a still dark room that was quiet and cool. Far too quiet and cool. Glancing to the door separating her room from Michael’s, she saw that it was closed. Throwing back the covers, she raced from bed to yank the door open. The curtains had been drawn and the room was filled with a watery light. She’d taken several steps into the green room when she spotted Mrs. Fabbro walking past the tall arched windows, talking away to Michael in Italian, while Michael babbled back, as if the two were deep in conversation.
Rachel’s pulse still pounded, and yet her lips curved into a faint smile.
