He lifted his strong hands and they came down with a slap against his powerful, long legs. “You keep stealing my goods, Signora!”
I took a step toward him, keeping my eyes lowered, trying to figure out if I drank too much Chianti or if what I experienced was an apparition. One definitely could cause the other, but…
To my intense surprise, his rant came to an abrupt halt, and he openly studied me as I openly studied him.
“Ah.” He smiled, and the breath caught in my throat. “Your hair.”
He made a motion around his neck, referring to my recent haircut. I noticed that a tattoo decorated his arm. The dark ink created a rosary with a lion in its open center, a sacred heart in its mane. It spanned from his pulse point to the middle of his forearm.
“What about my hair?” My voice snapped, betraying the shock I truly felt.
“It was longer. The last time I saw you.”
“When did you see me?”
“Ah, yesterday. I saw you leave the store. I went to Mario to claim my special items, he pointed at the door, and told me that the beautiful signora that had come with me last time took them.”
“How did you find me?”
“You answer to the name Fausti.Myname. Rosaria Caffi mentioned a Fausti now purchased this villa. This beautiful signora with my last name was in the possession of my cheese and pears.” He looked down at my hand. “My Chianti also.”
“Oh.” I smiled. “Wehadthose.”
“This is no matter.” He waved a hand.
We both became quiet. I stared. He stared.
Dear God, he was the spitting image of my husband. But hewasn’tmy husband. His eyes were a sea-glass green, and he almost reminded me of a gorgeous, temping sea creature that could lure an innocent to death with his smile alone. He was a lighter shade of my husband, more golden than bronze, but only in looks. There was something dark and dangerous about him as well…
“Your name?” I asked.
He held out his hand and I took it. He kissed my knuckles, his eyes rising to meet mine, his impossibly long, black lashes making the light green color explode. My husband had those same lashes, except his made his dark eyes even more intense.
“Rocco Fausti. Give me your name. Apart frombella.”
He had the same commanding way.Tell me. Give me.The world is mine.I laughed, and my cheeks felt hot. I shouldn’t have drunk so much…too much of a good thing made me laugh at nothing.
“Scarlett,” I said finally.
“Ah, Scarlett Poésy. The dancer.”
“You’ve seen me dance?” I laughed again. More like giggled.Stupid girl! This man is not one to trifle with. You know his kind, down to blood and bone.
“Yes, in Paris.” He smiled, exposing a gorgeous set of white teeth. “I thought I recognized you. Though I wasn’t positive. Tell me something,bella.” His tongue rolled on the name. “You keep stealing my packages and using my name. What is the reason for this.”
“I didn’t—” I waved a hand wildly, my wedding rings catching the subtle light and glinting in response. “Well, not really. A case of mistaken identity.”
Now I understand. God, do I. The Fausti family was here in Italy. This man had to be—
“Tell me that you enjoyed it.”
“Yes. All of it was delicious.Grazie.” I shook the bottle, proving my point. It was empty.
“I am no longer upset.”
“Good to know.”
He smirked and I exhaled.
