If Sam didn’t know Alessandro as well as she did, she’d have thought it a lucky coincidence. But he knew she painted in the morning and took an online class in the afternoon and that it kept her out of Angelina’s way.
She was glad to sit with Matteo after dinner when Maria’s energy lagged. That Maria didn’t wonder that Sam spent more time with a sleeping Matteo than an awake Alessandro was just pure luck.
She’d just poured herself a cup of freshly squeezed orange juice when Angelina, thankfully alone for once, entered the kitchen. Sam froze, taking in the simple beige shirt and dark trousers that did nothing to dampen the woman’s beauty. She turned toward the doors when Angelina blocked her, her temper in full control of her.
Before Sam could blink, Angelina grabbed the cup from her and threw it in Sam’s face.
Sam gasped at the cold slosh of the liquid on her skin preceding the jarring thump of the glass against her shoulder. The sound of it breaking against the marble floor made her falter.
Pain shot through her bare foot as a piece pierced the skin.
A torrent of Italian filled the room as she was bodily lifted from behind. She knew that scent, that body, even the warmth reaching for her. Relief surged through her as she sank into Alessandro.
“Porca miseria!Did she hurt you?” Gentle fingers dabbed at her face. “Look at me,tesoro.”
“It was just orange juice,” Sam said trying to corral her shuddering relief. “I’m fine, Alessandro. She scared me. But it was more…”
He lifted her onto the breakfast table, cutting her words off. “There’s a shard stuck on top of your foot”
“Yes and…”
“Zia, bring me the first-aid box.” He turned around, his back a tense wall. “How dare you treat my guest like that?” His words were soft, slow and yet the quiet rage in them fell like a shroud on the room.
“Matteo is dying because of her.” Angelina’s voice quivered. “While she—”
“Dio mio, Matteo is not dying. Sam is not the reason—”
“She is. She made him crash the bike. He was not happy since she came. You have to throw her out—”
“She isn’t leaving,” Alessandro bit out in that quiet voice that would’ve been less scary if he’d shouted.
“Then I will ask my father—”
“Sam. Is. Mine.” Each word dropped like a crashing cymbal into the space. “If you touch her again, if you so much as come near her, I’ll cut you out of Matteo’s life. Permanently.” Sam gasped at the vehemence in his tone. “I do not give a damn if your father rules all of Milan. You crossed a line.”
“Alessandro, wait—” Sam started before he cut her off.
“You’re not welcome in my house anymore. Get out.”
Brown eyes filled with shock, Angelina stared at him.
“Alessandro, you can’t simply throw her out,” Sam said, her words drowned out by his aunt begging the same.
“Stay out of this, Sameera.”
Italian flew back and forth between him, his parents and Angelina, but he didn’t relent. The quiet rage in his eyes when he checked her face made her swallow.
He felt guilty for not protecting her, she knew. Guilt and pity and politeness weren’t what she wanted from him. Still, pathetic as she was, she couldn’t help touching him. She bent her forehead to his back, clutching the taut muscles of his biceps. “Alessandro, give her a chance to explain.”
“There is nothing to explain,” his voice softened instantly, the muscles clenching under her touch. “Papà, get her out of the house. If she makes a fuss, call security.”
A thundering silence followed his harsh dictate.
Antonio sent Sam a reassuring glance before he walked a hysterical Angelina out. Still, she cast an astonished look at Alessandro’s protective stance around Sam.
The moment she left, Alessandro pushed in to stand between her legs.
Her belly rolled, sensation making her thighs quiver. When she looked up, his face was a taut mask. The man wasn’t even aware how provocative their positions looked.
