Catarina turned away and said over her shoulder, “Follow me.”
Chapter Four
MASSIMO HADEXPECTED TEARS. He had expected demands for tokens of affection, perhaps the ring she had mentioned at their meeting the day before to solidify their engagement. But Catarina didn’t throw strategically selected pieces of her family’s heirloom porcelain, nor did she collapse into a breathless display of distress on her favorite chaise longue, the way Massimo had seen his mother do the moment his father walked in the door. He had at the very least expected to find Catarina looking distraught. However, for a moment she had looked almost…irritated at his appearance in her driveway. That couldn’t be right.
But that inexplicable expression had so quickly disappeared, replaced by the veneer of politeness she so expertly wielded. Was she just disappointed that the unfortunate crash of his car hadn’t allowed for her best, most dramatic performance? That seemed the most likely explanation. Catarina had claimed that she didn’t crave the spotlight, but plenty of his mother’s performances had taken place out of the public eye. Catarina could simply be reconsidering her approach.
Massimo found that his temper was rising at yet another unexpected complication. She seemed to excel at creating these complications, he thought bitterly, particularly for someone selected for the lack of complications she posed. He followed Catarina along the driveway as he scanned the area for possible ways to leave. Though this entire situation that she had forced him into was frustratingly inconvenient, he would not let Catarina destroy the plans he had so carefully orchestrated.
Snow had seeped into his leather shoes, leaving them cold and wet, and each slippery step in the new snow sparked the temper that still threatened to flare inside him. His temple throbbed, and he brought his hand to the spot where Catarina had touched his forehead just moments ago. He could still feel the echo of her fingers against his skin, the soft brush that shimmered inside him. He took away his hand and frowned at the traces of blood on his fingers. Another wave of uneasiness washed over him. Had he misread her middle-of-the-night disappearance? Did she flee not to get his attention but to escape the marriage? That would be…inconvenient. The thought triggered the unsettled feeling in his gut that had persisted since his phone call with d’Avalos. He needed to get them back on track, which meant figuring out what she was after.
As they walked up the driveway, the house took shape, rising up in the blowing snow. Though no one would call a place of this size and grandeur a chalet, the building had echoes of its humbler version of the mountain cabins he had passed along the road. But this was a home, stately, clad in varnished wood with long windows and a towering peaked roof of metal, clearly made to withstand storms much worse than this. The design was clean and deceptively simple. Catarina led him along a snow-covered path and up the steps to a covered porch at the entry of the house. She opened the thick wooden door, and he followed her inside.
The front hallway opened into an enormous room lined with windows, with a stone fireplace at its center. The diffuse light from the snow outside came in through the tall windows, giving the place an almost mystical glow. He frowned and scanned the entryway, focusing on the only part that stood out, an abandoned pile of luggage, handbags, scarves and other miscellaneous items in the corner. His gaze moved to Catarina as she took off her outer layers and hung them in some sort of metal box in the corner of the hallway, leaving her dressed in a cloud of a sweater that hugged her breasts and accentuated her narrow waist. His body reacted. Her lush curves were on full display, and suddenly Massimo was all too aware that they were stuck together in a remote place.
“You can hang your coat in this drying closet,” she said as she turned the knob, and the appliance came to life. Then she frowned at his shoes. “Though I don’t think it can do anything about those.”
Massimo hung up his coat, shoes and soaked socks in the closet, then followed her through to a large room that spanned the entire length of the house. A dining room table was positioned at one end, and across the broad space was the fireplace, with a grand piano in the far corner. The exposed beams across the towering ceiling were offset by the white walls and wide-planked wooden floors, covered with rugs patterned in reds, blues and whites. She gestured to the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“When the snow lets up, the sofa provides a view across the fjord and up the mountains on the other side,” she said, as if he was a weekend guest stopping by for a tour.
She pointed him toward the kitchen, then disappeared in a different direction. The tile was cool under his feet as he took in the sleek white cabinets, accents of light wood and sparkling steel appliances that surrounded him. On the counter, there were glass containers of baked goods, cookies and buns of some sort, and a few dirty dishes were abandoned by the sink. No shards of family porcelain were in sight, nor was there evidence of domestic help. Massimo didn’t know what to make of this scene, but he braced himself for the inevitable onslaught of her emotional upheaval, whenever it came.
Catarina returned to the kitchen, her cheeks flushed from the cold, her hair tousled, and the scent he remembered was everywhere, roses and something from the sea. A bolt of lust flashed too quickly to resist, and the warning that chimed through him was just as strong. But Massimo was not his father, who so eagerly responded to his mother’s every whim. He would make that perfectly clear.
She was holding a flat metal first aid box, a pair of thick, navy-blue socks and a hideous Christmas-themed jumper. She placed all three items on the island counter and smiled at him with a glint of challenge in her eyes.
“I’m afraid the place hasn’t fully warmed up yet, so I brought you an extra layer from my father’s closet,” she said. “And in case you’re concerned, none of it has been worn.”
He gave the jumper a disdainful glance. “I can’t imagine why.”
She rested both hands on the island counter and leveled him with her gaze.
“Why did you come?” she asked. Her voice held a hint of temper.
This reaction he recognized. This he could handle. Massimo took a step forward, and he bit back a smile when her breath caught and her cheeks darkened with heat. His own body stirred in response, but he didn’t allow his attention to stray to her lush lips that begged to be kissed, nor did he let himself tangle his fingers in her silky hair. Not yet, at least. Because he had her exactly where he wanted her. “Should I not follow my runaway fiancée?”
She swallowed and raised an eyebrow. “Are we engaged? I guess I must have missed the moment I said yes, among all the fanfare of your proposal.”
Her tone had returned to unfailing politeness, the way it had the night before, and there was no mistaking the cutting sarcasm laced in these words. The comment triggered a bizarre urge to snap back at her, to make clear that their arrangement was supposed to be settled. It was also supposed to be convenient, a descriptor that she was doing her best to defy.
“Did your father keep you in the dark about the nature of my proposal?” he said, keeping his voice silky smooth. She looked away when he mentioned her father, so he continued. “Did he promise you something that I did not deliver?”
“Of course not. You were exactly what I should have expected.” She managed to make this sound like an insult.
“And yet, something did not meet your satisfaction,” he continued. “Maybe you were still hoping for a fairy-tale marriage?”
Her cheeks flushed, and he could see he was on the right track.
“You have nothing to worry about,” she said, and the corners of her mouth turned down. “I have no illusions of a happy ending between us.”
“There will be plenty of happy endings between us,cara,” he said, letting his voice turn rough with the fire that blazed through him at these words. “That is a promise. But I am a far cry from Prince Charming. As you might have noted.”
Her eyes flashed with unmistakable heat, and he felt a surge of satisfaction. He had found his way under her polite facade. But Massimo’s body surged with anticipation, and he flashed back to the moment her lips brushed against his cheek back in her library. Her touch had been dangerously electric. He held back the urge to frown and focused on the plan he could not lose sight of.
“As soon as this—” he glanced out the window, into the haze of snow “—is over and we have phone service, I will call a helicopter, and we will fly home then head directly to the restaurant, where I will propose appropriately, with all the fanfare you require. And, if you choose, we can begin right away with the happy endings you claim you are not interested in.”
Catarina appeared wholly unmoved by his plan. She lifted her chin, exposing more of the slim column of her neck.
