“Like you know the best for everyone around you. Like arrogance and ruthlessness given shape and form. Like…”
A ghost of a smile floated on his lips. “So you know me?”
“I know of you. The perfect older brother. A cold, ruthless, brilliant man who understands machines better than people,” she said, quoting Matteo word for word. She was being an awful guest, and yet something in her wanted to test his steely control.
Mr. Ricci simply watched her. And she realized what she’d thought of as a younger brother’s humorous resentment held more than a grain of truth. Therewasa gloss of remoteness to him. As if he stood outside of the world and its inconvenient emotions. Like she’d been for so long.
Was that why they felt such pull toward each other?
“As much as I’d like to deny that I’m the villain Matteo painted, trust me when I say it’s better for you if you tell me everything. I do know what’s best for you.”
“Fine. Matteo and I used to be together.”
His frown turned into a full-blown scowl. “How long were you seeing each other?”
“Almost five years. I haven’t seen him since we had a fight and broke up four months ago.”
“Where did you two meet?”
She glared at him, but the lie came fast. “At a café in SFO.”
“And he asked you out?”
“Yes, that’s how these things are usually done. One interested person asks the other out,” she said dryly.
Her attempt at sarcasm made no dent in his expression. “How old are you, Ms. Fischer?”
For the first time since he’d walked in, she heard cautiousness in his voice. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Answer my question.”
“Twenty-three.”
Again, there was that flinch. “So you were eighteen when you two met.”
“Eighteen, yes. Matteo was twenty-three,” Sam protested hotly. It was the same argument she’d had with her own parents after she’d introduced them. To see her fragile little girl with a man suddenly had sent her mother into a tailspin. “I’m very mature for twenty-three,” she said inanely.
Mr. Ricci snorted. Even that was elegant. “What is that you do with that mature brain of yours?”
“I’m a certified professional at annoying arrogant Italian men who treat me like a petty criminal.”
He frowned, then blinked, and slowly, a beautiful smile appeared. It tugged one corner of his mouth higher than the other, digging a deep groove in the left cheek. The stark angles of his face softened, giving a glimpse into what lingered beneath the severity. If he flashed a full-blown smile at her, she might faint at the sheer beauty of it. “I’d appreciate your wit better if you answered my questions.”
“I’m a portrait artist,” Sam said, his reasonable tone dialing up her crankiness.
That scowl returned, and yet when he spoke, his words were silky smooth. Too smooth, in fact. “You’re the artist Matteo has been visiting every few months like clockwork for the last few years. You are Sam.”
“Yep. Short for Sameera.” She tried to not bristle at the distasteful note in his tone as he said her name. “I’ve traveled a long way to see him.”
“You’ve wasted a long journey, especially if you were thinking of patching things up with him.”
“Why?”
Those dark eyes considered her for another long moment. “Matteo is celebrating his engagement tonight. The party you almost crashed is in honor of him and his fiancée and their love.”
Chapter Two
ALESSANDRO WAITED FORtears and angry, possessive claims. Now that he knew who she was, the last thing he wanted to do was touch her again. But her golden-brown skin went alarmingly pale.
