In truth, letting him have a room for a few days would cause her very little inconvenience. SwanSea had over fifty bedrooms. And though it was true she knew nothing about him, she also wouldn’t know anything about most of the people who would be arriving to stay when SwanSea officially opened. Still, her instincts told her that none of those guests would come close to moving her in this strange, inexplicable way. “I’ve been living in Boston in recent years. Maybe we know some of the same people.”
Only an inherent self-discipline kept him from groaning aloud. She was going to probe. Why did she have to be beautiful
and
smart? “Boston is a big town, I doubt it.”
She persevered. “There’s a wonderful family-owned department store to Boston by the name of DiFrenza’s. Are you by any chance related to the owners?”
He hesitated. He had a circle of close and trusted friends. Outside that circle, he didn’t talk about himself. Protecting his family was his first priority, but he had to stay at SwanSea, and to do so, he had to gain Caitlin Deverell’s confidence. “Elena DiFrenza is my great-grandmother.”
Her eyes widened. “She's a legend in Boston. ” “She deserves to be a legend,” he said, gratified to see Caitlin relaxing. “She’s a remarkable woman.” That Elena DiFrenza was his great-grandmother was reassuring, and it was a fact easily checked. But a doubt Caitlin couldn’t quite name continued to niggle at her. “I understand DiFrenza’s is about to open a second store in Beverly Hills. ”
“That’s right.”
“I shop quite often at DiFrenza’s. Are you in the family business?”
“No. In general, I leave the store to my father and my sister. My father heads the store, and my sister is a buyer."
Studying him, Caitlin at first found it difficult to put this obviously rugged man together with the delicate Angelica DiFrenza. Through her frequent patronage of the store, Caitlin had struck up a casual friendship with Angelica, and she often relied on the woman’s impeccable taste when she needed something to. wear for a special event.
“I know your sister,” she said, “and you look nothing alike." Then it struck her. While it was true that Angelica’s waist-length hair was dark brown, not coal-black like his, they had the same eyes. Some people called that particular dark-brown shade and velvety texture
bedroom
eyes. Now why was she thinking that?
“I guarantee that Angelica would hate it if she resembled me,” he said. Though his words were meant as a joke, his patience was thinning by the minute. “And I wouldn’t take it too kindly if I looked like her. Anyway, Mother Nature knew what she was doing when she created Angelica. She's just about perfect.”
“She is lovely,” Caitlin agreed, reflecting that he was saying all the right things. Why then did she continue to sense something irregular and uneven beneath his smooth manner? Something that made her want to keep digging. “Your sister wears a ring I’ve always admired.”
He’d be amused if it weren’t for the fact that he was suddenly so tired. “Yes, it’s a Colombian square-cut emerald. Her birthstone.” He felt the slight tremor in his limbs. Giving a silent, crude curse, he whipped out his billfold and held out his driver’s license for her inspection.
A quick look showed her a stem, unsmiling picture of him and informed her that his name was Niccolo DiFrenza, that he lived at a good address in Boston, that he was six feet tall and had brown eyes.
On a certain level, she was reassured. Everything checked. But on another level, something told her Nico DiFrenza couldn’t be so simply and neatly explained by fitting him into a slot on the DiFrenza family tree. There was nothing simple or neat about this man.
“Look, Miss Deverell, please reconsider about the room. I really don’t think I can drive one more mile.” His pallor
had
increased, she noticed with concern. “It’s just that I’m not sure this is the best place for you. We aren’t set up to offer any service. Ramona, my mother’s housekeeper, is with me helping out, but all the workers you see are involved in the renovations.”
“So you do have other people staying here?”
“I phrased that poorly. Only Ramona and I are actually staying here. The workers come in from the surrounding towns each morning. ”
“I wouldn’t expect room service or someone to bring me fresh towels and make up my bed in the morning. All I need is a bed. Period.”
“And an ocean view.” She turned slightly to look at the house. “Well, thanks to my great-grandfather Edward Deverell and his Art Nouveau seashell-shaped design, there aren’t many rooms in the house that don’t have an ocean view.”
He saw that she was softening and pressed his advantage. “I promise I won’t be a bother. I’ll even drive into the town you mentioned for my meals. ” “Ramona would have a fit,” she said dryly. “As soon as she found out you’re recovering from an illness, you’d be lucky if she’d let you lift your own glass of water.”
“Then I can stay?"
She was tempted to say yes, but in the end, caution ruled. Reluctantly, she shook her head. “No. But I will give you a bed for a few hours so you can rest before you start out again.” He accepted her verdict in stony silence. “All right?” she asked.
“That would be very kind of you.”
Nico stepped back to allow Caitlin to precede him through the massive carved black-walnut front doors, then followed her into the grand entry hall with its forty-foot ceiling and majestic staircase that climbed a story, then branched in opposite directions to climb another story.
Nico lifted his gaze to the top of the stairs and inhaled sharply at the sight of the twenty-foot stained-glass window there, crafted in vibrant greens, purples, golds, and blues.
“Louis Comfort Tiffany designed the window to represent a peacock’s head and body,” Caitlin offered. “And the marble mosaic of the landing and stairway below it portray the tail. ”
Nico’s gaze followed the vivid plumage of the peacock’s tail as it fanned out in the breathtaking jewel-colors of the window to spread down the stairs to the hall floor. “The staircase is a work of art,” he said, his voice hushed.
She nodded, pleased with his reaction. “The whole house is.” She cast a glance at his pale face. “1 forgot to ask you about your bags. Will you need them to freshen up?"
“Probably. They’re in my car. I’ll get them later.” “Fine.” She gazed at him worriedly. He really didn't look at all well. “I think we’d better take the elevator.” His lips compressed. “I can manage the stairs.” Without a word, she took his arm and led him to one of the two gilded elevators tucked beneath the stairway. On the third floor, they walked down a wide hall.
If he were going to be allowed to stay only a few hours, he had to make the best of the time, Nico thought, trying to focus on the layout of the house. But all the doors that led off the hall were closed, and he couldn’t summon his usual excellent sense of direction. “Is your room on this floor?”
“Yes, I’m a few doors down from the one I'm lending you, and Ramona’s room is at the end of the hall. Traditionally, the family’s private rooms are on this floor, but I’m planning on converting a series of suites on the fourth floor into rooms to be used exclusively for the family. That will give us more privacy, and well always have rooms available when we want to come and stay.”
His strength dwindling rapidly now, Nico stared down at the Persian carpet, concentrating on putting one foot after the other. He had to learn the general arrangement of the place, he told himself, but later. For now, rest was the top priority.
She stopped in front of a door and opened it. “I put this room in order in case my mother decides to drop in.”
He threw an unseeing glance around the large room. “Are you expecting her anytime soon?”
“I never know. Mother’s a restless soul, and she travels a great deal.”
He noticed a slight edge in her voice, but he didn’t look at her face. He focused on the big bed, its tall headboard done in marquetry work of dark stained wood with inlaid ivory and mother-of-pearl. He crossed to it and eased himself down onto the cream-colored satin coverlet.
She walked to the French windows and opened them. “I’m not sure where my mother is at the moment. She has homes in both Paris and Boston, but the last postcard I received from her had a picture of the Great Pyramid of Giza on it.” A tiny frown creased her forehead. “No telling where she is now.” She swept her hand in an arc before her. “Well, there it is. An ocean view, as ordered.” Turning, she found him sprawled on the bed, asleep.
She stared at him for a moment. Against the pale satin coverlet, his features seemed harder, his skin darker, his whole being more sensual and masculine. Like granite against silk, the contrast brought out the best of both.
She slowly shook her head, bewildered. She didn’t think she’d ever had such a strong reaction to a man, and she couldn’t explain it. But for some reason, she wasn’t particularly bothered.
She pulled a blanket from the wardrobe. At his side, she started to bend over him with the cover but then stopped. His sweater had separated from the waistband of his jeans, and the lower part of a large bandage had been exposed. Immediately her heart went out to him. He hadn’t been lying when he said he’d been ill. Actually it appeared that he’d either sustained some sort of injury or that he had had surgery. Speculation aside, whatever had been wrong with him, he’d obviously been through the mill.
With special care, she spread the cover over him, bringing it up to his chin. Straightening, she looked down at him. Exhausted though he obviously was, he still managed to maintain a certain wariness, a measure of control, even in sleep. There was no doubt about It. She was fascinated by him.
To be held spellbound by a powerful attraction could be dangerous. But it could also be exciting, pleasurable, fulfilling.
What was she going to do about it, she wondered.
Still half asleep, Nico stretched. Pain in his side brought him wide awake to a dark room. A check of the luminescent dial on his watch informed him that he’d been asleep four hours. Damn. He had meant only to rest, not fall asleep.
He tried to recall what had happened. He remembered lying down, he remembered Caitlin walking to the window . . . Her voice . . . Her graceful movements . . .
He rubbed a hand over his face. He couldn’t allow her to distract him. Swiftly he went over what he knew about her. Since earning her B.A. from Harvard, she'd held an executive position with Deverell, Incorporated, the family business in Boston that was run by her cousin, Conall Deverell, a shark of a businessman. She had an uncle who was chairman of the board of the company, another uncle who was a powerful United States senator. A third uncle had died a hero in the Korean War. Last year, she’d inherited SwanSea from her grandfather Jake Deverell, the distinguished diplomat and statesman. She had beauty, wealth, social position—and SwanSea. In poker that would be called an almost unbeatable hand. Fortunately, he was very good at playing poker.
Mindful of his wound, he carefully reached for the switch on the bedside lamp. As he sat up, a blanket slid off him, and he saw his two bags sitting on the floor beside the bed. The idea that someone had been in his room while he slept fired him to action.
He checked his bags to make sure nothing had been disturbed, then stripped off his sweather and jeans. In the bathroom, he flipped on the light and discovered a stack of thick white towels and washcloths piled beside a black-marble basin with gold faucets in the shape of swans’ heads. Nice, very nice.
The house was astonishing, and its mistress . . . i
Looking into the mirror at himself, he shook his head.
No. Nico. No.
Deliberately, he dropped his gaze to the two large gauze-pads on the left side of his upper body, one over his ribs, the other below his heart. He peeled off the bandages and studied the healing wounds, a grim expression on his face. He supposed he should be grateful that Nathan Rettig hadn’t been a better shot. A half inch more to the right and one of the bullets would have punctured his heart. As it was, the first bullet had grazed a rib, and the second had nicked his spleen. The result had been two hellish weeks in the hospital, with only policemen to keep him company.
He owed Rettig, Nico thought, and he was going to see that he was paid off in spades.
“Hello,” Caitlln said as Nico walked into the kitchen. She was sitting at the big walnut table in the center of the large room, drinking coffee. And until she saw him, she hadn’t admitted to herself that she’d been waiting for him. “You’re looking a little better.”
“I feel better," he said honestly. He’d showered and changed into another pair of black jeans, along with a long-sleeved blue-and-black-striped shirt. He’d left the collar open and rolled up the sleeves to his forearms.
Sexy,
she thought, then caught herself. “Next time you tell me you need a room, I’ll respond very quickly.”
The teasing glints in the green-gold eyes caused a tingling along his nerves. He ignored the sensation. “Sorry to conk out on you like that, but I guess the drive took more out of me than I realized.”
“Don’t apologize. I understand. ”
I hope not,
he thought. “By the way, my bags were in the room when I woke, and I was wondering who brought them in.”
The wariness in his seeemingly casual question brought her head up. “I did.”
He concentrated on excluding all tightness from his expression. “Does that mean I can stay?”
The answer was on the tip of her tongue, but she forced herself to consider the situation one more times. She folded her hands on the table in front of her and stared at them for a moment. He was already here. She’d taken his bags upstairs herself. And there was her incredible fascination.
I’ve got to be crazy.
“I’d hate to see you have to start out this time of night and try to find a place.”
“Is that a yes?”
She met his gaze. “I guess it is. ”
“Thank you,” he said allowing himself to relax a degree. “The please call me Nico.”
“Fine, if you’ll call me Caitlin.”
Caitlin.
The sound of her name rebounded softly through his brain, hitting all sorts of pleasure sensors. But then he remembered. It wouldn’t pay to get too close or to become obligated to the people in this house. His plan was to get in, spend some time, accomplish his tasks, and get back out. Smooth. Without causing a ripple. “I meant it when I said I don’t intend to be a bother.”