Page 32 of Marrying the Enemy

Nico did, then said with heavy sarcasm, “Good luck.”

“Don’t need it. But you do,” Dom said and walked out.

CHAPTER TEN

EVE WAS TRYING to go back to resenting Dom. In some ways she did, because she was even more obsessed with him than before their time on the island. It took all her control not to stalk him online or find the number to his head office and try to reach out.

For what, though? They had no future. Putting their family history aside, he was the last sort of man she’d want as a partner. He was too much. Too gruff and dynamic and good-looking and powerful in the ways that he affected her. Her ankle was mostly better, but anytime it gave a twinge, she thought of him throwing her over his shoulder like a caveman, or smirking about removing the condom, or wrapping her ankle so tenderly.

The truth was, she wished she only thought of him when her ankle twinged. It was more a case of thinking about him and feeling a pang through her whole body.

Why? Why him?

She feared she would live out her life as a spinster because she seemed to possess whatever instinct or imprinting gene made wolves and geese mate for life. It wasn’t love. It was the sort of pair bond that formed as a survival tactic. There was no logic to it. It simply was.

At least, that’s what she told herself this infernal reaction was. If she allowed herself to believe this weird bond went any deeper, into liking his dry humor or feeling touched that he’d brought her breakfast, she only felt raw inside because she knew it wasn’t the same for him. He’d made it clear their affair was a one-night thing and purely physical. Their parting had been circumspect without even a kiss, the silence since then profound.

Piqued by that and Nico’s high-handed behavior and her realization that she was entirely too reliant on her family, she’d come to Italy—where she owned a home. Kind of.

This was the house where Nonno Aldo had brought his bride, Maria, after he had stolen her from her wedding in America. They’d had two years and their first child, Romeo, here before returning to America to bail out the Winslows. They’d held onto this villa and, after losing her husband, this was where Nonna Maria had lived out her golden years.

After she passed, Eve’s father had wanted to sell the house because it was small and impractical, not to mention turning into a money pit with age. Eve had a lot of fond memories of visiting Nonna here. She had begged him to hold onto it until she was able to access her trust, at which point she’d got a mortgage and began making it her own.

It was impractical, made up of three floors built into a hillside. It was tall and skinny, with small rooms and narrow windows. But it was very cute with its red clay tile roof and its shutters in robin’s-egg blue. There was an outdoor kitchen, a small pool, and terraced grounds holding fruit trees and ornamental shrubs that wore autumn colors of scarlet and copper and sunny gold. The view of the deep blue lake was outstanding.

Eve was currently supervising much-needed repairs to a retaining wall while waiting for a headhunter to get back to her when her housekeeper, Odetta, tugged her attention from the work she was surveying below her.

“Signorina?”

Eve turned to see Dom on the terrace above her.

Surprise nearly knocked her over the edge and onto the workmen.

Dom was still gorgeous, the bastard. He wore a lightweight suit in sage-gray. His jaw was shadowed with stubble, his eyes hidden by sunglasses. His hands were in his pockets, his attention seemingly on the view, but she felt his gaze follow her as she crossed the lawn to the bottom of the stone steps cut into the hill.

She took her time climbing them. Questions were tumbling through her mind and conflicted emotions bounced like pinballs in her chest. She couldn’t help leaping to worrying that something catastrophic had happened. An exposé of some kind? She’d been staying off socials and off grid, trying to reset her life, but clickbait websites never took a break.

The closer she got, the tighter her skin felt. She subtly cleared her throat, fearing her voice would come out thin and high.

“If you’re looking for your next development property, this one is not for sale,” she said.

He took his sunglasses off and looked directly into her soul. “It’s beautiful.”

Her throat contracted around a squeak that she barely managed to suppress. Why did he have to be so damned edible? That mouth. She wanted to press her lips to his and nuzzle the scent in his throat and lean against the column of his body. She wanted to touch him. Feel him. She wanted to take his hand and lead him straight up to her room without another word except maybe “yes,” and “more,” and “harder.”

She turned so she was facing the water, trying to hide her libidinous reaction.

“My grandmother would have spent her whole life here if she hadn’t had to go back to America and bail out the Winslows. Will you make coffee, please, Odetta?”

Her housekeeper melted away and Eve waved at the table and chairs farther along the paved stones of the terrace.

Dom didn’t move. He tucked his sunglasses into his jacket pocket and gauged the distance to the workmen before asking in an undertone, “Are you pregnant?”

“No.” He’d taken precautions, if he didn’t remember. Even during that risky third time, he had pulled out as promised. Plus, the timing had been wrong. And she’d taken the pill, exactly as she had promised.

Despite how impossible it had been that she could be pregnant, she had still shed a couple of tears when her cycle had arrived as faithfully as tulips in spring. It was yet one more foolish reaction in a list of foolish overreactions this man provoked in her.

“I had to ask. I’ve been wondering.”

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