Page 34 of Deception

“I'm sorry, Isabella. I didn't mean to?—”

“No, it's okay.” I shove down the rage and anguish that bubbles up thinking of Giorgio. It’s a force of will to make myself remember that Alessandro has no idea, and that I can’t let him know.

It’s getting easier to be around him. To forget in the moment.

And yet, if I asked him, point-blank, would he even remember killing my brother? Or would it just be another faceless law enforcement officer who got in his way? Would it even matter to someone like him?

I paste on a smile. Press the emotions down.

I can’t let anything ruin our dinner together. Compartmentalize.

Gazing across the table, I let my own guard down, allowing myself to enjoy the company of a beautiful man, candlelight, and an amazing meal.

It's truly amazing what the mind can do when forced into a corner.

“Would you like a glass of wine?”

“I’d love one. Red, preferably.”

“I thought we might try this vintage port I’ve been saving, but now I'm thinking I’m in the mood for a cabernet. Something a little drier, a littlesharper.” His eyes flare when he says it, approaching my side of the table with a bottle in hand. His swagger is bold, seductive.

Any woman would melt at the sight of him in his dark, navy slacks and white button down. The way his sleeves stretch over his biceps, the pull of the fabric across his broad, sculpted chest.

The tight fit of his pants over muscular legs and a taut, perky ass.

Dammit, Isabella. I haven’t even had anything to drink yet and I’m feeling hot and bothered.

The splash of wine he pours fills my nostrils with a rich, smoky aroma—tobacco, and a hint of chocolate.

“Mmm…” I hum as I swirl it, sip it, letting it linger on my tongue. The tasteisremarkable.

Alessandro watches me lick my lips, leaning on the edge of the table, his posture relaxed. He’s truly a king in his domain.

“Do you like it?”

“I do. It’sbold.” I pin him with a stare as I say it.

“An unforgettablebody, to be sure.”

“It almostbites, but the finish is smooth.”

The little game we’re playing makes my legs tighten, my core heating.

He sips his own glass, easing off the table and sauntering back to his side. “So. What will you do to pass the time, Isabella?”

“I’m not sure. It’s only the first day. Maybe the storm will clear.” I try to sound nonchalant.

“Unlikely, from all reports. What would you normally do, if you were on your own. At home, or on vacation?” It’s hard to decide if he’s actually interested or indulging me. He’s impossible to read.

“I love to read. Sightsee. Learn about historic locales,” I admit, finding the truth easier to divulge than making up a lie. “And you? If I hadn’t invaded your respite, what would you do to pass the hours?”

“Hmm. I love to read, too. A bit of Sartre. Something dark, stimulating. Anything that makes me question my way of life, way of thinking.” It’s a provocation as much as a confession. Like he wants me to challenge him.

“Since Iamhere, what do you have planned?”

His eyes flare like they have before, but the intense heat in his gaze has me nearly sweating. Foolish girl.

“Well, I suppose I have to think of things for us to do. There’s bound to be plenty to keep us busy.” The implication hangs in the air for a split second before he snatches it back, shifting gears and grinning at the flush in my cheeks.

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