Page 12 of The Billionaire's Seduction Revenge

“And you’ve changed your mind about me?”

“I’m open to having it changed,” he corrected, the difference not failing to hit Emma.

“I see. So you still think I’m some gold digger intent on seducing your sweet old Grandfather?”

Vasilios laughed again. “Careful he doesn’t hear you describe him in this way. I don’t know if he’d object more to being called old or sweet, perhaps both equally.”

Despite herself, a small smile tickled Emma’s lips. “He is sweet.”

“Perhaps he can be, at times, with you.”

“But not with you?”

“Is this your way of agreeing to get to know me?”

Her eyes widened. “I was only asking a question.”

“Join me for lunch—ask any question you’d like.”

“Lunch?” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s three o’clock.”

“Is it? Have you eaten?”

As a matter of fact, Emma hadn’t. “I—well, no.”

“Then lunch.” He shrugged. “Or are you afraid, Emma, of what I might learn if we get to know each other?”

Pride had her squaring her shoulders. “I’m not afraid of anything,” she responded tightly, even though it wasn’t completely true. Only she was afraid of things that were far worse than Vasilios Valenti. He might be ruthless in the boardroom but he was no cold-blooded killer. Having seen the latter at close range, been in their orbit, and even had to testify against them, there were very few people who could frighten her now.

“I believe you.” He reached up on the pretext of tucking some hair behind her ear, that had blown loose in the light afternoon breeze. It was a simple, quick contact but a thousand little arrows of awareness shot through her veins and Emma trembled.

“So? Lunch?”

He had a good point. If he was going to be staying at the villa for any period of time, it made sense that they should work out how to at least be in the same room together without wanting to kill one another.

“On one condition,” she said after a small pause.

“Si?”

“That you not be such a rude jackass.”

He grinned, and the quick action of his lips made her pulse thunder. “Fine. I’ll do my best.”

“I suppose that’s all I can ask,” she huffed.

4

NOT TEN MINUTES LATER, they were standing out the front of the Villa, staring at Vasilios’s motorbike with totally different expressions. On Emma’s face there was a look of abject disbelief, on Vasilios’s, enjoyment.

In most of his homes, he had cars and chauffeurs, but here in Puglia, he allowed himself the freedom of enjoying the open roads. Here, he rode his motorbike, and he loved it.

“Um, this?”

“I thought you weren’t afraid of anything,” he prompted, handing Emma a helmet with a challenge glinting in his dark eyes.

“I’m not afraid,” she said, taking the helmet against her better judgement. “So much as sensibly cautious. Do you know how dangerous these things are?”

“They can be, when a driver does not have skills or experience.”

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