Under The Tuscan Sun...: A Bride for the Italian Boss / Return of the Italian Tycoon / Reunited by a Baby Secret
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She took the bite and again, she groaned. “What is that?”
“Beef brasato.”
“Oh, my God, that’s good.”
A younger chef suddenly appeared before her with a spoon of soup. “Minestrone,” he said, holding the spoon out to her.
She drank the soup and closed her eyes to savor. “You guys are the best cooks in the world.”
Everyone in the kitchen stopped. The room fell silent.
But Emory laughed. “Chef Rafe is one of the best chefs in the world. These are his recipes.”
She turned and smiled at Rafe. “You’re amazing.”
She’d meant his cooking was amazing. His recipes were amazing. Or maybe the way he could get the best out of his staff was amazing. But saying the words while looking into his silver-gray eyes, the simple sentence took on a totally different meaning.
The room grew quiet again. She felt her face reddening. Rafe held her gaze for a good twenty seconds before he finally pointed at the door. “Go tell that to customers.”
She walked out of the kitchen, licking the remains of the fantastic food off her lips as she headed for the podium. With the exception of that crazy little minute of eye contact, tasting the food had been fun. She loved how proud the entire kitchen staff seemed to be of the delicious dishes they prepared. And she saw the respect they had for their boss. Chef Rafe. Clearly a very talented man.
With two groups waiting to be seated, she grabbed menus and walked the first couple to a table. “Right this way.”
“Any specialties tonight?”
She faced the man and woman behind her, saying, “I can honestly recommend the chef’s signature ravioli.” With the taste of the food still on her tongue, she smiled. “And the minestrone soup is to die for. But if you’re in the mood for beef, there’s a beef brasato that you’ll never forget.”
She said the words casually, but sampling the food had had the oddest effect on her. Suddenly she felt part of it. She didn’t merely feel like a good hostess who could recommend the delicious dishes because she’d tasted them. She got an overwhelming sense that she was meant to be here. The feeling of destiny was so strong it nearly overwhelmed her. But she drew in a quiet breath, smiled at the couple and seated them.
Sense of destiny? That was almost funny. Children who grew up in foster care gave up on destiny early, and contented themselves with a sense of worth, confidence. It was better to educate yourself to be employable than to dally in daydreams.
As the night went on, Rafe and his staff continued to give her bites and tastes of the dishes they prepared. As she became familiar with the items on the menu, she tempted guests to try things. But she also listened to stories of the sights the tourists had seen that day, and soothed the egos of those who spoke broken Italian by telling stories of teaching English as a second language in Rome.
And the feeling that she was meant to be there grew, until her heart swelled with it.
* * *
Rafe watched her from the kitchen door. Behind him, Emory laughed. “She’s pretty, right?”
Rafe faced him, concerned that his friend had seen their thirty seconds of eye contact over the ravioli and recognized that Rafe was having trouble seeing Daniella Tate as an employee because she was so beautiful. When she’d called him amazing, he’d struggled to keep his gaze off her lips, but that didn’t stop the urge to kiss her. It blossomed to life in his chest and clutched the air going into and out of his lungs, making them stutter. He’d needed all of those thirty seconds to get ahold of himself.
But Emory’s round face wore his usual smile. Nothing out of the ordinary. No light of recognition in his eyes. Rafe’s unexpected reactions hadn’t been noticed.
Rafe turned back to the crack between the doors again. “She’s chatty.”
“You did tell her to talk up the food.” Emory sidled up to the slim opening. “Besides, the customers seem to love her.”
“Bah!” He spun away from the door. “We don’t need for customers to love her. They come here for the food.”
Emory shrugged. “Maybe. But we’re both aware Mancini’s was getting to be a little more well-known for your temper than for its meals. A little attention from a pretty girl talking up your dishes might just cure your reputation problem. Put the food back in the spotlight instead of your temper.”
“I still think she talks too much.”
Emory shook his head. “Suit yourself.”
Rafe crossed his arms on his chest. He would suit himself. He was famous for suiting himself. That was how he’d gotten to be a great chef. By learning and testing until he created great meals. And he wanted the focus on those meals.
The first chance he got, he intended to have a talk with Daniella Tate.
CHAPTER THREE
AT THE END of the night, when the prep tables were spotless, the kitchen staff raced out the back door. Rafe ambled into the dining room as the waitresses headed for the front door, Daniella in their ranks.
Stopping behind the bar, he called, “No. No. You...Daniella. You and I need to talk.”
Her steps faltered and she paused. Eventually, she turned around. “Sure. Great.”
Allegra and Gio tossed looks of sympathy at her as the door closed softly behind them.
Her shoulders straightened and she walked over to him. “What is it?”
“You are chatty.”
She burst out laughing. “I know.” As comfortable as an old friend, she slid onto a bar stool across from him. “Got myself into a lot of trouble in school for that.”
“Then you will not be offended if I ask you to project a more professional demeanor with the customers?”
“Heck, no. I’m not offended. I think you’re crazy for telling me not to be friendly. But I’m not offended.”
Heat surged through Rafe’s blood, the way it had when she’d nibbled the ravioli from his fork and called him amazing. But this time he was prepared for it. He didn’t know what it was about this woman that got him going, why their arguments fired his blood and their pleasant encounters made him want to kiss her, but he did know he had to control it.
He pulled a bottle of wine from the rack beneath the bar and poured two glasses. Handing one of the glasses to her, he asked, “Do you think it’s funny to argue with your boss?”
“I’m not arguing with you. I’m giving you my opinion.”
He stayed behind the bar, across from her so he could see her face, her expressive blue eyes. “Ah. So, now I understand. You believe you have a right to an opinion.”
She took a sip of the wine. “Maybe not a right. But it’s kind of hard not to have an opinion.”
He leaned against the smooth wooden surface between them, unintentionally getting closer, then finding that he liked it there because he could smell the hint of her perfume or shampoo. “Perhaps. But a smart employee learns to stifle them.”
“As you said, I’m chatty.”
“Do it anyway.”
She sucked in a breath, pulling back slightly as if trying to put space between them. “Okay.”
He laughed. “Okay? My chatty hostess is just saying okay?”
“It’s your restaurant.”
He saluted her with his wineglass. “At least we agree on something.”
But when she set her glass on the bar, slid off the stool and headed for the door, his heart sank.
He shook his head, grabbed the open bottle of wine and went in the other direction, walking toward the kitchen where he would check the next day’s menu. It was silly, foolish to be disappointed she was leaving. Not only did he barely know the woman, but he wasn’t in the market for a girlfriend. His instincts might be thinking of things like kissing, but he hadn’t dated in four years. He had affairs and one-night stands. And a smart employer didn’t have a one-night stand with an employee. Unless he wanted trouble. And he did not.
He’d already had one relationship that had almost destroyed his dream. He’d fallen so hard for Kamila Troccoli that when she wasn’t able to handle the demands of his schedule, he’d pared it back. Desperate to keep her, he’d refused plum apprenticeships, basically giving up his goal of being a master chef and owning a chain of restaurants.
But she’d left him anyway. After a year of building his life around her, he’d awakened one morning to find she’d simply gone. It had taken four weeks before he could go back to work, but his broken heart hadn’t healed until he’d realized relationships were for other men. He had a dream that a romance had nearly stolen from him. A wise man didn’t forget hard lessons, or throw them away because of a pretty girl.
Almost at the kitchen door, he stopped. “And, Daniella?”
She faced him.
“No jeans tomorrow. Black trousers and a white shirt.”
* * *
Daniella raced to her car, her heart thumping in her chest. Having Rafe lean across the bar, so close to her, had been the oddest thing. Her blood pressure had risen. Her breathing had gone funny. And damned if she didn’t want to run her fingers through his wavy hair. Unbound, it had fallen to his shoulders, giving him the look of a sexy pirate.
The desire to touch him had been so strong, she would have agreed to anything to be able to get away from him so she could sort this out.
And just when she’d thought she was free, he’d said her name. Daniella. The way it had rolled off his tongue had been so sexy, she’d shuddered.
Calling herself every kind of crazy, she got into Louisa’s old car and headed home. A mile up the country road, she pulled through the opening in the stone wall that allowed entry to Monte Calanetti. Driving along the cobblestone street, lit only by streetlights, she marveled at the way her heart warmed at the quaint small town. She’d never felt so at peace as she did in Italy, and she couldn’t wait to meet her foster mother’s relatives. Positive they’d make a connection, she could see herself coming to Italy every year to visit them.
She followed the curve around the statue in the town square before she made the turn onto the lane for Palazzo di Comparino. She knew Louisa saw only decay and damage when she looked at the crumbling villa, but in her mind’s eye Dani could see it as it was in its glory days. Vines heavy with grapes. The compound filled with happy employees. The owner, a proud man.
A lot like Rafe.
She squeezed her eyes shut when the familiar warmth whooshed through her at just the thought of his name. What was it about that guy that got to her? Sure, he was sexy. Really sexy. But she’d met sexy men before. Why did this one affect her like this?
Louisa was asleep, so she didn’t have anyone to talk with about her strange feelings. But the next morning over tea, she told Louisa everything that had happened at the restaurant, especially her unwanted urge to touch Rafe when he leaned across the bar and was so close to her, and Louisa—again—laughed.
“This is Italy. Why are you so surprised you’re feeling everything a hundred times more passionately?”
Dani’s eyes narrowed. Remembering her thoughts about Monte Calanetti, the way she loved the quaint cobblestone streets, the statue fountain in the middle of the square, the happy, bustling people, she realized she did feel everything more powerfully in Italy.
“Do you think that’s all it is?”
“Oh, sweetie, this is the land of passion. It’s in the air. The water. Something. As long as you recognize what it is, you’ll be fine.”
“I hope so.” She rose from the table. “I also hope there’s a thrift shop in town. I have to find black trousers and a white blouse. Rafe doesn’t like my jeans.”
Louisa laughed as she, too, rose from the table. “I’ll bet he likes your jeans just fine.”
Daniella frowned.
Louisa slid her arm across her shoulder. “Your butt looks amazing in jeans.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Louisa gave her a confused look, then shook her head. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe you’re both reacting extremely to each other. That it’s not just you feeling everything, and that’s why it’s so hard to ignore?”
“You think he’s attracted to me?”
“Maybe. Dani, you’re pretty and sexy.” She laughed. “And Italian men like blondes.”
Daniella frowned. “Oh, boy. That just makes things worse.”
“Or more fun.”
“No! I have a fiancé. Well, not a fiancé. My boyfriend asked me to marry him right before I left.”
“You have a boyfriend?”
She winced. “Yeah.”
“And he proposed right before you left?”
“Yes.”
Louisa sighed. “I guess that rules out an affair with your sexy Italian boss.”
Daniella’s eyes widened. “I can’t have an affair!”
“I know.” Louisa laughed. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs and see what’s in my suitcases. I have to unpack anyway. I’m sure I have black pants and a white shirt.”
“Okay.”
Glad the subject had changed, Daniella walked with Louisa through the massive downstairs to the masterpiece stairway.
Louisa lovingly caressed the old, worn banister. “I feel like this should be my first project. Sort of like a symbol that I intend to bring this place back to life.”
“Other people might give the kitchen or bathrooms a priority.”
Louisa shook her head. “The foyer is the first thing everyone sees when they walk in. I want people to know I’m committed and I’m staying.”
“I get it.”
It took ten minutes to find the black pants and white shirt in Louisa’s suitcase, but Dani remained with Louisa another hour to sort through her clothes and hang them in the closet.
When it was time to leave, she said goodbye to Louisa and headed to the restaurant for the lunch crowd. She stashed her purse on the little shelf of the podium and waited for someone to unlock the door to customers so she could begin seating everyone.
Rafe himself came out. As he walked to the door, his gaze skimmed over her. Pinpricks of awareness rained down on her. Louisa’s suggestion that he was attracted to her tiptoed into her brain. What would it be like to have this sexy, passionate man attracted to her?
She shook her head. What the heck was she thinking? He was only looking at her to make sure she had dressed appropriately. He was not attracted to her. Good grief. All they ever did was snipe at each other. That was not attraction.
Although, standing up to him did warm her blood...
After opening the door, Rafe strode away without even saying good morning, proving, at least to Dani, that he wasn’t attracted to her. As she seated her first customers, he walked to the windows at the back of the old farmhouse and opened the wooden shutters, revealing the picturesque countryside.
The odd feeling of destiny brought Daniella up short again. This time she told herself it was simply an acknowledgment that the day was beautiful, the view perfect. There was no such thing as someone “belonging” somewhere. There was only hard work and planning.
An hour into the lunch shift, a customer called her over and asked to speak with the chef. Fear shuddered through her.
“Rafe?”
The older man nodded. “If he’s the chef, yes.”
She couldn’t even picture the scene if she called Rafe out and this man, a sweet old man with gray hair, blue eyes and a cute little dimple, complained about the food. So she smiled. “Maybe I can help you?”
“Perhaps. But I would like to speak with the chef.”
Officially out of options, she smiled and said, “Absolutely.”
She turned to find Rafe only a few steps away, his eyes narrowed, his lips thin.
She made her smile as big as she could. “Chef Rafe...” She motioned him over. When he reached her, she politely said, “This gentleman would like to speak with you.”
The dining room suddenly grew quiet. It seemed that everyone, including Daniella, held their breath.
Rafe addressed the man. “Yes? What can I do for you? I’m always happy to hear from my customers.”
His voice wasn’t just calm. It was warm. Dani took a step back. She’d expected him to bark. Instead, he was charming and receptive.
“This is the best ravioli I’ve ever eaten.” The customer smiled broadly. “I wanted to convey my compliments to the chef personally.”
Rafe put his hands together as if praying and bowed slightly. “Grazie.”
“How did you come to pick such a lovely place for a restaurant?”
“The views mostly,” Rafe said, smiling, and Dani stared at him. Those crazy feelings rolled through her again. When it came to his customers he was humble, genuine. And very, very likable.
He turned to her and nodded toward the door. “Customers, Daniella?”
“Yes! Of course!” She pivoted and hurried away to seat the people at the door, her heart thrumming, her nerve endings shimmering. Telling herself she was simply responding to the happy way he chatted with a customer, glad he hadn’t yelled at the poor man and glad everything was going so well, she refused to even consider that her appreciation of his good looks was tipping over into a genuine attraction.
She was so busy she didn’t hear the rest of Rafe’s conversation with the older couple. When they left, Rafe returned to the kitchen and Daniella went about her work. People arrived, she seated them, the staff served them and Rafe milled about the dining room, talking with customers. They gushed over the scene visible through the back windows. And he laughed.
He laughed. And the warmth of his love for his customers filled her. But that still didn’t mean she was attracted to him. She appreciated him, yes. Respected him? Absolutely. But even though he was gorgeous, she refused to be attracted to him. Except maybe physically...the man was gorgeous. And having a boyfriend didn’t mean she couldn’t notice good-looking men... Did it?
When the lunch crowd emptied, and Gio and Zola left, Daniella turned to help Allegra tidy the dining room, but Rafe caught her arm. “Not so fast.”
The touch of his hand on her biceps sent electricity straight to her heart. Which speeded up and sent a whoosh of heat through her blood.
Darn it. She was attracted to him.
But physically. Just physically.
She turned slowly.
Bright with anger, his gaze bored into her. “What in the hell did you think you were doing?”
With electricity careening through her, she pulled in a shaky breath. “When?”
“When the customer asked to speak with me!” He threw his hands in the air. “Did you think I did not see? I see everything! I heard that man ask to speak with me and heard you suggest that he talk to you.”
She sucked in a breath to steady herself. “I was trying to head off a disaster.”
“A disaster? He wanted to compliment the chef and you tried to dissuade him. Did you want the compliment for yourself?”
She gasped. “No! I was worried he was going to complain about the food.” She took a step closer, now every bit as angry as he was. He was so concerned about his own agenda, he couldn’t even tell when somebody was trying to save his sorry butt. “And that you’d scream at him and the whole dining room would hear.”
He matched the step she took. “Oh, really? You saw how I spoke to him. I love my customers.”
She held her ground. Her gaze narrowed on him. Her heart raced. “Yeah, well I know that now, but I didn’t know it when he asked to speak with you.”
“You overstepped your boundaries.” He took another step, and put them so close her whole body felt energized—
Oh, no.
Now she knew what was going on. She didn’t just think Rafe was handsome. She wasn’t just physically attracted to him. She was completely attracted to him. And she wasn’t yelling at him because she was defending herself. She was yelling because it was how he communicated with her. Because he was a stubborn, passionate man, was this how she flirted with him?
Not at all happy with these feelings, she stepped away from him. Softening her voice, she said, “It won’t happen again.”
He laughed. “What? You suddenly back down?”
She peered over at him. Why hadn’t he simply said, “Thank you,” and walked away? That’s what he usually did.
Unless Louisa was right and he was attracted to her, too?
The mere thought made her breathless. She sneaked a peek at him—he was distinguished looking with his long hair tied back and his white smock still crisp and clean after hours of work. The memory of his laughter with the customer fluttered through her, stealing her breath again. He was a handsome man, very, very good at what he did and dedicated to his customers. He could have his pick of women. And he was attracted to her?
Preposterous. She didn’t for a second believe it, but she was definitely attracted to him. And she was going to have to watch her step.
She cleared her throat. “Unless you want me to hang out until the dinner crowd, I’ll be going home now.”
He shook his head. “Do not overstep your boundaries again.”
She licked her suddenly dry lips. “Oh, believe me, I’ll be very, very careful from here on out.”
* * *
Rafe watched her walk away. His racing heart had stilled. The fire in his blood had fizzled. Disappointment rattled through him. He shook his head and walked back into the kitchen.
“Done yelling at Daniella?”
Rafe scowled at Emory. “She oversteps her place.”
“She’s trying to keep the peace. To keep the customers happy. And, in case you haven’t noticed, they are happy. Today they were particularly happy.”
He sniffed in disdain. “I opened the dining room to the view from the back windows.”
Emory laughed. “Seriously? You’re going with that?”
“All right! So customers like her.”
“And no one seems to be hanging around hoping you’ll lose your temper.”
He scowled.
“She did exactly what we needed to have done. She shifted the temperament in the dining room. Customers are enjoying your food. You should be thrilled to have her around.”
Rafe turned away with a “Bah.” But deep down inside he was thrilled to have her around.
And maybe that wasn’t as much of a good thing as Emory thought it was. Because the whole time he was yelling at her, he could also picture himself kissing her.
Worse, the part of him that usually toed the line wasn’t behaving. That part kept reminding him she was temporary. She might be an employee, but she wasn’t staying forever. He could have an affair with this beautiful, passionate woman and not have to worry about repercussions because in a few weeks, she’d be gone. No scene. No broken heart. No expectations. They could have a delicious affair.
CHAPTER FOUR
DANIELLA RETURNED HOME that night exhausted. Louisa hadn’t waited up for her, but from the open cabinet doors and trash bags sitting by the door, it was apparent she’d begun cleaning the kitchen.
She dragged herself up the stairs, showered and crawled into bed, refusing to think about the possibility that Rafe might be attracted to her. Not only did she have a marriage proposal waiting at home, but, seriously? Her with Rafe? Mr. Unstable with the former foster child who needed stability? That was insanity.
She woke early the next morning and, after breakfast, she and Louisa loaded outdated food from the pantry into even more trash bags.
Wiping sweat from her brow, Louisa shook her head at the bag of garbage she’d just hauled to the growing pile by the door. “We don’t even know what day to set out the trash.”
Busy sweeping the now-empty pantry, Dani said, “You could always ask Nico.”
Louisa rolled her eyes. “I’m not tromping over to his villa to ask about trash.”
“You could call him. I have his card.” She frowned. “Or Rafe has his card. I could ask for it back tonight.”
“No, thanks. I’ll figure this out.”
“Or maybe I could ask the girls at the restaurant? Given that we’re so close to Monte Calanetti, one of them probably lives in the village. She’ll know what day the trash truck comes by.”