About the Authors

SUSAN MEIER is the author of over fifty books for Mills & Boon. The Tycoon’s Secret Daughter was a RITA® Award finalist and Nanny for the Millionaire’s Twins won the Book Buyers’ Best award and was a finalist in the National Readers’ Choice awards. She is married and has three children. One of eleven children herself, she loves to write about the complexity of families and totally believes in the power of love.

Award-winning author JENNIFER FAYE pens fun, heartwarming romances. Jennifer has won the RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book award, is a Top Pick author and has been nominated for numerous awards. Now living her dream, she resides with her patient husband, one amazing daughter (the other remarkable daughter is off chasing her own dreams) and two spoiled cats. She’d love to hear from you via her website, www.jenniferfaye.com.

MICHELLE DOUGLAS has been writing for Mills & Boon since 2007 and believes she has the best job in the world. She lives in a leafy suburb of Newcastle, on Australia’s east coast, with her own romantic hero, a house full of dust and books, and an eclectic collection of ’60s and ’70s vinyl. She loves to hear from readers and can be contacted via her website: www.michelle-douglas.com.

Under the Tuscan Sun…

A Bride for the Italian Boss

Susan Meier

Return of the Italian Tycoon

Jennifer Faye

Reunited by a Baby Secret

Michelle Douglas

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08142-9

UNDER THE TUSCAN SUN…

A Bride for the Italian Boss © 2015 Harlequin Books S.A. Return of the Italian Tycoon © 2015 Harlequin Books S.A. Reunited by a Baby Secret © 2015 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Title Page

Copyright

A Bride for the Italian Boss

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Return of the Italian Tycoon

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

EPILOGUE

Reunited by a Baby Secret

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A Bride for the Italian Boss

Susan Meier

I want to thank the lovely editors at Mills & Boon for creating such a great continuity!

Everyone involved LOVED this idea. Thank you!

CHAPTER ONE

ITALY HAD TO BE the most beautiful place in the world.

Daniella Tate glanced around in awe at the cobblestone streets and blue skies of Florence. She’d taken a train here, but now had to board a bus for the village of Monte Calanetti.

After purchasing her ticket, she strolled to a wooden bench. But as she sat, she noticed a woman a few rows over, with white-blond hair and a slim build. The woman stared out into space; the faraway look in her eyes triggered Daniella’s empathy. Having grown up a foster child, she knew what it felt like to be alone, sometimes scared, usually confused. And she saw all three of those emotions in the woman’s pretty blue eyes.

An announcement for boarding the next bus came over the public address system. An older woman sitting beside the blonde rose and slid her fingers around the bag sitting at her feet. The pretty blonde rose, too.

“Excuse me. That’s my bag.”

The older woman spoke in angry, rapid-fire Italian and the blonde, speaking American English, said, “I’m sorry. I don’t understand a word of what you’re saying.”

But the older woman clutched the bag to her and very clearly told the American that it was her carry-on.

Daniella bounced from her seat and scurried over. She faced the American. “I speak Italian, perhaps I can help?” Then she turned to the older woman. In flawless Italian, she asked if she was sure the black bag was hers, because there was a similar bag on the floor on the other side.

The older woman flushed with embarrassment. She apologetically gave the bag to the American, grabbed her carry-on and scampered off to catch her bus.

The pretty blonde sighed with relief and turned her blue eyes to Daniella. “Thank you.”

“No problem. When you responded in English it wasn’t a great leap to assume you didn’t speak the language.”

The woman’s eyes clouded. “I don’t.”

“Do you have a friend coming to meet you?”

“No.”

Dani winced. “Then I hope you have a good English-to-Italian dictionary.”

The American pointed to a small listening device. “I’ve downloaded the ‘best’ language system.” She smiled slightly. “It promises I’ll be fluent in five weeks.”

Dani laughed. “It could be a long five weeks.” She smiled and offered her hand. “I’m Daniella, by the way.”

The pretty American hesitated, but finally shook Daniella’s hand and said, “Louisa.”

“It’s my first trip to Italy. I’ve been teaching English in Rome, but my foster mother was from Tuscany. I’m going to use this final month of my trip to find her home.”

Louisa tilted her head. “Your foster mother?”

Dani winced. “Sorry. I’m oversharing.”

Louisa smiled.

“It’s just that I’m so excited to be here. I’ve always wanted to visit Italy.” She didn’t mention that her longtime boyfriend had proposed the day before she left for her teaching post in Rome. That truly would be oversharing, but also she hadn’t known what to make of Paul’s request to marry him. Had he proposed before her trip to tie her to him? Or had they hit the place in their relationship where marriage really was the next step? Were they ready? Was marriage right for them?

Too many questions came with his offer of marriage. So she hadn’t accepted. She’d told him she would answer him when she returned from Italy. She’d planned this February side trip to be a nice, uncomplicated space of time before she settled down to life as a teacher in the New York City school system. Paul had ruined it with a proposal she should have eagerly accepted, but had stumbled over. So her best option was not to think about it until she had to.

Next month.

“I extended my trip so I could have some time to bum around. See the village my foster mother came from, and hopefully meet her family.”

To Daniella’s surprise, Louisa laughed. “That sounds like fun.”

The understanding in Louisa’s voice caused Danielle to brighten again, thinking they had something in common. “So you’re a tourist, too?”

“No.”

Dani frowned. Louisa’s tone in that one simple word suddenly made her feel as if she’d crossed a line. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”

Louisa sighed. “It’s okay. I’m just a bit nervous. You were kind to come to my rescue. I don’t mean to be such a ninny. I’m on my way to Monte Calanetti.”

Daniella’s mouth fell open. “So am I.”

The announcement that their bus was boarding came over the loudspeaker. Danielle faced the gate. Louisa did, too.

Dani smiled. “Looks like we’re off.”

“Yes.” Louisa’s mysterious smile formed again.

They boarded the bus and Daniella chose a spot in the middle, believing that was the best place to see the sights on the drive to the quaint village. After tucking her backpack away, she took her seat.

To her surprise, Louisa paused beside her. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

Daniella happily said, “Of course, I don’t mind! That would be great.”

But as Louisa sat, Daniella took note again that something seemed off about her. Everything Louisa did had a sense of hesitancy about it. Everything she said seemed incomplete.

“So you have a month before you go home?”

“All of February.” Daniella took a deep breath. “And I intend to enjoy every minute of it. Even if I do have to find work.”

“Work?”

“A waitressing job. Or maybe part-time shop clerk. That kind of thing. New York is a very expensive place to live. I don’t want to blow every cent I made teaching on a vacation. I’ll need that money when I get back home. So I intend to earn my spending money while I see the sights.”

As the bus eased out of the station, Louisa said, “That’s smart.”

Dani sat up, not wanting to miss anything. Louisa laughed. “Your foster mother should have come with you.”

Pain squeezed Daniella’s heart. Just when she thought she was adjusted to her loss, the reality would swoop in and remind her that the sweet, loving woman who’d saved her was gone. She swallowed hard. “She passed a few months ago. She left me the money for my plane ticket to Italy in her will.”

Louisa’s beautiful face blossomed with sympathy. “I’m so sorry. That was careless of me.”

Daniella shook her head. “No. You had no way of knowing.”

Louisa studied her. “So you have no set plans? No schedule of things you want to see and do? No places you’ve already scouted out to potentially get a job?”

“No schedule. I want to wing it. I’ve done a bit of research about Rosa’s family and I know the language. So I think I’ll be okay.”

Louisa laughed. “Better off than I’ll be since I don’t know the language.” She held up her listening device. “At least not for another five weeks.”

The bus made several slow turns, getting them out of the station and onto the street.

Taking a final look at Florence, Dani breathed, “Isn’t this whole country gorgeous?” Even in winter with barren trees, the scene was idyllic. Blue skies. Rolling hills.

“Yes.” Louisa bit her lip, then hesitantly said, “I’m here because I inherited something, too.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She paused, studied Daniella’s face as if assessing if she could trust her before continuing, “A villa.”

“Oh, my God! A villa!”

Louisa glanced away. “I know. It’s pretty amazing. The place is called Palazzo di Comparino.”

“Do you have pictures?”

“Yes.” She pulled out a picture of a tall, graceful house. Rich green vines grew in rows in the background beneath a blue sky.

It was everything Dani could do not to gape in awe. “It’s beautiful.”

Louisa laughed. “Yes. But so far I haven’t seen anything in Italy that isn’t gorgeous.” She winced. “I hate to admit it, but I’m excited.”

“I’d be beyond excited.”

“I’m told Monte Calanetti developed around Palazzo Chianti because of the vineyard which is part of the villa I inherited. Back then, they would have needed lots of help picking grapes, making the wine. Those people are the ancestors of the people who live there now.”

“That is so cool.”

“Yes, except I know nothing about running a vineyard.”

Daniella batted a hand. “With the internet these days, you can learn anything.”

Louisa sucked in a breath. “I hope so.”

Daniella laid her hand on Louisa’s in a show of encouragement. “You’ll be fine.”

Louise’s face formed another of her enigmatic smiles and Daniella’s sixth sense perked up again. Louisa appeared to want to be happy, but behind her smile was something...

Louisa brought her gaze back to Daniella’s. “You know, I could probably use a little help when I get there.”

“Help?”

“I don’t think I’m just going to move into a villa without somebody coming to question me.”

“Ah.”

“And I’m going to be at a loss if they’re speaking Italian.”

Dani winced. “Especially if it’s the sheriff.”

Louisa laughed. “I don’t even know if they have sheriffs here. My letter is in English, but the officials are probably Italian. It could turn out to be a mess. So, I’d be happy to put you up for a while.” She caught Dani’s gaze. “Even all four weeks you’re looking for your foster mom’s relatives—if you’d be my translator.”

Overwhelmed by the generous offer, Daniella said, “That would be fantastic. But I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

“You’ll certainly earn your keep if somebody comes to check my story.”

Daniella grinned. “I’d be staying in a villa.”

Louisa laughed. “I own a villa.”

“Okay, then. I’d be happy to be your translator while I’m here.”

“Thank you.”

Glad for the friendship forming between them, Daniella engaged Louisa in conversation as miles of hills and blue, blue sky rolled past them. Then suddenly a walled village appeared to the right. The bus turned in.

Aged, but well-maintained stucco, brick and stone buildings greeted them. Cobblestone streets were filled with happy, chatting people. Through the large front windows of the establishments, Dani could see the coffee drinkers or diners inside while outdoor dining areas sat empty because of the chilly temperatures.

The center circle of the town came into view. The bus made the wide turn but Dani suddenly saw a sign that read Palazzo di Comparino. The old, worn wood planks had a thick black line painted through them as if to cancel out the offer of vineyard tours.

Daniella grabbed Louisa’s arm and pointed out the window. “Look!”

“Oh, my gosh!” Louisa jumped out of her seat and yelled, “Stop!”

Daniella rose, too. She said, “Fermi qui, per favore.”

It took a minute for the bus driver to hear and finally halt the bus. After gathering their belongings, Louisa and Daniella faced the lane that led to Louisa’s villa. Because Dani had only a backpack and Louisa had two suitcases and a carry-on bag, Daniella said, “Let me take your suitcase.”

Louisa smiled. “Having you around is turning out to be very handy.”

Daniella laughed as they walked down the long lane that took them to the villa. The pale brown brick house soon became visible. The closer they got, the bigger it seemed to be.

Louisa reverently whispered, “Holy cow.”

Daniella licked her suddenly dry lips. “It’s huge.”

The main house sprawled before them. Several stories tall, and long and deep, like a house with suites not bedrooms, Louisa’s new home could only be described as a mansion.

They silently walked up the stone path to the front door. When they reached it, Louisa pulled out a key and manipulated the lock. As the door opened, the stale, musty scent of a building that had been locked up for years assaulted them. Dust and cobwebs covered the crystal chandelier in the huge marble-floored foyer as well as the paintings on the walls and the curved stairway.

Daniella cautiously stepped inside. “Is your family royalty?”

Louisa gazed around in awe. “I didn’t think so.”

“Meaning they could be?”

“I don’t know.” Louisa turned to the right and walked into a sitting room. Again, dust covered everything. A teacup sat on a table by a dusty chair. Passing through that room, they entered another that appeared to be a library or study. From there, they found a dining room.

Watermarks on the ceiling spoke of damage from a second-floor bathroom or maybe even the roof. The kitchen was old and in need of remodeling. The first-floor bathrooms were outdated, as was every bathroom in the suites upstairs.

After only getting as far as the second floor, Louisa turned to Daniella with tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize the house would be in such disrepair. From the picture, it looked perfect. If you want to get a hotel room in town, I’ll understand.”

“Are you kidding?” Daniella rolled Louisa’s big suitcase to a stop and walked into the incredibly dusty, cobweb-covered bedroom. She spun around and faced Louisa. “I love it. With a dust rag, some cleanser for the bathroom and a window washing, this room will be perfect.”

Louisa hesitantly followed Daniella into the bedroom. “You’re an optimist.”

Daniella laughed. “I didn’t say you wouldn’t need to call a contractor about a few things. But we can clean our rooms and the kitchen.”

* * *

Raffaele Mancini stared at Gino Scarpetti, a tall, stiff man, who worked as the maître d’ for Mancini’s, Rafe’s very exclusive, upscale, Michelin-starred restaurant located in the heart of wine country.

Mancini’s had been carefully crafted to charm customers. The stone and wood walls of the renovated farmhouse gave the place the feel of days long gone. Shutters on the windows blocked the light of the evening sun, but also added to the Old World charisma. Rows of bottles of Merlot and Chianti reminded diners that this area was the home of the best vineyards, the finest wines.

Gino ripped off the Mancini’s name tag pinned to his white shirt. “You, sir, are now without a maître d’.”

A hush fell over the dining room. Even the usual clink and clatter of silverware and the tinkle of good crystal wineglasses halted.

Gino slapped the name tag into Rafe’s hand. Before Rafe could comment or argue, the man was out the door.

Someone began to clap. Then another person. And another. Within seconds the sophisticated Tuscany restaurant dining room filled with the sounds of applause and laughter.

Laughter!

They were enjoying his misery!

He looked at the line of customers forming beside the podium just inside the door, then the chattering diners laughing about his temper and his inability to keep good help. He tossed his hands in the air before he marched back to the big ultramodern stainless-steel restaurant kitchen.

“You!”

He pointed at the thin boy who’d begun apprenticing at Mancini’s the week before. “Take off your smock and get to the maître d’ stand. You are seating people.”

The boy’s brown eyes grew round with fear. “I...I...”

Rafe raised a brow. “You can’t take names and seat customers?”

“I can...”

“But you don’t want to.” Rafe didn’t have to say anything beyond that. He didn’t need to say, “If you can’t obey orders, you’re fired.” He didn’t need to remind anyone in his kitchen that he was boss or that anyone working in the restaurant needed to be able to do anything that needed to be done to assure the absolute best dining experience for the customers. Everyone knew he was not a chef to be trifled with.

Except right now, in the dining room, they were laughing at him.

The boy whipped off his smock, threw it to a laundry bin and headed out to the dining room.

Seeing the white-smocked staff gaping at him, Rafe shook his head. “Get to work!”

Knives instantly rose. The clatter of chopping and the sizzle of sautéing filled the kitchen.

He sucked in a breath. Not only was his restaurant plagued by troubles, but now it seemed the diners had no sympathy.

“You shouldn’t have fired Gino.” Emory Danoto, Rafe’s sous-chef, spoke as he worked. Short and bald with a happy face and nearly as much talent as Rafe in the kitchen, Emory was also Rafe’s mentor.

Rafe glanced around, inspecting the food prep, pretending he was fine. Damn it. He was fine. He did not want a frightened rabbit working for him. Not even outside the kitchen. And the response of the diners? That was a fluke. Somebody apparently believed it was funny to see a world-renowned chef tortured by incompetents.

“I didn’t fire Gino. He quit.”

Emory cast him a condemning look. “You yelled at him.”

Rafe yelled, “I yell at everybody.” Then he calmed himself and shook his head. “I am the chef. I am Mancini’s.”

“And you must be obeyed.”

“Don’t make me sound like a prima donna. I am doing what’s best for the restaurant.”

“Well, Mr. I’m-Doing-What’s-Best-for-the-Restaurant, have you forgotten about our upcoming visit from the Michelin people?”

“A rumor.”

Emory sniffed a laugh. “Since when have we ever ignored a rumor that we were to be visited? Your star rating could be in jeopardy. You’re the one who says chefs who ignore rumors get caught with their pants down. If we want to keep our stars, we have to be ready for this visit.”

Rafe stifled a sigh. Emory was right, of course. His trusted friend only reminded him of what he already knew. Having located his business in the countryside, instead of in town, he’d made it even more exclusive. But that also meant he didn’t get street traffic. He needed word of mouth. He needed every diner to recommend him to their friends. He needed to be in travel brochures. To be a stop for tour buses. To be recommended by travel agents. He couldn’t lose a star.

The lunch crowd left. Day quickly became night. Before Rafe could draw a steady breath the restaurant filled again. Wasn’t that the way of it when everything was falling apart around you? With work to be done, there was no time to think things through. When the last patron finally departed and the staff dispersed after the kitchen cleaning, Rafe walked behind the shiny wood bar, pulled a bottle of whiskey from the shelf, along with a glass, and slid onto a tall, black, wrought iron stool.

Hearing the sound of the door opening, he yelled, “We’re closed.” Then grimaced. Was he trying to get a reputation for being grouchy rather than exacting?

“Good thing I’m not a customer, then.”

He swiveled around at the sound of his friend Nico Amatucci’s voice.

Tall, dark-haired Nico glanced at the whiskey bottle, then sat on a stool beside Rafe. “Is there a reason you’re drinking alone?”

Rafe rose, got another glass and set it on the bar. He poured whiskey into the glass and slid it to Nico. “I’m not drinking alone.”

“But you were going to.”

“I lost my maître d’.”

Nico raised his glass in salute and drank the shot. “You’re surprised?”

“I’m an artist.”

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“That, too.” He sighed. “But I don’t want to be. I just want things done correctly. I’ll spread the word tomorrow that I’m looking for someone. Not a big deal.” He made the statement casually, but deep down he knew he was wrong. It was a big deal. “Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t have the week or two it’ll take to collect résumés and interview people. I need somebody tomorrow.”

Nico raised his glass to toast. “Then, you, my friend, are in trouble.”

Didn’t Rafe know it.

CHAPTER TWO

THE NEXT MORNING, Daniella and Louisa found a tin of tea and some frozen waffles in a freezer. “We’re so lucky no one had the electricity shut off.”

“Not lucky. The place runs off a generator. We turn it on in winter to keep the pipes from freezing.”

Daniella and Louisa gasped and spun around at the male voice behind them.

A handsome dark-haired man stood in the kitchen doorway, frowning at them. Though he appeared to be Italian, he spoke flawless English. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I’ll let you finish your breakfast, but this is private property.”

Louisa’s chin lifted. “I know it’s private property. I’m Louisa Harrison. I inherited this villa.”

The man’s dark eyes narrowed. “I don’t suppose you have proof of that?”

“Actually, I do. A letter from my solicitor.” She straightened her shoulders. “I think the better question is, who are you?”

“I’m Nico Amatucci.” He pointed behind him. “I live next door. I’ve been watching over this place.” He smiled thinly. “I’d like to see the letter from your solicitor. Or—” he pulled out his cell phone “—should I call the police?”

Louisa brushed her hands down her blue jeans to remove the dust they’d collected when she and Daniella had searched for tea. “No need.”

Not wanting any part of the discussion, Daniella began preparing the tea.

“And who are you?”

She shrugged. “Just a friend of Louisa’s.”

He sniffed as if he didn’t believe her. Not accustomed to being under such scrutiny, Daniella focused all her attention on getting water into the teapot.

Louisa returned with the letter. When Nico reached for it, she held it back. “Not so fast. I’ll need the key you used to get in.”

He held Louisa’s gaze. Even from across the room, Daniella felt the heat of it.

“Only if your papers check out.” His frosty smile could have frozen water. “Palazzo di Comparino has been empty for years. Yet, suddenly here you are.”

“With a letter,” she said, handing it to Nico.

He didn’t release her gaze as he took the letter from her hands, and then he scanned it and peered at Louisa again. “Welcome to Palazzo di Comparino.”

Daniella let out her pent-up breath.

Louisa held his gaze. “Just like that? How do you know I didn’t fake this letter?”

Giving the paper back to her, he said, “First, I knew the name of the solicitor handling the estate. Second, there are a couple of details in the letter that an outsider wouldn’t know. You’re legit.”

Though Daniella would have loved to have known the details, Louisa didn’t even seem slightly curious. She tucked the sheet of paper into her jeans pocket.

Nico handed his key to Louisa as he glanced around the kitchen. “Being empty so long, the place is in disrepair. So if there’s anything I can do to help—”

Louisa cut him off with a curt “I’m fine.”

Nico’s eyes narrowed. Daniella didn’t know if he was unaccustomed to his offers of assistance being ignored, or if something else was happening here, but the kitchen became awkwardly quiet.

When Daniella’s teapot whistled, her heart jumped. Always polite, she asked, “Can I get anyone tea?”

Watching Louisa warily, Nico said, “I’d love a cup.”

Drat. He was staying. Darn the sense of etiquette her foster mother had drilled into her.

“I’ll make some later,” Louisa said as she turned and walked out of the kitchen, presumably to put the letter and the key away.

As the door swung closed behind her, Nico said, “She’s a friendly one.”

Daniella winced. She’d like to point out to Mr. Nico Amatucci that he’d been a tad rude when he’d demanded to see the letter from the solicitor, but she held her tongue. This argument wasn’t any of her business. She had enough troubles of her own.

“Have you known Ms. Harrison long?”

“We just met. I saw someone mistakenly take her bag and helped because Louisa doesn’t speak Italian. Then we were on the same bus.”

“Oh, so you hit the jackpot when you could find someone to stay with.”

Daniella’s eyes widened. The man was insufferable. “I’m not taking advantage of her! I just finished a teaching job in Rome. Louisa needs an interpreter for a few weeks.” She put her shoulders back. “And today I intend to go into town to look for temporary work to finance a few weeks of sightseeing.”

He took the cup of tea from her hands. “What kind of work?”

His softened voice took some of the wind out of her sails. She shrugged. “Anything really. Temp jobs are temp jobs.”

“Would you be willing to be a hostess at a restaurant?”

Confused, she said, “Sure.”

“I have a friend who needs someone to fill in while he hires a permanent replacement for a maître d’ who just quit.”

Her feelings for the mysterious Nico warmed a bit. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all? “Sounds perfect.”

“Do you have a pen?”

She nodded, pulling one from her purse.

He scribbled down the address on a business card he took from his pocket. “Go here. Don’t call. Just go at lunchtime and tell Rafe that Nico sent you.” He nodded at the card he’d handed to her. “Show him that and he’ll know you’re not lying.”

He set his tea on the table. “Tell Ms. Harrison I said goodbye.”

With that, he left.

Glad he was gone, Daniella glanced at the card in her hands. How could a guy who’d so easily helped her have such a difficult time getting along with Louisa?

She blew her breath out on a long sigh. She supposed it didn’t matter. Eventually they’d become friends. They were neighbors after all.

Daniella finished her tea, but Louisa never returned to the kitchen. Excited to tell Louisa of her job prospect, Dani searched the downstairs for her, but didn’t find her.

The night before they’d tidied two bedrooms enough that they could sleep in them, so she climbed the stairs and headed for the room Louisa had chosen. She found her new friend wrestling with some bedding.

“What are you doing?”

“I saw a washer and dryer. I thought I’d wash the bedclothes so our rooms really will be habitable tonight.”

She raced to help Louisa with the huge comforter. “Our rooms were fine. We don’t need these comforters, and the sheets had been protected from the dust by the comforters so they were clean. Besides, these won’t fit in a typical washer.”

Louisa dropped the comforter. “I know.” Her face fell in dismay. “I just need to do something to make the place more livable.” Her gaze met Daniella’s. “There’s dust and clutter...and watermarks that mean some of the bathrooms and maybe even the roof need to be repaired.” She sat on the bed. “What am I going to do?”

Dani sat beside her. “We’re going to take things one step at a time.” She tucked Nico’s business card into her pocket. “This morning, we’ll clean the kitchen and finish our bedrooms. Tomorrow, we’ll pick a room and clean it, and every day after that we’ll just keep cleaning one room at a time.”

“What about the roof?”

“We’ll hope it doesn’t rain?”

Louisa laughed. “I’m serious.”

“Well, I have a chance for a job at a restaurant.”

“You do?”

She smiled. “Yes. Nico knows someone who needs a hostess.”

“Oh.”

She ignored the dislike in her friend’s voice. “What better way to find a good contractor than by chitchatting with the locals?”

Louisa smiled and shook her head. “If anybody can chitchat her way into finding a good contractor, it’s you.”

“Which is also going to make me a good hostess.”

“What time’s your appointment?”

“Lunchtime.” She winced. “From the address on this card, I think we’re going to have to hope there’s a car in that big, fancy garage out back.”

* * *

Standing behind the podium in the entry to Mancini’s, Rafe struggled with the urge to throw his hands in the air and storm off. On his left, two American couples spoke broken, ill-attempted Italian in an effort to make reservations for that night. In front of him, a businessman demanded to be seated immediately. To his right, a couple kissed. And behind them, what seemed to be a sea of diners groused and grumbled as he tried to figure out a computer system with a seating chart superimposed with reservations.

How could no one in his kitchen staff be familiar with this computer software?

“Everybody just give me a minute!”

He hit a button and the screen disappeared. After a second of shock, he cursed. He expected the crowd to groan. Instead they laughed. Laughed. Again, laughter!

How was it that everybody seemed to be happy that he was suffering? These people—customers—were the people he loved, the people he worked so hard to please. How could they laugh at him?

He tried to get the screen to reappear, but it stayed dark.

“Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me.”

He glanced up to see an American, clearly forgetting she was in Italy because she spoke English as she made her way through the crowd. Cut in an angled, modern style, her pretty blond hair stopped at her chin. Her blue eyes were determined. The buttons of her black coat had been left open, revealing jeans and pale blue sweater.

When she reached the podium, she didn’t even look at Rafe. She addressed the gathered crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said in flawless Italian. “Give me two minutes and everyone will be seated.”

His eyebrows rose. She was a cheeky little thing.

When she finally faced him, her blue eyes locked on his. Rich with color and bright with enthusiasm, they didn’t merely display her confidence, they caused his heart to give a little bounce.

She smiled and stuck out her hand. “Daniella Tate. Your friend Nico sent me.” When he didn’t take her hand, her smile drooped as she tucked a strand of yellow hair behind her ear. But her face brightened again. She rifled in her jeans pocket, pulled out a business card and offered it to him. “See?”

He glanced at Nico’s card. “So he believes you are right to be my hostess?”

“Temporarily.” She winced. “I just finished a teaching position in Rome. For the next four weeks I’m sightseeing, but I’m trying to supplement my extended stay with a temp job. I think he thinks we can help each other—at least while you interview candidates.”

The sweet, melodious tone of her voice caused something warm and soft to thrum through Rafe, something he’d never felt before—undoubtedly relief that his friend had solved his problem.

“I see.”

“Hey, buddy, come on. We’re hungry! If you’re not going to seat us we’ll go somewhere else.”

Not waiting for him to reply, Daniella nudged Rafe out of the way, stooped down to find a tablet on the maître d’ stand shelf and faced the dining area. She quickly drew squares and circles representing all the tables and wrote the number of chairs around each one. She put an X over the tables that were taken.

Had he thought she was cheeky? Apparently that was just the tip of the iceberg.

She faced the Americans. “How many in your party?”

“Four. We want reservations for tonight.”

“Time?”

“Seven.”

Flipping the tablet page, she wrote their name and the time on the next piece of paper. As the Americans walked out, she said, “Next?”

Awestruck at her audacity, Rafe almost yelled.

Almost.

He could easily give her the boot, but he needed a hostess. He had a growing suspicion about the customers laughing when he lost his temper, as if he was becoming some sort of sideshow. He didn’t want his temper to be the reason people came to his restaurant. He wanted his food, the fantastic aromas, the succulent tastes, to be the draw. Wouldn’t he be a fool to toss her out?

The businessman pushed his way over to her. “I have an appointment in an hour. I need to be served first.”

Daniella Tate smiled at Rafe as if asking permission to seat the businessman, and his brain emptied. She really was as pretty as she was cheeky. Luckily, she took his blank stare as approval. She turned to the businessman and said, “Of course, we’ll seat you.”

She led the man to the back of the dining room, to a table for two, seated him with a smile and returned to the podium.

Forget about how cheeky she was. Forget about his brain that stalled when he looked at her. She was a very good hostess.

Rafe cleared his throat. “Talk to the waitresses and find out whose turn it is before you seat anyone else.” He cleared his throat again. “They have a system.”

She smiled at him. “Sure.”

His heart did something funny in his chest, forcing his gaze to her pretty blue eyes again. Warmth whooshed through him.

Confused, he turned and marched away. With so much at stake in his restaurant, including, it seemed, his reputation, his funny feelings for an employee were irrelevant. Nothing. Whatever trickled through his bloodstream, it had to be more annoyance than attraction. After all, recommendation from Nico or not, she’d sort of walked in and taken over his restaurant.

* * *

Dani stared after the chef as he left. She wasn’t expecting someone so young...or so gorgeous. At least six feet tall, with wavy brown hair so long he had it tied off his face and gray eyes, the guy could be a celebrity chef on television back home. Just looking at him had caused her breathing to stutter. She actually felt a rush of heat careen through her veins. He was that good-looking.

But it was also clear that he was in over his head without a maître d’. As she’d stood in the back of the long line to get into the restaurant, her good old-fashioned American common sense had kicked in, and she’d simply done what needed to be done: pushed her way to the front, grabbed some menus and seated customers. And he’d hired her.

Behind her someone said, “You’d better keep your hair behind your ears. He’ll yell about it being in your face and potentially in his food once he gets over being happy you’re here.”

She turned to see one of the waitresses. Dressed in black trousers and a white blouse, she looked slim and professional.

“That was happy?”

Her pretty black ponytail bobbed as she nodded. “Sì. That was happy.”

“Well, I’m going to hate seeing him upset.”

“Prepare yourself for it. Because he gets upset every day. Several times a day. That’s why Gino quit. I’m Allegra, by the way. The other two waitresses are Zola and Giovanna. And the chef is Chef Mancini. Everyone calls him Chef Rafe.”

“He said you have a system of how you want people seated?”

Allegra took Daniella’s seating chart and drew two lines dividing the tables into three sections. “Those are our stations. You seat one person in mine, one person in Zola’s and one person in Gio’s, then start all over again.”

Daniella smiled. “Easy-peasy.”

“Scusi?”

“That means ‘no problem.’”

“Ah. Sì.” Allegra smiled and walked away. Daniella took two more menus and seated another couple.

The lunchtime crowd that had assembled at the door of Mancini’s settled quickly. Dani easily found a rhythm of dividing the customers up between the three waitresses. Zola and Gio introduced themselves, and she actually had a good time being hostess of the restaurant that looked like an Old World farmhouse and smelled like pure heaven. The aromas of onions and garlic, sweet peppers and spicy meats rolled through the air, making her confident she could talk up the food and promise diners a wonderful meal, even without having tasted it.

During the lull after lunch, Zola and Gio went home. The dining room grew quiet. Not sure if she should stay or leave, since Allegra remained to be available for the occasional tourist who ambled in, Daniella stayed, too.

In between customers, she helped clear and reset tables, checked silverware to make sure it sparkled, arranged chairs so that everything in the dining room was picture-perfect.

But soon even the stragglers stopped. Daniella stood by the podium, her elbow leaning against it, her chin on her closed fist, wondering what Louisa was doing.

“Why are you still here?”

The sound of Rafe’s voice sent a surge of electricity through her.

She turned with a gasp. Her voice wobbled when she said, “I thought you’d need me for dinner.”

“You were supposed to go home for the break. Or are you sneakily trying to get paid for hours you really don’t work?”

Her eyes widened. Anger punched through her. What the hell was wrong with this guy? She’d done him a favor and he was questioning her motives?

Without thinking, she stormed over to him. Putting herself in his personal space, she looked up and caught his gaze. “And how was I supposed to know that, since you didn’t tell me?”

She expected him to back down. At the very least to realize his mistake. Instead, he scoffed. “It’s common sense.”

“Well, in America—”

He cut her off with a harsh laugh. “You Americans. Think you know everything. But you’re not in America now. You are in Italy.” He pointed a finger at her nose. “You will do what I say.”

“Well, I’ll be happy to do what you say as soon as you say something!”

Allegra stopped dropping silverware onto linen-covered tables. The empty, quiet restaurant grew stone-cold silent. Time seemed to crawl to a stop. The vein in Rafe’s temple pulsed.

Dani’s body tingled. Every employee in the world knew it wasn’t wise to yell at the boss, but, technically, she wasn’t yelling. She was standing up to him. As a foster child, she’d had to learn how to protect herself, when to stay quiet and when to demand her rights. If she let him push her around now, he’d push her around the entire month she worked for him.

He threw his hands in the air, pivoted away from her and headed to the kitchen. “Go the hell home and come back for dinner.”

Daniella blew out the breath she’d been holding. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt, but the tingling in her blood became a surge of power. He might not have said the words, but she’d won that little battle of wills.

Still, she felt odd that their communication had come down to a sort of yelling match and knew she had to get the heck out of there.

She grabbed her purse and headed for the old green car she and Louisa had found in the garage.

Ten minutes later, she was back in the kitchen of Palazzo di Comparino.

Though Louisa had sympathetically made her a cup of tea, she laughed when Daniella told her the story.

“It’s not funny,” Dani insisted, but her lips rose into a smile when she thought about how she must have looked standing up to the big bad chef everybody seemed to be afraid of. She wouldn’t tell her new friend that standing up to him had put fire in her blood and made her heart gallop like a prize stallion. She didn’t know what that was all about, but she did know part of it, at least, stemmed from how good-looking he was.

“Okay. It was a little funny. But I like this job. It would be great to keep it for the four weeks I’m here. But he didn’t tell me what time I was supposed to go back. So we’re probably going to get into another fight.”

“Or you could just go back at six. If he yells that you’re late, calmly remind him that he didn’t give you the time you were to return. Make it his fault.”

“It is his fault.”

Louisa beamed. “Exactly. If you don’t stand up to him now, you’ll either lose the job or spend the weeks you work for him under his thumb. You have to do this.”

Dani sighed. “That’s what I thought.”

Taking Louisa’s advice, she returned to the restaurant at six. A very small crowd had built by the maître d’ podium, and when she entered, she noticed that most of the tables weren’t filled. Rafe shoved a stack of menus at her and walked away.

She shook her head, but smiled at the next customers in line. He might have left without a word, but he hadn’t engaged her in a fight and it appeared she still had her job.

Maybe the answer to this was to just stay out of his way?

The evening went smoothly. Again, the wonderful scents that filled the air prompted her to talk up the food, the waitstaff and the wine.

After an hour or so, Rafe called her into the kitchen. Absolutely positive he had nothing to yell at her about, she straightened her shoulders and walked into the stainless-steel room and over to the stove where he stood.

“You wanted to see me?”

He presented a fork filled with pasta to her. “This is my signature ravioli. I hear you talking about my dishes, so I want you to taste so you can honestly tell customers it is the best food you have ever eaten.”

She swallowed back a laugh at his confidence, but when her lips wrapped around the fork and the flavor of the sweet sauce exploded on her tongue, she pulled the ravioli off the fork and into her mouth with a groan. “Oh, my God.”

“It is perfect, sì?”

“You’re right. It is probably the best food I’ve ever eaten.”

Emory, the short, bald sous-chef, scrambled over. “Try this.” He raised a fork full of meat to her lips.

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.”

Louisa brightened. “Yes. Thank you. That would be great.”

But Dani frowned as she swept the last of the dirt onto her dustpan. Louisa’s refusal to have anything to do with Nico had gone from unusual to impractical. Still, it wasn’t her place to say anything.

She dressed for work in the dark trousers and white shirt Rafe required and drove to the restaurant. Walking in, she noticed that two of the chefs were different, and two of the chefs she was accustomed to seeing weren’t there. The same was true in the dining room. Allegra was nowhere to be seen and in her place was a tall, slim waitress named Mila, short for Milana, who told Daniella it was simply Allegra’s day off and probably the chefs’, too.

“Did you think they’d been fired?” Mila asked with a laugh.

Dani shrugged. “With our boss, you never know.”

Mila laughed again. “Only Chef Rafe works twelve hours a day, seven days a week.”

“I guess I should ask for a schedule, then.”

She turned toward the kitchen but Mila stopped her. “Do yourself a favor and ask Emory about it.”

Thinking that sounded like good advice, she nodded and walked into the kitchen. Emory stood at a stainless-steel prep table in the back of the huge, noisy, delicious-smelling room. Grateful that Rafe wasn’t anywhere in sight, she approached the sous-chef.

“Cara!” he said, opening his arms. “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if there was a schedule.”

The short, bald man smiled. “Schedule?”

“I’m never really sure when I’m supposed to come in.”

“A maître d’ works all shifts.”

At the sound of Rafe’s voice behind her, she winced, sucked in a breath and faced him. “I can’t work seven days a week, twelve hours a day. I want this month to do some sightseeing. Otherwise, I could have just gone back to New York City.”

He smiled and said, “Ah.”

And Daniella’s heart about tripped over itself in her chest. He had the most beautiful, sexy smile she had ever seen. Directed at her, it stole her breath, weakened her knees, scared her silly.

“You are correct. Emory will create a schedule.”

Surprised at how easy that had been, and not about to hang around when his smile was bringing out feelings she knew were all wrong, she scampered out of the kitchen. Within minutes, Rafe came into the dining room to open Mancini’s doors. As he passed her, he smiled at her again.

When he disappeared behind the kitchen doors, she blew out her breath and collapsed against the podium. What was he doing smiling at her? Dear God, was Louisa right? Was he interested in her?

She paused. No. Rafe was too business oriented to be attracted to an employee. This wasn’t about attraction. It was about her finally finding her footing with him. He hadn’t argued about getting her a schedule. He’d smiled because they were beginning to get along as employer and employee.

Guests began arriving and she went to work. There were enough customers that the restaurant felt busy, but not nearly as busy as they were for dinner. She seated an American couple and walked away but even before she reached the podium, they waved her back.

She smiled. “Having trouble with the Italian?”

The short dark-haired man laughed. “My wife teaches Italian at university. We actually visit every other year. Though this is our first time at Mancini’s.”

“Well, a very special welcome to you, then. What can I help you with?”

He winced. “Actually, we were kind of hoping to just have soup or a salad, but all you have is a full menu.”

“Yes. The chef loves his drama.”

The man’s wife reached over and touched his arm. “I am sort of hungry for this delicious-sounding spaghetti. Maybe we can eat our big meal now and eat light at dinner.”

Her husband laughed. “Fine by me.”

Dani waved Gio over to take their orders, but a few minutes later, she had a similar conversation with a group of tourists who had reservations that night at a restaurant in Florence. They’d stopped at Mancini’s looking for something light, but Rafe’s menu only offered full-course meals.

With the lunchtime crowd thinned and two of the three waitresses gone until dinner, Dani stared at the kitchen door. If she and Rafe really had established a proper working relationship, shouldn’t she tell him what customers told her?

Of course, she should. She shouldn’t be afraid. She should be a good employee.

She headed for the kitchen. “May I speak with you, Chef Rafe?”

His silver-gray eyes met hers. “Yes?”

She swallowed. It was just plain impossible not to be attracted to this guy. “It’s... I... Do you want to hear the things the customers tell me?”

Leaning against his prep table behind him, holding her gaze, he said, “Yes. I always want the opinions of customers.”

She drank in a long breath. The soft, seductive tone of his voice, the way he wouldn’t release her gaze, all reminded her of Louisa’s contention that he was attracted to her. The prospect tied her tongue until she reminded herself that they were at work. And he was dedicated to his diners. In this kitchen, that was all that mattered.

“Okay. Today, I spoke with a couple from the US and a group of tourists, both of whom only wanted soup or salad for lunch.”

“We serve soup and salad.”

“As part of a meal.”

“So they should eat a meal.”

“That was actually their point. They didn’t want a whole meal. Just soup and salad.”

Rafe turned to Emory, his hands raised in question as if he didn’t understand what she was saying.

She tried again. “Look. You want people to come in for both lunch and dinner but you only offer dinners on the menu. Who wants a five-course meal for lunch?”

The silver shimmer in Rafe’s eyes disappeared and he gaped at her. “Any Italian.”

“All right.” So much for thinking he was attracted to her. The tone of his voice was now definitely all business and when it came to his business, he was clearly on a different page than she was. But this time she knew she was right. “Maybe Italians do like to eat that way. But half your patrons are tourists. If they want a big meal, they’ll come at dinnertime. If they just want to experience the joy that is Mancini’s, they’ll be here for lunch. And they’ll probably only want a salad. Or maybe a burger.”

“A burger?” He whispered the word as if it were blasphemy.

“Sure. If they like it, they’ll be back for dinner.”

The kitchen suddenly got very quiet. Every chef in the room and both busboys had turned to face her.

Rafe quietly said, “This is Italy. Tourists want to experience the culture.”

“Yes. You are correct. They do want to experience the culture. But that’s only part of why tourists are here. Most tourists don’t eat two huge meals a day. It couldn’t hurt to put simple salads on the lunch menu, just in case a tourist or two doesn’t want to eat five courses.”

His gray eyes flared. When he spoke, it was slowly, deliberately. “Miss Daniella, you are a tourist playing hostess. I am a world-renowned chef.”

This time the softness of his voice wasn’t seductive. It was insulting and her defenses rose. “I know. But I’m the one in the dining room, talking with your customers—”

His eyes narrowed with anger and she stepped back, suddenly wondering what the hell she was doing. He was her boss. As he’d said, a world-renowned chef. Yet here she was questioning him. She couldn’t seem to turn off the self-defense mechanisms she’d developed to protect herself in middle school when she was constantly teased about not having a home or questioned because her classmates thought being a foster kid meant she was stupid.

She sucked in a long, shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I pushed.”

He gave her a nod that more or less dismissed her and she raced out of the kitchen. But two minutes later a customer asked to speak with Rafe. Considering this her opportunity to be respectful to him, so hopefully they could both forget about their soup and salad disagreement, she walked into the kitchen.

But she didn’t see Rafe.

She turned to a busboy. “Excuse me. Where’s Chef Rafe?”

The young kid pointed at a closed door. “In the office with Emory.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

She headed for the door. Just when she would have pushed it open, she heard Emory’s voice.

“I’m not entirely sure why you argue with her.”

“I argue with her? I was nothing but nice to that girl and she comes into my kitchen and tells me I don’t know my own business.”

Dani winced, realizing they were talking about her.

Emory said, “We need her.”

And Rafe quickly countered with, “You are wrong. Had Nico not sent her, we would have hired someone else by now. Instead, because Nico told her I was desperate, we’re stuck with a woman who thinks we need her, and thinks that gives her the right to make suggestions. Not only do we not need her, but I do not want her here—”

The rest of what Rafe said was lost on Dani as she backed away from the door.

Rafe saying that she wasn’t wanted rolled through her, bringing up more of those memories from middle school before she’d found a permanent foster home with Rosa. The feeling of not being wanted, not having a home, rose in her as if she were still that teenage girl who’d been rejected so many times that her scars burrowed the whole way to her soul.

Tears welled in her eyes. But she fought them, telling herself he was right. She shouldn’t argue with him. But seriously, this time she’d thought she was giving a valuable suggestion. And she’d stopped when she realized she’d pushed too far.

She just couldn’t seem to get her bearings with this guy. And maybe it was time to realize this really wasn’t the job for her and leave.

She pivoted away from the door, raced out of the kitchen and over to Gio. “Um, the guy on table three would like to talk with Rafe. Would you mind getting him?”

Gio studied her face, undoubtedly saw the tears shimmering on her eyelids and smiled kindly. “Sure.”

Dani walked to the podium, intending to get her purse and her coat to leave, but a customer walked in.

* * *

Rafe shook his head as Emory left the office with a laugh. He’d needed to vent and Emory had listened for a few minutes, then he’d shut Rafe down. And that was good. He’d been annoyed that Dani challenged him in front of his staff. But venting to Emory was infinitely better than firing her. Especially since they did need her. He hadn’t even started interviewing for her replacement yet.

He walked into the kitchen at the same time that Gio did. “Chef Rafe, there’s a customer who would like to speak with you.”

He turned to the sink, rinsed his hands and grabbed his towel, before he motioned for Gio to lead him to the customer.

Stepping into the dining room, he didn’t see Dani anywhere, but before he could take that thought any further, he was beside a happy customer who wanted to compliment him on his food.

He listened to the man, scanning the dining room for his hostess. When she finally walked into the dining room from the long hall that led to the restrooms, he sighed with relief. He accepted the praise of his customer, smiled and returned to his work.

An hour later, Dani came into the kitchen. “Chef Mancini, there’s a customer who would like to speak with you.”

Her voice was soft, meek. She’d also called him Chef Mancini, not Chef Rafe, but he didn’t question it. A more businesslike demeanor between them was not a bad thing. Particularly considering that he’d actually wanted to have an affair with her and had been thinking about that all damned day—until they’d gotten into that argument about soup and salad.

Which was why the smile he gave her was nothing but professional. “It would be my pleasure.”

He expected her to say, “Thank you.” Instead, she nodded, turned and left the kitchen without him.

He rinsed his hands, dried them and headed out to the dining room. She waited by a table in the back. When she saw him she motioned for him to come to the table.

As he walked up, she smiled at the customers. She said, “This is Chef Mancini.” Then she strode away.

He happily chatted with the customer for ten minutes, but his gaze continually found Daniella. She hadn’t waited for him in the kitchen, hadn’t looked at him when he came to the table—had only introduced him and left. Her usually sunny smile had been replaced by a stiff lift of her lips. Her bright blue eyes weren’t filled with joy. They were dull. Lifeless.

A professional manner was one thing. But she seemed to be...hurt.

He analyzed their soup-and-salad conversation and couldn’t find anything different about that little spat than any of their disagreements—except that he’d been smiling at her when she walked in, thinking about kissing her. Then they’d argued and he’d realized what a terrible idea kissing her was, and that had shoved even the thought of an affair out of his head.

But that was good. He should not want to get involved with an employee. No matter how pretty.

When the restaurant cleared at closing time, he left, too. He drove to his condo, showered and put on jeans and a cable-knit sweater. He hadn’t been anywhere but Mancini’s in weeks. Not since Christmas. And maybe that was why he was having these odd thoughts about his hostess? Maybe it was time to get out with people again? Maybe find a woman?

He shrugged into his black wool coat, took his private elevator to the building lobby and stepped outside.

His family lived in Florence, but he loved little Monte Calanetti. Rich with character and charm, the stone-and-stucco buildings on the main street housed shops run by open, friendly people. That was part of why he’d located Mancini’s just outside of town. Tourists loved Monte Calanetti for its connections to the past, especially the vineyard of Palazzo di Comparino, which unfortunately had closed. But tourists still came, waiting for the day the vineyard would reopen.

Rafe’s boots clicked on the cobblestone. The chill of the February night seeped into his bones. He put up the collar of his coat, trying to ward off the cold. It didn’t help. When he reached Pia’s Tavern, he stopped.

Inside it would be warm from a fire in the stone fireplace in the back. He could almost taste the beer from the tap. He turned and pushed open the door.

Because it was a weekday, the place was nearly empty. The television above the shelves of whiskey, gin and rum entertained the two locals sitting at the short shiny wood bar. The old squat bartender leaned against a cooler beside the four beer taps. Flames danced in the stone fireplace and warmed the small, hometown bar. As his eyes adjusted to the low lights, Rafe saw a pretty blonde girl sitting alone at a table in the back.

Dani.

He didn’t know whether to shake his head or turn around and walk out. Still, when her blue eyes met his, he saw sadness that sent the heat of guilt lancing though him.

Before he could really think it through, he walked over to her table and sat across from her.

“Great. Just what every girl wants. To sit and have a drink with the boss who yells at her all day.”

He frowned. “Is that why you grew so quiet today? Because I yelled at you? I didn’t yell. I just didn’t take your suggestion. And that is my right. I am your boss.”

She sucked in a breath and reached for her beer. “Yes, I know.”

“You’ve always known that. You ignore it, but you’ve always known. So this time, why are you so upset?”

She didn’t reply. Instead, she reached for her coat and purse as if she intended to go. He caught her arm and stopped her.

Her gaze dropped to his hand, then met his.

Confused, he held her blue, blue eyes, as his fingers slid against her soft pink skin. The idea of having an affair with her popped into his head again. They were both incredibly passionate people and they’d probably set his bedroom on fire, if they could stop arguing long enough to kiss.

“Please. If I did something wrong, tell me—”

An unexpected memory shot through him. He hadn’t cared what a woman thought since Kamila. The reminder of how he’d nearly given up his dream for her froze the rest of what he wanted to say on his tongue and forced him back to business mode.

“If you are gruff with customers I need to know why.”

“I’m not gruff with customers.” Her voice came out wispy and smoky.

“So it’s just me, then?”

“Every time I try to be nice to you, you argue with me.”

He laughed. “When did you try to be nice to me?”

“That suggestion about lunch wasn’t a bad one. And I came to you politely—”

“And I listened until you wouldn’t quit arguing. Then I had to stop you.”

“Yes. But after that you told Emory I wasn’t needed.” She sniffed a laugh. “I heard you telling him you didn’t even want me around.”

His eyes narrowed on her face. “I tell Emory things like that all the time. I vent. It’s how I get rid of stress.”

“Maybe you should stop that.”

He laughed, glad his feisty Dani was returning. “And maybe you should stop listening at the door?”

She shook her head and shrugged out of his hold. “I wasn’t listening. You were talking loud enough that I could easily hear you through the door.”

She rose to leave again. This time he had no intention of stopping her, but a wave of guilt sluiced through him. Her face was still sad. Her blue eyes dull. All because of his attempt to blow off steam.

She only got three steps before he said, “Wait! You are right. I shouldn’t have said you weren’t wanted. I rant to Emory all the time. But usually no one hears me. So it doesn’t matter.”

She stopped but didn’t return to her seat. Standing in the glow of the fireplace, she said, “If that’s an apology, it’s not a very good one.”

No. He supposed it wasn’t. But nobody ever took his rants so seriously. “Why did it upset you so much to hear you weren’t wanted?”

She said nothing.

He rose and walked over to her. When she wouldn’t look at him, he lifted her chin until her gaze met his. “There is a story there.”

“Of course there’s a story there.”

He waited for her to explain, but she said nothing. The vision of her walking sadly around the restaurant filled his brain. He’d insulted hundreds of employees before, trying to get them to work harder, smarter, but from the look in her eyes he could see this was personal.

“Can you tell me?”

She shrugged away again. “So you can laugh at me?”

“I will not laugh!” He sighed, softened his voice. “Actually, I’m hoping that if you tell me it will keep me from hitting that nerve again.”

“Really?”

“I’m not an idiot. I don’t insult people to be cruel. When I vent to Emory it means nothing. When I yell at my employees I’m trying to get the best out of them. With you, everything’s a bit different.” He tossed his hands. He wouldn’t tell her that part of the problem was his attraction. Especially since he went back and forth about pursuing it. Maybe if he’d just decide to take romance off the table, become her friend, things between them would get better? “It might be because you’re American not European. Whatever the case, I’d like to at least know that I won’t insult you again.”

The bartender walked over. He gruffly threw a beer coaster on the table, even though Dani and Rafe stood by the fireplace. “What’ll it be?”

Rafe tugged Dani’s hand. “Come. We’ll get a nice Merlot. And talk.”

She slid her hand out of his, but she did return to her seat. He named the wine he wanted from the bartender, and with a raise of his bushy brows, the bartender scrambled off to get it. When he returned with the bottle and two glasses, Rafe shooed him away, saying he’d pour.

Dani frowned. “No time for breathing?”

He chuckled. “Ah. So she thinks she knows wine?”

Her head lowered. “I don’t.”

His eyes narrowed as he studied her. The sad demeanor was back. The broken woman. “And all this rolls together with why I insulted you when I said you weren’t wanted?”

She sighed. “Sort of. I don’t know how to explain this so you’ll understand, but the people I’m looking for aren’t my relatives.”

He smiled. “They’re people who owe you money?”

She laughed. The first genuine laugh in hours and the tight ball of tension in Rafe’s gut unwound.

“They are the family of the woman who was my foster mother.”

“Foster mother?”

“I was taken from my mother when I was three. I don’t remember her. In America, when a child has no home, he or she is placed with a family who has agreed to raise her.” She sucked in a breath and took the wineglass he offered her. “Foster parents aren’t required to keep you forever. So if something happens, they can give you back.”

She tried to calmly give the explanation but the slight wobble of her voice when she said “give you back” caused the knot of tension to reform in Rafe’s stomach. He imagined a little blue-eyed, blonde girl bouncing from home to home, hugging a scraggly brown teddy bear, and his throwaway comment about her not being wanted made his heart hurt.

“I’m sorry.”

She sipped her wine. “And right about now, I’m feeling pretty stupid. You’re a grouch. A perfectionist who yells at everyone. I should have realized you were venting.” She met his gaze. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“You do realize you just called me a grouch.”

She took another sip of her wine. “And a perfectionist.” She caught his gaze again. “See? You don’t get offended.”

He laughed.

She smiled.

Longing filled Rafe. For years he’d satisfied himself with one-night stands, but she made him yearn for the connection he’d had only once before. With her he wasn’t Chef Rafe. She didn’t treat him like a boss. She didn’t talk to him like a boss...

Maybe because she had these feelings, too?

He sucked in a breath, met her gaze. “Tell me more.”

“About my life?”

“About anything.”

* * *

She set down her wineglass as little pinpricks of awareness sprung up on her arms.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d longed for his apology until he’d made it. But now that he was asking to hear about her life, everything inside her stilled. How much to tell? How much to hold back? Why did he want to know? And why did she ache to tell him?

He offered his hand again and she glanced into his face. The lines and planes of his chin and cheeks made him classically handsome. His sexy unbound hair brought out urges in her she hadn’t ever felt. She’d love to run her fingers through it while kissing him. Love to know what it would feel like to have his hair tumble to his face while they made love.

She stopped her thoughts. She had an almost fiancé at home, and Rafe wasn’t the most sympathetic man in the world. He was bold and gruff, and he accepted no less than total honesty.

But maybe that’s what appealed to her? She didn’t want sympathy. She just wanted to talk to someone. To really be heard. To be understood.

“I had a good childhood,” he said, breaking the awkward silence, again nudging his hand toward her.

She didn’t take his hand, so he used it to inch her wine closer. She picked it up again.

“Even as a boy, I was fascinated by cooking.”

She laughed, wondering why the hell she was tempting fate by sitting here with him when she should leave. She might not be engaged but she was close enough. And though she’d love to kiss Rafe, to run her fingers through that wild hair, Paul was stability. And she needed stability.

“My parents were initially put off, but because I also played soccer and roughhoused with my younger brother, they weren’t worried.”

She laughed again. He’d stopped trying to take her hand. And he really did seem to want to talk. “You make your childhood sound wonderful.”

He winced. “Not intentionally.”

“You don’t have to worry about offending me. I don’t get jealous of others’ good lives. Once Rosa took me in, I had a good life.”

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

“She was brave.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Let’s just say I had a wild streak.”

Looking at his hair, which curled haphazardly and made his gray eyes appear shiny and mysterious, Dani didn’t doubt he had lots of women who’d helped his wild streak along.

Still, she ignored the potential to tease, to flirt, and said, “Rosa really was brave. I wasn’t so much of a handful because I got into trouble, but because I was lost.”

“You seem a little lost now, too.”

Drat. She hadn’t told him any of this for sympathy. She was just trying to keep the conversation innocent. “Seriously. You’re not going to feel sorry for me, are you?”

“Not even a little bit. If you’re lost now, it’s your own doing. Something you need to fix yourself.”

“That’s exactly what I believe!”

He toasted. “To us. Two just slightly off-kilter people who make our own way.”

She clinked her glass to his before taking another sip of wine. They finished their drinks in silence, which began to feel uncomfortable. If she were free, she probably would be flirting right now. But she wasn’t.

Grabbing her jacket and purse, she rose from her seat. “I guess I should get going.”

He rose, too. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

Her heart kicked against her ribs. The vision of a good-night kiss formed in her brain. The knowledge that she’d be a cheat almost choked her. “There’s no reason.”

“I know. I know. It’s a very peaceful little town. No reason to worry.” He smiled. “Still, I’ve never let a woman walk to her car alone after dark.”

Because that made sense, she said, “Okay.” Side by side they ambled up the sidewalk to the old, battered green car Louisa had lent her.

When they reached it, she turned to him with a smile. “Thank you for listening to me. I actually feel better.”

“Thank you for talking to me. Though I don’t mind a little turmoil in the restaurant, I don’t want real trouble.”

She smiled up at him, caught the gaze of his pretty gray eyes, and felt a connection that warmed her. She didn’t often tell anyone the story of her life, but he had really listened. Genuinely cared.

“So you’re saying yelling is your way of creating the kind of chaos you want?”

“You make me sound like a control freak.”

“You are.”

He laughed. “I know.”

They gazed into each other’s eyes long enough for Dani’s heart to begin to thrum. Knowing they were now crossing a line, she tried to pull away, but couldn’t. Just when she was about to give one last shot at breaking their contact, he bent his head and kissed her.

Heat swooshed through her on a wave of surprise. Her hands slid up his arms, feeling the strength of him, and met at the back of his neck, where rich, thick hair tickled her knuckles. When he coaxed open her mouth, the taste of wine greeted her, along with a thrill so strong it spiraled through her like a tornado. The urge to press herself against him trembled through her. She’d never felt anything so powerful, so wanton. She stepped closer, enjoying sensations so intense they stole her breath.

His hands trailed from her shoulders, down her back to her bottom and that’s when everything became real. What was she doing kissing someone when she had a marriage proposal waiting for her in New York?

CHAPTER FIVE

NOTHING IN RAFE’S life had prepared him for the feeling of his lips against Dani’s. He told himself it was absurd for an experienced man to think one kiss different from another, but even as that thought floated to him, her lips moved, shifted, and need burst through him. She wasn’t a weak woman, his Dani. She was strong, vital, and she kissed like a woman starving for the touch of a man. The kind of touch he longed to give her. And the affair was back on the table.

Suddenly, Dani jumped back, away from him. “You can’t kiss me.”

The wildness in her eyes mirrored the roar of need careening through him. The dew of her mouth was sprinkled on his lips. His heart pounded out an unexpected tattoo, and desire spilled through his blood.

He smiled, crossed his arms on his chest and leaned against the old car. “I think I just did.”

“The point is you shouldn’t kiss me.”

“Because we work together?” He glanced to the right. “Bah! You Americans and your puritanical rules.”

“Oh, you hate rules? What about commitments? I’m engaged!”

That stopped the need tumbling through him. That stopped the sweet swell of desire. That made him angry that she’d led him on, and feel stupid that he hadn’t even suspected that a woman as pretty and cheerful as his Dani would have someone special waiting at home.

“I see.”

She took three steps back, moving herself away from her own transportation. “I didn’t mean to lead you on.” She groaned and took another step back. “I didn’t think I was leading you on. We were talking like friends.”

He shoved off the car. “We were.”

“So why’d you kiss me?”

He shrugged, as if totally unaffected, though a witch’s brew of emotions careered through him like a runaway roller coaster. “It felt right.” Everything about her felt right, which only annoyed him more.

She took another step away from him. “Well, it was wrong.”

“If you don’t stop your retreat, you’re going to end up back in the tavern.”

She sucked in a breath.

He opened her car door. “Get in. Go home. We’re fine. I don’t want you skittering around like some frightened mouse tomorrow. Let’s just pretend that little kiss never happened.”

He waited, holding open the door for her until he realized she wouldn’t go anywhere near her car while he stood beside it. Anger punched up again. Still, keeping control, he moved away.

She sighed with relief and slid into her car.

He calmly started the walk to his condo, but when he got inside the private elevator he punched the closed door, not sure if he was angry with himself for kissing her or angry, really angry, that she was engaged. Taken.

He told himself not to care. Were they to have an affair, it would have been short because she was leaving, returning to America.

And even if she wasn’t, even if they’d been perfect for each other, he didn’t do relationships. He knew their cost. He knew he couldn’t pay it.

When the elevator doors opened again, he stepped out and tossed his keys on a convenient table in the foyer of his totally remodeled condo on the top floor of one of Monte Calanetti’s most beautiful pale stone buildings. The quiet closed in on him, but he ignored it. Sometimes the price a man paid for success was his soul. He put everything he had into his meals, his restaurant, his success. He’d almost let one woman steal his dream—he wouldn’t be so foolish as to even entertain the thought a second time.

* * *

The next day he worked his magic in the kitchen, confident his attraction to Dani had died with the words I’m engaged. He didn’t stand around on pins and needles awaiting her arrival. He didn’t think about her walking into the kitchen. He refused to wonder whether she’d be happy or angry. Or ponder the way he’d like to treat her to a full-course meal, watch the light in her eyes while she enjoyed the food he’d prepare especially for her...

Damn it.

What was he doing thinking about a woman who was engaged?

He walked through the dining room, checking on the tables, opening the shutters on the big windows to reveal the striking view, not at all concerned that she was late, except for how it would impact his restaurant. So when the sound of her bubbly laugher entered the dining room, and his heart stopped, he almost cursed.

Probably not seeing him in the back of the dining room, she teased with Allegra and Gio, a clear sign that the kiss hadn’t affected her as much as it had affected him. He remembered the way she’d spoken to him the night before. One minute she was sad, confiding, the next she would say something like, “You should stop that.” Putting him in his place. Telling him what to do. And he wondered, really, who had confided in whom the night before?

Walking to the kitchen, he ran his hand along the back of his neck. Had he really told her about his family? Not that it was any great secret, but his practice was to remain aloof. Yet, somehow, wanting to comfort her had bridged that divide and he’d talked about things he normally kept out of relationships with women.

As he approached a prep table, Emory waved a sheet of paper at him. “I’ve created the schedule for Daniella. I’m giving her two days off. Monday and Tuesday. Two days together, so she can sightsee.”

His heart stuttered a bit, but he forced his brain to focus on work. “And just who will seat people on Monday and Tuesday?”

“Allegra has been asking for more hours. I think she’ll be fine in the position as a stand-in until, as Daniella suggested, we hire two people to seat customers.”

He ignored the comment about Daniella. “Allegra is willing to give up her tips?”

“She’s happy with the hourly wage I suggested.”

“Great. Fine. Wonderful. Maybe you should deal with staff from now on.”

Emory laughed. “This was a one-time thing. A favor to Daniella. I’m a chef, too. I might play second to you, but I’m not a business manager. In fact, you’re the one who’s going to take this to Dani.”

Ignoring the thump of his heart at having to talk to her, Rafe snatched the schedule sheet out of Emory’s hands and walked out of the kitchen, into the dining room.

His gaze searched out Dani and when he found her, their eyes met. They’d shared a conversation. They’d shared a kiss. But she belonged to someone else. Any connection he felt to her stopped now.

He broke the eye contact and headed for Allegra. “Emory tells me you’re interested in earning some extra money and you’re willing to be Dani’s fill-in.”

Her eyes brightened. “Sì.”

“Excellent. You will come in Monday and Tuesday for Dani, then.” He felt Dani’s gaze burning into him, felt his face redden with color like a schoolboy in the same room with his crush. Ridiculous.

He sucked in a breath, pasted a professional smile on his face and walked over to Dani. He handed the sheet of paper to her. “You wanted a schedule. Here is your schedule.”

Her blue eyes rose slowly to meet his. She said, “Thanks.”

The blood in his veins slowed to a crawl. The noise in the dining room disappeared. Every nuance of their kiss flooded his memory. Along with profound disappointment that their first kiss would be their last.

He fought the urge to squeeze his eyes shut. Why was he thinking these things about a woman who was taken? All he’d wanted was an affair! Now that he knew they couldn’t have one, he should just move on.

“You wanted time off. I am granting you time off.”

He turned and walked away, satisfied that he sounded like his normal self. Because he was his normal self. No kiss...no woman would change him.

Lunch service began. Within minutes, he was caught up in the business of supervising meal prep. As course after course was served, an unexpected thought came to Rafe. An acknowledgment of something Dani had said. He didn’t eat a multicourse lunch. He liked soup and salad. Was Dani right?

* * *

Dani worked her shift, struggling to ward off the tightness in her chest every time Rafe came out of the kitchen. Memories of his kiss flooded her. But the moment of pure pleasure had been darkened by the realization that she had a proposal at home...yet she’d kissed another man. And it had been a great kiss. The kind of kiss a woman loses herself in. The kind of kiss that could have swept her off her feet if she wasn’t already committed.

She went home in between lunch and dinner and joined Louisa on a walk through the house as she mentally charted everything that needed to be repaired. The overwhelmed villa owner wasn’t quite ready to do an actual list. It was as if Louisa needed to get her bearings or begin acclimating to the reality of the property she owned before she could do anything more than clean.

At five, Dani put on the black trousers and white blouse again and returned to the restaurant. The time went more smoothly than the lunch session, mostly because Rafe was too busy to come into the dining room, except when a customer specifically asked to speak with him. When she walked into the kitchen to get him, she kept their exchanges businesslike, and he complied, not straying into more personal chitchat. So when he asked for time with her at the end of the night again, she shivered.

She didn’t think he intended to fire her. He’d just given her a schedule. He also wouldn’t kiss her again. He seemed to respect the fact that there was another man in the picture, even if she had sort of stretched the truth about being engaged. But that was for both of their benefits. She had a proposal waiting. Her life was confusing enough already. There was no point muddying the waters with a fling. No point in leading Rafe on.

She had no idea why he wanted to talk to her, but she decided to be calm about it.

When he walked out of the kitchen, he indicated that she should sit at the bar, while he grabbed a bottle of wine.

After a sip, she smiled. “I like this one.”

“So you are a fan of Chianti.”

She looked at the wine in the glass, watched how the light wove through it. “I don’t know if I’m a fan. But it’s good.” She took a quiet breath and glanced over at him. “You wanted to talk with me?”

“Today, I saw what you meant about lunch being too much food for some diners.”

She turned on her seat, his reply easing her mind enough that she could be comfortable with him. “Really?”

“Yes. We should have a lunch menu. We should offer the customary meals diners expect in Italy, but we should also accommodate those who want smaller lunches.”

“So I made a suggestion that you’re going to use?”

He caught her gaze. “You’re not a stupid woman, Dani. You know that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so bold in your comments about the restaurant.”

She grinned. “I am educated.”

He shook his head. “And you have instincts.” He picked up his wineglass. “I’d like you to work with me on the few selections we’ll add.”

Her heart sped up. “Really?”

“Yes. It was your suggestion. I believe you should have some say in the menu.”

That made her laugh.

“And what is funny about that?” His voice dripped with incredulity, as if he had no idea how to follow her sometimes. His hazy gray eyes narrowed in annoyance.

She sipped her wine, delaying her answer to torment him. He was always so in control that he was cute when he was baffled. And it was fun to see him try to wrangle himself around it.

Finally she said, “You’re not the big, bad wolf you want everybody to believe.”

His eyes narrowed a little more as he ran his thumb along his chin. His face was perfect. Sharp angles, clean lines, accented by silvery eyes and dark, dark hair that gave him a dramatic, almost mysterious look.

“I don’t mind suggestions to make the business better. Ask Emory. He’s had a lot more say than you would think.”

She smiled, not sure why he so desperately wanted to cling to his bossy image. “I still say you’re not so bad.”

* * *

Rafe’s blood heated. The urge to flirt with Dani, and then seduce her, roiled like the sea before a storm. He genuinely believed she was too innocent to realize he could take her comments about his work demeanor as flirting, and shift the conversation into something personal. But he also knew they couldn’t work together if she continued to be so free with him.

“Be careful what you say, little Dani, and how you take our conversations. Because I am bad. I am not the gentleman you might be accustomed to. Though I respect your engagement, if you don’t, I’ll take that as permission to do whatever I want. You can’t have a fiancé at home and free rein to flirt here.”

Her eyes widened. But he didn’t give her a chance to comment. He grabbed the pad and pencil he’d brought to the bar and said, “So what should we add to this lunch menu you want?”

She licked her lips, took a slow breath as if shifting her thoughts to the task at hand and said, “Antipasto and minestrone soup. That’s obvious. But you could add a garden salad, club sandwich, turkey sandwich and hamburgers.” She slowly met his gaze. “That way you’re serving a need without going overboard.”

With the exception of the hamburger, which made him wince, he agreed. “I can put my own spin on all of these, use the ingredients we already have on hand, redo the menu tonight and we’ll be ready to go tomorrow.”

She gaped at him. “Tomorrow? Wow.”

He rose. “This is my business, Dani. If a suggestion is good, there is no point waiting forever. I get things done. Go home. I will see you tomorrow.”

She walked to the door, and he headed for the kitchen where he could watch her leave from the window above the sink, making sure nothing happened to her. No matter how hard he tried to stop it, disappointment rose up in him. At the very least, it would have been nice to finish a glass of wine with her.

But he couldn’t.

* * *

Dani ran to her car, her blood simmering, her nerve endings taut. They might have had a normal conversation about his menu. She might have even left him believing she was okay with everything he’d said and they were back to normal. But she couldn’t forget his declaration that he was bad. It should have scared her silly. Instead, it tempted her. She’d never been attracted to a man who was clearly all wrong for her, a man with whom she couldn’t have a future. Everything she did was geared toward security. Everything about him spelled danger.

So why was he so tempting?

Walking into the kitchen of Louisa’s run-down villa, she found her friend sitting at the table with a cup of tea.

Louisa smiled as she entered. “Can I get you a cup?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t know.”

Louisa rose. “What’s wrong? You’re shaking.”

She dropped to one of the chairs at the round table. “Rafe and I had a little chat after everyone was gone.”

“Did he fire you?”

“I think I might have welcomed that.”

Louisa laughed. “You need a cup of tea.” She walked to the cupboard, retrieved the tin she’d bought in the village, along with enough groceries for the two of them, and ran water into the kettle. “So what did he say?”

“He told me to be careful where I took our conversations.”

“Are you insulting him again?”

“He danced around it a bit, but he thinks I’m flirting with him.”

Eyes wide, Louisa turned from the stove. “Are you?”

Dani pressed her lips together before she met Louisa’s gaze. “Not intentionally. You know I have a fiancé.”

“Sounds like you’re going to have to change the way you act around Rafe, then. Treat him the way he wants to be treated, like a boss you respect. Mingle with the waitstaff. Enjoy your job. But stay away from him.”

* * *

The next day, Rafe stacked twenty-five black leather folders containing the new menus on the podium for Dani to distribute when she seated customers.

An hour later, she entered the kitchen, carrying them. Her smile as radiant as the noonday sun, she said, “These look great.”

Rafe nodded, moving away from her, reminding himself that she was engaged to another man. “As I told you last night, this is a business. Good ideas are always welcome.”

Emory peeked around Rafe. “And, please, if you have any more ideas, don’t hesitate to offer them.”

Rafe said, “Bah,” and walked away. But he saw his old, bald friend wink at Dani as if they were two conspirators. At first, he was comforted that Emory had also succumbed to Dani’s charms, but he knew that was incorrect. Emory liked Dani as a person. While Rafe wanted to sleep with her. But as long as he reminded himself his desires were wrong, he could control them.

Customer response to the lunch menu was astounding. Dani took no credit for the new offerings and referred comments and compliments to him. Still, she was in the spotlight everywhere he went. Customers loved her. The waitstaff deferred to her. Her smile lit the dining room. Her laughter floated on the air. And he was glad when she said goodbye at the end of the day, if only so he could get some peace.

Monday morning, he arrived at the restaurant and breathed in the scent of the business he called home. Today would be a good day because Dani was off. For two glorious days he would not have to watch his words, watch where his eyes went or control hormones he didn’t understand. Plus, her having two days off was a great way to transition his thoughts away from her as a person and to her as an employee.

And who knew? Maybe Allegra would work so well as a hostess that he could actually cut Dani’s hours even more. Not in self-preservation over his unwanted attraction, but because this was a business. He was the boss. And the atmosphere of the restaurant would go back to normal.

As Emory supervised the kitchen, Rafe interviewed two older gentlemen for Dani’s job. Neither was suitable, but he comforted himself with the knowledge that this was only his first attempt at finding her replacement. He had other interviews scheduled for that afternoon and the next day. He would replace her.

Allegra arrived on time to open for lunch. Because they were enjoying an unexpected warm spell, he opened the windows and let the breeze spill in. The scents of rich Tuscan foods drifted from the kitchen. And just as Rafe expected, suddenly, all became right with the world.

Until an hour later when he heard a clang and a clatter from the dining room. He set down his knife and stormed out. Gio had dropped a tray of food when Allegra had knocked into her.

“What is this?” he asked, his hands raised in confusion. “You navigate around each other every day. Now, today, you didn’t see her?”

Allegra stooped to help Gio pick up the broken dishes. “I’m sorry. It’s just nerves. I was turned away, talking to the customer and didn’t watch where I was going.”

“Bah! Nerves. Get your head on straight!”

Allegra nodded quickly and Rafe returned to the kitchen. He summoned the two busboys to the dining room to clean up the mess and everything went back to normal.

Except customers didn’t take to Allegra. She was sweet, but she wasn’t fun. She wasn’t chatty. A lifelong resident, she didn’t see Italy through the eyes of someone who loved it with the passion and intensity of a newcomer as Dani did.

One customer even asked for her. Rafe smiled and said she had a day off. The customer asked for the next shift she’d be working so he could return and tell her of his trip to Venice.

“She’ll be back on Wednesday,” Rafe said. He tried to pretend he didn’t feel the little rise in his heart at the thought of her return, but he’d felt it. After only a few hours, he missed her.

CHAPTER SIX

AND SHE MISSED HIM.

The scribbled notes of things she remembered her foster mother telling her about her Italian relatives hadn’t helped her to find them. But Dani discovered stepping stones to people who knew people who knew people who would ultimately get her to the ones she wanted.

Several times she found herself wondering how Rafe would handle the situation. Would he ask for help? What would he say? And she realized she missed him. She didn’t mind his barking. He’d shown her a kinder side. She remembered the conversation in which he’d told her about his family. She loved that he’d taken her suggestion about a lunch menu. But most of all, she replayed that kiss over and over and over in her head, worried because she couldn’t even remember her first kiss with Paul.

Steady, stable Paul hadn’t ever kissed her like Rafe had. Ever. But he had qualities Rafe didn’t have. Stability being number one. He was an accountant at a bank, for God’s sake. A man did not get any more stable than that. She’d already had a life of confusion and adventure of a sort, when she was plucked from one foster home and dropped in another. She didn’t want confusion or danger or adventure. She wanted stability.

That night when she called Paul, he immediately asked when she was returning. Her heart lifted a bit hearing that. “I hate talking on the phone.”

It was the most romantic thing he’d ever said to her. Until he added, “I’d rather just wait until you get home to talk.”

“Oh.”

“Now, don’t get pouty. You know you have a tendency to talk too much.”

She was chatty.

“Anyway, I’m at work. I’ve got to go.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Call me from your apartment when you get home.”

She frowned. Home? Did he not want to talk to her for an entire month? “Aren’t you going to pick me up at the airport?”

“Maybe, but you’ll probably be getting in at rush hour or something. Taking a taxi would be easier, wouldn’t it? We’ll see how the time works out.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“Good. Gotta run.”

Even as she disconnected the call, she thought of Rafe. She couldn’t see him telling his almost fiancée to call when she arrived at her apartment after nearly seven months without seeing each other. He’d race to the airport, grab her in baggage claim and kiss her senseless.

Her breath vanished when she pictured the scene, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She really could not think like that. She absolutely couldn’t start comparing Paul and Rafe. Especially not when it came to passion. Poor sensible Paul would always suffer by comparison.

Plus, her feelings for Rafe were connected to the rush of pleasure she got from finding a place in his restaurant, being more than useful, offering ideas a renowned chef had implemented. For a former foster child, having somebody give her a sense of worth and value was like gold.

And that’s all it was. Attraction to his good looks and appreciation that he recognized and told her she was doing a good job.

She did not want him.

Really.

She needed somebody like Paul.

Though she knew that was true, it didn’t sit right. She couldn’t stop thinking about the way he didn’t want to pick her up at the airport, how he’d barely had two minutes to talk to her and how he’d told her not to call again.

She tried to read, tried to chat with Louisa about the house, but in the end, she knew she needed to get herself out of the house or she’d make herself crazy.

She told Louisa she was going for a drive and headed into town.

* * *

Antsy, unable to focus, and afraid he was going to royally screw something up and disappoint a customer, Rafe turned Mancini’s over to Emory.

“It’s not like you to leave so early.”

“It’s already eight o’clock.” Rafe shrugged into his black wool coat. “Maybe too many back-to-back days have made me tired.”

Emory smiled. “Ah, so maybe like Dani, you need a day off?”

Buttoning his coat, he ignored the dig and walked to the back door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

But as he was driving through town, he saw the ugly green car Dani drove sitting at the tavern again. The last time she’d been there had been the day he’d inadvertently insulted her. She didn’t seem like the type to frequent taverns, so what if she was upset again?

His heart gave a kick and he whipped his SUV into a parking place, raced across the quiet street and entered the tavern to find her at the same table she’d been at before.

He walked over. She glanced up.

Hungrier for the sight of her than was wise, he held her gaze as he slid onto the chair across from her. “So this is how you spend your precious time off.”

She shook her head. “Don’t start.”

He hadn’t meant to be argumentative. In fact that was part of their problem. There was no middle with them. They either argued or lusted after each other. Given that he was her boss and she was engaged, both were wrong.

The bartender ambled over. He set a coaster in front of Rafe with a sigh. “You want another bottle of that fancy wine?”

Rafe shook his head and named one of the beers on tap before he pointed to Dani’s glass. “And another of whatever she’s having.”

As the bartender walked away, she said, “You don’t have to buy me a beer.”

“I’m being friendly because I think we need to find some kind of balance.” He was tired of arguing, but he also couldn’t go on thinking about her all the time. The best way to handle both would be to classify their relationship as a friendship. Tonight, he could get some questions answered, get to know her and see that she was just like everybody else. Not somebody special. Then they could both go back to normal.

“Balance?”

He shrugged. Leaning back, he anchored his arm across the empty chair beside him. “We’re either confiding like people who want to become lovers, or we fight.”

She turned her beer glass nervously. “That’s true.”

“So, we drink a beer together. We talk about inconsequential things, and Wednesday when you return to Mancini’s, no one snipes.”

She laughed.

He smiled. “What did you do today?”

“I went to the town where my foster mother’s relatives lived.”

His beer arrived. Waiting for her to elaborate, he took a sip. Then another. When she didn’t say anything else, he asked, “So did you find them?”

“Not yet. But I will.”

Her smooth skin virtually glowed. Her blue eyes met his. Interest and longing swam through him. He ignored both in favor of what now seemed to be a good mission. Becoming friends. Finding a middle ground where they weren’t fighting or lusting, but a place where they could coexist.

“What did you do today?”

“Today I created a lasagna that should have made customers die from pleasure.”

She laughed. “Exaggerate much?”

He pointed a finger at her. “It’s not an exaggeration. It’s confidence.”

“Ah.”

“You don’t like confidence?”

She studied his face. “Maybe it’s more that I don’t trust it.”

“What’s to trust? I love to cook, to make people happy, to surprise them with something wonderful. But I didn’t just open a door to my kitchen and say, come eat this. I went to school. I did apprenticeships. My confidence is in my teachers’ ability to take me to the next level as much as it is in my ability to learn, and then do.”

Her head tilted. “So it’s not all about you.”

He laughed, shook his head. “Where do you get these ideas?”

“You’re kind of arrogant.”

He batted his hand. “Arrogant? Confident? Who cares as long as the end result is good?”

“I guess...”

“I know.” He took another sip of beer, watching as she slid her first drink—which he assumed was warm—aside and reached for the second glass he’d bought for her. “Not much of a drinker?”

“No.”

“So what are you?”

She laughed. “Is this how you become friends with someone?”

“Conversation is how everyone becomes friends.”

“I thought it was shared experience.”

“We don’t have time for shared experience. If we want to become friends by Wednesday we need to take shortcuts.”

She inclined her head as if agreeing.

He waited. When she said nothing, he reframed his question. “So you are happy teaching?”

“I’m a good teacher.”

“But you are not happy?”

“I’m just not sure people are supposed to be happy.”

He blinked. That was the very last thing he’d expected to hear from his bubbly hostess. “Seriously?”

She met his gaze. “Yeah. I think we’re meant to be content. I think we’re meant to find a spot and fill it. But happy? That’s reserved for big events or holidays.”

For thirty seconds, he wished she were staying in Italy. He wished he had time enough to show her the sights, teach her the basics of cooking, make her laugh, show her what happiness was. But that wasn’t the mission. The mission was to get to know her just enough that they would stop arguing.

“This from my happy, upbeat hostess?”

She met his gaze again. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about work.”

“We’re talking about you, not work.”

She picked up her beer glass. “Maybe this isn’t the best time to talk about me.”

Which only filled him with a thousand questions. When she was at Mancini’s she was usually joyful. After a day off, she was as sad as the day he’d hurt her feelings? It made no sense...unless he believed that she loved working in his restaurant enough that it filled her with joy.

That made his pulse jump, made his mind race with thoughts he wasn’t supposed to have. So he rose.

“Okay. Talking is done. We’ll try shared experience.” He pointed behind her. “We’ll play darts.”

Clearly glad they’d no longer be talking, she laughed. “Good.”

“So you play darts at home in New York?”

She rose and followed him to the board hung on a back wall. They passed the quiet pool table, and he pulled some darts from the corkboard beside the dartboard.

“No, I don’t play darts.”

“Great. So we play for money?”

She laughed again. “No! We’ll play for fun.”

He sighed as if put out. “Too bad.”

But as they played, she began to talk about her search for her foster mother’s family. Her voice relaxed. Her smile returned. And Rafe was suddenly glad he’d found her. Not for his mission to make her his friend. But because she was alone. And in spite of her contention that people weren’t supposed to be happy, her normal state was happy. He’d seen that every day at the restaurant. But something had made her sad tonight.

Reminded of the way he had made her sad by saying she wasn’t needed, he redoubled his efforts to make her smile.

* * *

It was easy for Dani to dismiss the significance of Rafe finding her in the bar. They lived in a small town. He didn’t have a whole hell of a lot of choices for places to stop after work. So she wouldn’t let her crazy brain tell her it was sweet that he’d found her. She’d call it what it was. Lack of options.

Playing darts with her, Rafe was kind and polite, but not sexy. At least not deliberately sexy. There were some things a really handsome man couldn’t control. So she didn’t think he was coming on to her when he swaggered over to pull the darts from the board after he threw them. She didn’t think he was trying to entice her when he laughed at her poor attempts at hitting the board. And she absolutely made nothing of it when he stood behind her, took her arm and showed her the motion she needed to make to get the dart going in the right direction.

Even though she could smell him, feel the heat of his body as he brushed up against her back, and feel the vibrations of his warm whisper as he pulled her arm back and demonstrated how to aim, she knew he meant nothing by any of it. He just wanted to be friends.

When their third beer was gone and the hour had gotten late, she smiled at him. “Thank you. That was fun.”

His silver eyes became serious. “You were happy?”

She shook her head at his dog-with-a-bone attitude. “Sort of. Yes. It was a happy experience.”

He sniffed and walked back to their table to retrieve his coat. “Everyone is made to be happy.”

She didn’t believe that. Though she liked her life and genuinely liked people, she didn’t believe her days were supposed to be one long party. But she knew it was best not to argue. She joined him at their table and slipped into her coat.

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

She shook her head. “No.” Their gazes caught. “I’m fine.”

He dipped his head in a quick nod, agreeing, and she walked out into the cold night. Back into the world where her stable fiancé wouldn’t even pick her up at the airport.

CHAPTER SEVEN

WHEN DANI ENTERED the restaurant on Wednesday ten minutes before the start of her shift, Rafe stood by the bar, near the kitchen. As if he’d sensed her arrival, he turned. Their gazes caught. Dani’s heart about pounded its way out of her chest. She reminded herself that though they’d spent an enjoyable evening together playing darts at the tavern, for him it had been about becoming friends. He hadn’t made any passes at her—though he’d had plenty of chances—and he’d made a very good argument for why being friends was a wise move for them.

Still, when he walked toward her, her heart leaped. But he passed the podium to unlock the front door. As he turned to return to the kitchen, he said, “Good morning.”

She cleared her throat, hoping to rid it of the fluttery feeling floating through her at being in the same room with him. Especially since they were supposed to be friends now. Nothing more. “Good morning.”

“How did your search go for your foster mother’s relatives yesterday?”

She shook her head. “Still haven’t found them, but I got lots of information from people who had been their neighbors. Most believe they moved to Rome.”

“Rome?” He shook his head. “No kidding.”

“Their former neighbors said something about one of their kids getting a job there and the whole family wanting to stay together.”

“Nice. Family should stay together.”

“I agree.”

She turned to the podium. He walked to the kitchen. But she couldn’t help thinking that while Paul hadn’t said a word about her quest for Rosa’s family, Rafe had immediately asked. Like someone who cared about her versus someone who didn’t.

She squeezed her eyes shut and told herself not to think like that. They were friends. Only friends.

But all day, she was acutely aware of him. Anytime she retrieved him to escort him to a table, she felt him all around her. Her skin tingled. Everything inside her turned soft and feminine.

At the end of the night, the waitstaff and kitchen help disappeared like rats on a sinking ship. Rafe ambled to the bar, pulled a bottle of wine from the rack behind it.

The Chianti. The wine he’d ordered for them at the tavern.

Her heart trembled. She’d told him she liked that wine.

Was he asking her to stay now? To share another bottle of the wine she’d said she liked?

Longing filled her and she paused by the podium. When he didn’t even look in her direction, she shuffled a bit, hoping the movement would cause him to see her and invite her to stay.

He kept his gaze on a piece of paper sitting on the bar in front of him. Still, she noticed a second glass by the bottle. He had poured wine in one glass but the other was empty—yet available.

She bit her lip. Was that glass an accident? An oversight? Or was that glass her invitation?

She didn’t know. And things were going so well between them professionally that she didn’t want to make a mistake that took them back to an uncomfortable place.

Still, they’d decided to be friends. Wouldn’t a friend want another friend to share a glass of wine at the end of the night?

She drew in a slow breath. She had one final way to get him to notice her and potentially invite her to sit with him. If he didn’t take this hint, then she would leave.

Slowly, cautiously, she called, “Good night.”

He looked over. He hesitated a second, but only a second, before he said, “Good night.”

Disappointment stopped her breathing. Nonetheless, she smiled and headed for the door. She walked to Louisa’s beat-up old car, got in, slid the key in the ignition...

And lowered her head to the steering wheel.

She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to tell him about the countryside she’d seen as she looked for Rosa’s relatives. She longed to tell him about the meals she’d eaten. She yearned to ask him how the restaurant had been the two days she was gone. She needed to get not just the cursory answers he’d given her but the real in-depth stuff. Like a friend.

But she also couldn’t lie to herself. She wanted that crazy feeling he inspired in her. Lust or love, hormones or genuine attraction, she had missed that feeling. She’d missed him. No matter how much she told herself she just wanted to be his friend, it was a lie.

A light tapping on her window had her head snapping up.

Rafe.

She quickly lowered the window to see what he wanted.

“Are you okay?”

Her heart swelled, then shrank and swelled again. Everything he did confused her. Everything she felt around him confused her even more.

“Are you ill?”

She shook her head.

Damn it. She squeezed her eyes shut and decided to just go with the truth. “I saw you with the wine and thought I should have joined you.” She caught the gaze of his smoky-gray eyes. “You said we were going to be friends. And I was hoping you sitting at the bar with a bottle of wine was an invitation.”

He stepped back. She’d never particularly thought of a chef’s uniform as being sexy, but he’d taken off the jacket, revealing a white T-shirt that outlined muscles and a flat stomach. Undoubtedly hot from working in the kitchen, he didn’t seem bothered by the cold night air.

“I always have a glass of wine at the end of the night.”

So, her instincts had been wrong. If she’d just started her car and driven off, she wouldn’t be embarrassed right now. “Okay. Good.”

He glanced down into the car at her. “But I wouldn’t have minded company.”

Embarrassment began to slide away, only to be replaced by the damnable confusion. “Oh.”

“I simply don’t steal women who belong to other men.”

“It wouldn’t be stealing if we were talking about work, becoming friends like you said we should.”

“That night was a one-time thing. A way to get to know each other so we could stop aggravating each other.”

“So we’re really not friends?”

He laughed and glanced away at the beautiful starlit sky. “We’re now friendly enough to work together. Men only try to become ‘real’ friends so that they can ultimately become lovers.”

The way he said lovers sent a wave of yearning skittering along her nerve endings. It suddenly became difficult to breathe.

He caught her gaze again. “I’ve warned you before to be careful with me, Dani. I’m not a man who often walks away from what he wants.”

“Wow. You are one honest guy.”

He laughed. “Usually I wouldn’t care. I’d muscle my way into your life and take what I wanted. But you’re different. You’re innocent.”

“I sort of liked being different until you added the part about me being innocent.”

“You are.”

“Well, yeah. Sort of.” She tossed her hands in exasperation, the confusion and longing getting the better of her. “But you make it sound like a disease.”

“It’s not. It’s actually a quality men look for in a woman they want to keep.”

Her heart fluttered again. “Oh?”

“Don’t get excited about that. I’m not the kind of guy who commits. I like short-term relationships because I don’t like complications. I’m attracted to you, yes, but I also know myself. My commitment to the restaurant comes before any woman.” He forced her gaze to his again. “This thing I feel for you is wrong. So as much as I wanted you to take the hint tonight and share a bottle of wine with me, I also hoped you wouldn’t. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“We could always talk about the restaurant.”

“About how you were missed? How a customer actually asked for you?”

She laughed. “See? That’s all great stuff. Neutral stuff.”

“I suppose you also wouldn’t be opposed to hearing that Emory thinks that after the success of your lunch menu, we should encourage you to make suggestions.”

Pride flooded her. “Well, I’ll do my best to think of new things.”

He glanced at the stars again. Their conversation had run its course. He stood in the cold. She sat in a car that could be warm if she’d started the darn thing. But the air between them was anything but cool, and she suddenly realized they were kidding themselves if they believed they could be just friends.

He looked down and smiled slightly. “Good night, Dani.”

He didn’t wait for her to say good-night. He walked away.

She sat there for a few seconds, tingling, sort of breathless, but knowing he was right. They couldn’t be friends and they couldn’t have a fling. She was innocent and he would hurt her. And though technically she’d stretched the truth about being engaged, it was saving her heartbreak.

After starting her car, she pulled out, watching in the rearview mirror as he revved the engine of his big SUV and followed her to Monte Calanetti.

* * *

Though Dani dressed in her usual black trousers and white blouse the next morning, she took extra care when she ironed them, making them crisper, their creases sharper, so she looked more professional when she arrived at the restaurant.

Rafe spoke sparingly. It wasn’t long before she realized that unless she had a new idea to discuss, they wouldn’t interact beyond his thank-you when she introduced him to a customer who wanted to compliment the chef.

She understood. Running into each other at the tavern the first time and talking out their disagreement, then playing darts the second, had made them friendly enough that they no longer sniped. But having minimal contact with her was how he would ignore their attraction. They weren’t right for each other and, older, wiser, he was sparing them both. But that didn’t really stop her attraction to him.

To keep herself from thinking about Rafe on Friday, she studied the customer seating, the china and silverware, the interactions of the waitresses with the customers, but didn’t come up with an improvement good enough to suggest to him.

A thrill ran through her at the knowledge that he took her ideas so seriously. Here she was, an educated but simple girl from Brooklyn, being taken seriously by a lauded European chef.

The sense of destiny filled her again, along with Rafe’s comment about happiness. This time her thoughts made her gasp. What if this feeling of rightness wasn’t about Rafe or Italy? What if this sense of being where she belonged was actually telling her the truth about her career choice? She loved teaching, but it didn’t make her feel she belonged the way being a part of this restaurant did. And maybe this sense of destiny was simply trying to point her in the direction of a new career when she returned to the United States?

The thought relieved her. Life was so much simpler when the sense of destiny was something normal, like an instinct for the restaurant business, rather than longing for her boss—a guy she shouldn’t even be flirting with when she had a marriage proposal waiting for her at home.

Emory came to the podium and interrupted her thoughts. “These are the employee phone numbers. Gio called off sick for tonight’s shift. I’d like you to call in a replacement.”

She glanced up at him. “Who should I call?”

He smiled. “Your choice. Being out here all the time, you know who works better with whom.”

After calling Zola, she walked back to the kitchen to return the list.

Emory shook his head. “This is your responsibility now. A new job for you, while you’re here, to make my life a little easier.”

She smiled. “Okay.”

Without looking at her, Rafe said, “We’d also like you to begin assigning tasks to the busboys. After you say goodbye to a guest, we’d like you to come in and get the busboys. That will free up the waitresses a bit.”

The feeling of destiny swelled in her again. The new tasks felt like a promotion, and there wasn’t a person in the world who didn’t like being promoted.

When Rafe refused to look at her, she winked at Emory. “Okay.”

Walking back to the dining room, she fought the feeling that her destiny, her gift, was for this particular restaurant. Especially since, when returning to New York, she’d start at the bottom of any dining establishment she chose to work, and that would be a problem since she’d only make minimum wage. At Mancini’s, she only needed to earn extra cash. In New York, would a job as a hostess support her?

The next day, Lazare, one of the busboys, called her “Miss Daniella.” The shift from Dani to Miss Daniella caught on in the kitchen and the show of respect had Daniella’s shoulders straightening with confidence. When she brought Rafe out for a compliment from a customer, even he said, “Thank you, Miss Daniella,” and her heart about popped out of her chest with pride.

That brought her back to the suspicion that her sense of destiny wasn’t for the restaurant business, but for this restaurant and these people. If she actually got a job at a restaurant in New York, she couldn’t expect the staff there to treat her this well.

Realizing all her good fortune would stop when she left Mancini’s, her feeling of the “destiny” of belonging in the restaurant business fizzled. She would go home to a tiny apartment, a man whose marriage proposal had scared her and a teaching position that suddenly felt boring.

“Miss Daniella,” Gio said as she approached the podium later that night. “The gentleman at table two would like to speak to the chef.”

She said it calmly, but there was an undercurrent in her voice, as if subtly telling Daniella that this was a problem situation, not a compliment.

She smiled and said, “Thank you, Gio. I’ll handle it.”

She walked over to the table.

The short, stout man didn’t wait for Dani to speak. He immediately said, “My manicotti was dry and tasteless.”

Daniella inclined her head in acknowledgment of his comment. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure what happened. I’ll tell the kitchen staff.”

“I want to talk to the chef.”

His loud, obnoxious voice carried to the tables around him. Daniella peeked behind her at the kitchen door, then glanced at the man again. The restaurant had finally freed itself of people curious about Rafe’s temper. The seats had filled with customers eager to taste his food. She would not let his reputation be ruined by a beady-eyed little man who probably wanted a free dinner.

“We’re extremely busy tonight,” she told the gentleman as she looped her fingers around his biceps and gently urged him to stand. “So rather than a chat with the chef, what if I comp your dinner?”

His eyes widened, then returned to normal, as if he couldn’t believe he was getting what he wanted so easily. “You’ll pay my tab?”

She smiled. “The whole meal.” A quick glance at the table told her that would probably be the entire day’s wage, but it would be worth it to avoid a scene.

“I’d like dessert.”

“We’ll get it for you to go.” She nodded to Gio, who quickly put two slices of cake into a take-out container and within seconds the man and his companion were gone.

* * *

Rafe watched from the sliver of a crack he created when he pushed open the kitchen door a notch. He couldn’t hear what Dani said, but he could see her calm demeanor, her smiles, the gentle but effective way she removed the customer from Rafe’s dining room without the other patrons being any the wiser.

He laughed and Emory walked over.

“What’s funny?”

“Dani just kicked somebody out.”

Emory’s eyes widened. “We had a scene?”

“That’s the beauty of it. Even though he started off yelling, she got him out without causing even a ripple of trouble. I’ll bet the people at the adjoining tables weren’t even aware of what was happening beyond his initial grousing.”

“She is worth her weight in gold.”

Rafe pondered that. “Gio made the choice to get her rather than come to me.”

Emory said, “She trusts Dani.”

He walked away, leaving Rafe with that simple but loaded thought.

At the end of the night, the waitstaff quickly finished their cleanup and began leaving before the kitchen staff. Rafe glanced at the bar, thought about a glass of wine and decided against it. Instead, he walked to the podium as Dani collected her purse.

He waited for the waitresses on duty to leave before he faced Dani.

“You did very well tonight.”

“Thank you.”

“I saw you get rid of the irate customer.”

She winced. “I had to offer to pay for his meal.”

“I’ll take care of that.”

Her gaze met his, tripping the weird feeling in his chest again.

“Really?”

“Yes.” He sucked in a breath, reminding himself he didn’t want the emotions she inspired in him. He wanted a good hostess. He didn’t want a fling with another man’s woman.

“I trust your judgment. If not charging for his food avoided a scene, I’m happy to absorb the cost.”

“Thanks.”

He glanced away, then looked back at her. “Your duties just keep growing.”

“Is this your subtle way of telling me I overstepped?”

He shook his head. “You take work that Emory and I would have to do. Things we truly do not have time for.”

“Which is good?”

“Yes. Very good.” He gazed into her pretty blue eyes and fought the desire to kiss her that crept up before he could stop it. His restaurant was becoming exactly what he’d envisioned because of her. Because she knew how to direct diners’ attention and mood. It was as if they were partners in his venture and though the businessman in him desperately fought his feelings for her, the passionate part of him wanted to lift her off the ground, swing her around and kiss her ardently.

But that was wrong for so many reasons that he got angry with himself for even considering it.

“I was thinking tonight that a differentiation between you and the waitresses would be good. It would be a show of authority.”

“You want me to wear a hat?”

He laughed. Was it any wonder he was so drawn to her? No one could so easily catch him off guard. Make him laugh. Make him wish for a life that included a little more fun.

“I want you to wear something other than the dark trousers and white blouses the waitresses wear. Your choice,” he said when her face turned down with a puzzled frown. “A dress. A suit. Anything that makes you look like you’re in charge.”

Her gaze rose to meet his. “In charge?”

“Of the dining room.” He laughed lightly. “You still have a few weeks before I give you my job.”

She laughed, too.

But when her laughter died, they were left gazing into each other’s eyes. The mood shifted from happy and businesslike to something he couldn’t define or describe. The click of connection he always felt with her filled him. It was hot and sweet, but pointless, leaving an emptiness in the pit of his stomach.

He said, “Good night, Dani,” and walked away, into the kitchen and directly to the window over the sink. A minute later, he watched her amble across the parking lot to her car, start it and drive off, making sure she had no trouble.

Then he locked the restaurant and headed to his SUV.

He might forever remember the joy in her blue eyes when he told her that he wanted her to look like the person of authority in the dining room.

But as he climbed into his vehicle, his smile faded. Here he was making her happy, giving her promotions, authority, and just when he should have been able to kiss her to celebrate, he’d had to pull back...because she was taken.

Was he crazy to keep her on, to continually promote her, to need her for his business when it was clear that there was no chance of a relationship between them?

Was he being a sucker?

Was she using him?

Bah! What the hell was he doing? Thinking about things that didn’t matter? The woman was leaving in a few weeks. And that was the real reason he should worry about depending on her. Soon she would be gone. So why were he and Emory leaning on her?

Glad he had more maître d’ interviews scheduled for the following Monday, he started his car and roared out of the parking lot. He would use what he had learned about Dani’s duties for his new maître d’. But he wouldn’t give her any more authority.

And he absolutely would stop all thoughts about wanting to swing her around, kiss her and enjoy their success. It was not “their” success. It was his.

It was also her choice to have no part in it.

* * *

Sunday morning, Dani arrived at the restaurant in a slim cream-colored dress. She had curled her hair and pinned it in a bundle on top of her head. When Rafe saw her his jaw fell.

She looked regal, sophisticated. Perfect as the face of his business.

Emory whistled. “My goodness.”

Rafe’s breath stuttered into his lungs. He reminded himself of his thoughts from the night before. She was leaving. She wanted no part in his long-term success. He and Emory were depending on her too much for someone who had no plans to stay.

But most of all, leaving was her choice.

She didn’t want him or his business in her life. She was here only for some money so she could find the relatives of her foster mother.

The waitresses tittered over how great she looked. Emory walked to the podium, took her hands and kissed both of her cheeks. The busboys blushed every time she was near.

She handled it with a cool grace that spoke of dignity and sophistication. Exactly what he wanted as the face of Mancini’s. As if she’d read his mind.

Laughing with Allegra, she said, “I feel like I’m playing dress up. These are Louisa’s clothes. I don’t own anything so pretty.”

Allegra sighed with appreciation. “Well, they’re perfect for you and your new position.”

She laughed again. “Rafe and Emory only promoted me because I have time on my hands in between customers. While you guys are hustling, I’m sort of looking around, figuring things out.” She leaned in closer. “Besides, the extra authority doesn’t come with more money.”

As Allegra laughed, Rafe realized that was true. Unless Dani was a power junkie, she wasn’t getting anything out of her new position except more work.

So why did she look so joyful in a position she’d be leaving in a few weeks?

Sunday lunch was busier than normal. Customers came in, ate, chatted with Dani and left happy.

Which relieved Rafe and also caused him to internally scold himself for distrusting her. He didn’t know why she’d taken such an interest in his restaurant, but he should be glad she had.

She didn’t leave for the space between the last lunch customer and the first dinner customer because the phone never stopped ringing.

Again, Rafe relaxed a bit. She had good instincts. Now that his restaurant was catching on, there were more dinner reservations. She stayed to take them. She was a good, smart employee. Any mistrust he had toward her had to be residual bad feelings over not being able to pursue her when he so desperately wanted to. His fault. Not hers.

In fact, part of him believed he should apologize. Or maybe not apologize. Since she couldn’t see inside his brain and know the crazy thoughts he’d been thinking, a compliment would work better.

He walked out of the kitchen to the podium and smiled when he saw she was on the phone. Their reservations for that night would probably be their best ever.

“So we’re talking about a hundred people.”

Rafe’s eyebrows rose. A hundred people? He certainly hoped that wasn’t a single reservation for that night. Yes, there was a private room in which he could probably seat a hundred, but because that room was rarely used, those tables and chairs needed to be wiped down. Extra linens would have to be ordered from their vendor. Not to mention enough food. He needed advance warning to serve a hundred people over their normal customer rate.

He calmed himself. She didn’t know that the room hadn’t been used in months and would need a good dusting. Or about the linens. Or the extra food. Once he told her, they could discuss the limits on reservations.

When she finally replaced the receiver on the phone, her blue eyes glowed.

Need rose inside him. Once again he fought the unwanted urge to share the joy of success with her. No matter how he sliced it, she was a big part of building his clientele. And rather than worry about her leaving, a smart businessman would be working to entice her to stay. To make his business her career, and Italy her new home.

Romantic notions quickly replaced his business concerns. If she made Italy her home, she might just leave her fiancé in America, and he could—

Realizing he wasn’t just getting ahead of himself, he was going in the wrong direction, he forced himself to be professional. “It sounds like you got us a huge reservation.”

“Better.”

He frowned. “Better? How does something get better than a hundred guests for dinner?”

She grinned. “By catering a wedding! They don’t even need our dishes and utensils. The venue is providing that. All they want is food. And for you that’s easy.”

Rafe blinked. “What?”

“Okay, it’s like this. A customer came in yesterday. The dinner they chose was what his wife wanted to be served for their daughter’s wedding at the end of the month. When they ate your meal, they knew they wanted you to cook food for their daughter’s wedding. The bride’s dad called, I took down the info,” she said, handing him a little slip. “And now we have a new arm of your business.”

Anything romantic he felt for Dani shrank back against the rising tide of red-hot anger.

“I am not a caterer.”

He controlled his voice, didn’t yell, didn’t pounce. But he saw recognition come to Dani’s eyes. She might have only worked with him almost two weeks, but she knew him.

Her fingers fluttered to her throat. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

“I have a business plan. I have Michelin stars to protect. I will not send my food out into the world for God knows who to do God knows what with it.”

She swallowed. “You could go to the wedding—”

“And leave the restaurant?”

She sucked in a breath.

“Call them back and tell them you checked with me and we can’t deliver.”

“But... I...” She swallowed again. “They needed a commitment. Today. I gave our word.”

He gaped at her. “You promised something without asking me?” It was the cardinal sin. The unforgivable sin. Promising something that hadn’t been approved because she’d never consulted the boss. Every employee knew that. She hadn’t merely overstepped. She’d gone that one step too far.

Her voice was a mere whisper when she said, “Yes.”

Anger mixed with incredulity at her presumptuousness, and he didn’t hesitate. With his dream in danger, he didn’t even have to think about it. “You’re fired.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“LEAVE NOW.”

Dani’s breaths came in quick, shallow puffs. No one wanted to be fired. But right at that moment she wasn’t concerned about her loss. Her real upset came from failing Rafe. She’d thought he’d be happy with the added exposure. Instead, she’d totally misinterpreted the situation. Contrary to her success in the dining room, she wasn’t a chef. She didn’t know a chef’s concerns. She had no real restaurant experience.

Still, she had instincts—

Didn’t she?

“I’ll fix this.”

He turned away. “This isn’t about fixing the problem. This is about you truly overstepping this time. I don’t know if it’s because we’ve had personal conversations or because to this point all of your ideas have been good. But no one, absolutely no one, makes such an important decision without my input. You are fired.”

He walked into the kitchen without looking back. Dani could have followed him, maybe even should have followed him, but the way he walked away hurt so much she couldn’t move. She could barely breathe. Not because she’d angered him over a mistake, but because he was so cool. So distant. So deliberate and so sure that he wanted her gone. As if their evenings at the tavern hadn’t happened, as if all those stolen moments—that kiss—had meant nothing, he was tossing her out of his life.

Tears stung her eyes. The pain that gripped her hurt like a physical ache.

But common sense weaved its way into her thoughts. Why was she taking this personally? She didn’t love him. She barely knew him. She had a fiancé—almost. A guy who might not be romantic, but who was certainly stable. She’d be going home in a little over two weeks. There could be nothing between her and Rafe. He was passion wrapped in electricity. Moody. Talented. Sweet but intense. Too sexy for his own good—or hers. And they weren’t supposed to be attracted to each other, but they were.

Staying at Mancini’s had been like tempting fate. Teasing both of them with something they couldn’t have. Making them tense, and him moody. Hot one minute and cold the next.

So maybe it really was time to go?

She slammed the stack of menus into their shelf of the podium, grabbed her purse and raced out.

When she arrived at the villa, Louisa was on a ladder, staring at the watermarks as if she could divine how they got there.

“What are you doing home?”

Dani yanked the pins holding up her short curls and let them fall to her chin, as she kicked off Louisa’s high, high heels.

“I was fired.”

Louisa climbed off the ladder. “What?” She shook her head. “He told you to dress like the authority in the dining room and you were gorgeous. How could he not like how you looked?”

“Oh, I think he liked how I looked.” Dani sucked in a breath, fully aware now that that was the problem. They were playing with fire. They liked each other. But neither of them wanted to. And she was done with it.

“Come to Rome with me.”

“You’re not going to try to get your job back?”

“It just all fell into place in my head. Rafe and I are attracted, but my boyfriend asked me to marry him. Though I didn’t accept, I can’t really be flirting with another guy. So Rafe—”

Louisa drew in a quick breath. “You know, I wasn’t going to mention this because it’s not my business, but now that you brought it up... Don’t you think it’s kind of telling that you hopped on a plane to Italy rather than accept your boyfriend’s proposal?”

“I already had this trip scheduled.”

“Do you love this guy?”

Dani hesitated, thinking of her last conversation with Paul and how he’d ordered her not to call him anymore. The real kicker wasn’t his demand. It was that it hadn’t affected her. She didn’t miss their short, irrelevant conversations. In six months, she hadn’t really missed him.

Oh, God. That was the thing her easy, intense attraction to Rafe was really pointing out. Her relationship to Paul might provide a measure of security, but she didn’t love him.

She fell to a kitchen chair.

“Oh, sweetie. If you didn’t jump up and down for joy when this guy proposed, and you find yourself attracted to another man, you do not want to accept that proposal.”

Dani slumped even further in her seat. “I know.”

“You should go back to Mancini’s and tell Rafe that.”

She shook her head fiercely. “No. No! He’s way too much for me. Too intense. Too everything. He has me working twelve-hour days when I’m supposed to be on holiday finding my foster mother’s relatives, enjoying some time with them before I go home.”

“You’re leaving me?”

Dani raised her eyes to meet Louisa’s. “You’ve always known I was only here for a month. I have just over two weeks left. I need to start looking for the Felice family now.” She smiled hopefully because she suddenly, fervently didn’t want to be alone, didn’t want the thoughts about Rafe that would undoubtedly haunt her now that she knew she couldn’t accept Paul’s proposal. “Come with me.”

“To Rome?”

“You need a break from studying everything that’s wrong with the villa. I have to pay for a room anyway. We can share it. Then we can come back and I’ll still have time to help you catalog everything that needs to be fixed.”

Louisa’s face saddened. “And then you’ll catch a plane and be gone for good.”

Dani rose. “Not for good.” She caught Louisa’s hands. “We’re friends. You’ll stay with me when you have to come back to the States. I’ll visit you here in Italy.”

Louisa laughed. “I really could use a break from staring at so many things that need repairing and trying to figure out how I’m going to get it all done.”

“So it’s set. Let’s pack now and go.”

Within an hour, they were at the bus station. With Mancini’s and Rafe off the list of conversation topics, they chitchatted about the scenery that passed by as their bus made its way to Rome. Watching Louisa take it all in, as if trying to memorize the country in which she now owned property, a weird sense enveloped Dani. It was clear that everything was new, unique to Louisa. But it all seemed familiar to Dani, as if she knew the trees and grass and chilly February hills, and when she returned to the US she would miss them.

Which was preposterous. She was a New York girl. She needed the opportunities a big city provided. She’d never lived in the country. So why did every tree, every landmark, every winding road seem to fill a need inside her?

The feeling followed her to Rome. To the alleyways between the quaint buildings. To the sidewalk cafés and bistros. To the Colosseum, museums and fountains she took Louisa to see.

And suddenly the feeling named itself. Home. What she felt on every country road, at every landmark, gazing at every blue, blue sky and grassy hill was the sense that she was home.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She told herself she wasn’t home. She was merely familiar with Italy now because she’d lived in Rome for months. Though that made her feel better for a few minutes, eventually she realized that being familiar with Rome didn’t explain why she’d felt she belonged at Mancini’s.

She shoved that thought away. She did not belong at Mancini’s.

The next day, Dani and Louisa found Rosa’s family and were invited to supper. The five-course meal began, reminding her of Rafe, of his big, elaborate dinners, the waitresses who were becoming her friends, the customers who loved her.The weepy sense that she had lost her home filled her. Rightly or wrongly, she’d become attached to Mancini’s, but Rafe had fired her.

She had lost the place where she felt strong and smart and capable. The place where she was making friends who felt like family. The place where she—no matter how unwise—was falling for a guy who made her breath stutter and her knees weak.

Because the guy she felt so much for had fired her.

Her brave facade fell away and she excused herself. In the bathroom, she slid down the wall and let herself cry. She’d never been so confused in her life.

* * *

“Rafe, there’s a customer who’d like to talk to you.”

Rafe set down his knife and walked to Mila, who stood in front of the door that led to the dining room. “Great, let’s go.”

Pleased to be getting a compliment, he reached around Mila and pushed open the door for her. Since Dani had gone, compliments had been fewer and farther between. He needed the boost.

Mila paused by a table with two twentysomething American girls. Wearing thick sweaters and tight jeans, they couldn’t hide their tiny figures. Or their ages. Too old for college and too young to have amassed their own fortunes, they appeared to be the daughters of wealthy men, in Europe, spending their daddies’ money. Undoubtedly, they’d heard of him. Bored and perhaps interested in playing with a celebrity chef, they might be looking for some fun. If he handled this right, one of them could be sharing Chianti with him that night.

Ignoring the tweak of a reminder of sharing that wine with Dani, her favorite, he smiled broadly. “What can I do for you ladies?”

“Your ravioli sucked.”

That certainly was not what he’d expected.

He bowed slightly, having learned a thing or two from his former hostess. He ignored the sadness that shot through him at even the thought of her, and said, “Allow me to cover your bill.”

“Cover our bill?” The tiny blonde lifted a ravioli with her fork and let it plop to her plate. “You should pay us for enduring even a bite of this drivel.”

The dough of that ravioli had serenaded his palms as he worked it. The sweet sauce had kissed his tongue. The problem wasn’t his food but the palates of the diners.

Still, remembering Dani, he held his temper as he gently reached down and took the biceps of the blonde. “My apologies.” He subtly guided her toward the door. The woman was totally cooperative until they got to the podium, and then she squirmed as if he was hurting her, and made a hideous face. Her friend snapped a picture with her phone.

“Get it on Instagram!” the blonde said as they raced out the door. “Rafe Mancini sinks to new lows!”

Furious, Rafe ran after them, but they jumped into their car and peeled out of his parking lot before he could catch them.

After a few well-aimed curses, he counted to forty. Great. Just when he thought rumors of his temper had died, two spoiled little girls were about to resurrect them.

He returned to the quiet dining room. Taking another page from Dani’s book, he said, “I’m sorry for the disturbance. Everyone, please, enjoy your meals.”

A few diners glanced down. One woman winced. A couple or two pretended to be deep in conversation, as if trying to avoid his misery.

With a weak smile, he walked into the kitchen, over to his workstation and picked up a knife.

Emory scrambled over and whispered, “You’re going to have to find her.”

Facing the wall, so no one could see, Rafe squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t have to ask who her was. The shifts Daniella had been gone had been awful. This was their first encounter with someone trying to lure out his temper, but there had been other problems. Squabbles among the waitresses. Seating mishaps. Lost reservations.

“Things are going wrong, falling through the cracks,” Emory continued.

“This is my restaurant. I will find and fix mistakes.”

“No. If there’s anything Dani taught us, it’s that you’re a chef. You are a businessman, yes. But you are not the guy who should be in the dining room. You are the guy who should be trotted out for compliments. You are the special chef made more special by the fact that you must be enticed out to the dining room.”

He laughed, recognizing he liked the sound of that because he did like to feel special. Or maybe he liked feeling that his food was special.

“Did you ever stop to think that you don’t have a temper with the customers or the staff when Dani’s around?”

He didn’t even try to deny it. With the exception of being on edge because of his attraction to her, his temperament had improved considerably. “Yes.”

Emory chuckled as if surprised by his easy acquiescence. “Because she does the tasks that you aren’t made to do, which frees you up to do the things you like to do. So, let’s just bring her back.”

Missing Dani was about so, so much more than Emory knew. Not just a loss of menial tasks but a comfort level. It was as if she brought sunshine into the room. Into his life. But she was engaged.

“Why should I go after her?” Rafe finally faced Emory. “She is returning to America in two weeks.”

“Maybe we can persuade her to stay?”

He sniffed a laugh. Leaning down so that only Emory would hear, he said, “She has a fiancé in New York.”

Emory’s features twisted into a scowl. “And she’s in Italy? For months? Without him? Doesn’t sound like much of a fiancé to me.”

That brought Rafe up short. There was no way in hell he’d let the woman he loved stay alone in Italy for months. Especially not if the woman he loved was Daniella.

He didn’t tell Emory that. His reasoning was mixed up in feelings that he wasn’t supposed to have. He’d gone the route of a relationship once. He’d given up apprenticeships to please Kamila. Which meant he’d given up his dream for her. And still they hadn’t made it.

But he’d learned a lesson. Relationships only put the future of his restaurants at stake, so he satisfied himself with one-night stands.

Dani would not be a one-night stand.

But Mancini’s really wasn’t fine without her.

And Mancini’s was his dream. He needed Daniella at his restaurant way too much to break his own rule about relationships. And that was the real bottom line. Getting involved with her would risk his dream as much as Kamila had. He needed her as an employee and he needed to put everything else out of his mind.

Emory caught Rafe’s arm. “Maybe there is an opportunity here. If she’s truly unhappy, especially with her fiancé, you might be able to convince her Mancini’s should be her new career.”

That was exactly what Rafe intended to do.

“But you can’t have that discussion over the phone. You need to go to Palazzo di Comparino tomorrow. Talk to her personally. Make your case. Offer her money.”

“Okay. I’ll be out tomorrow morning, maybe all day if I need the time. You handle things while I’m gone.”

Emory grinned. “That’s my boy.”

* * *

At the crack of dawn the next morning, Louisa woke Dani and said she was ready to take the bus back to Monte Calanetti. She was happy to have met Dani’s foster mom’s relatives, but she was nervous, antsy about Palazzo di Comparino. It was time to go back.

After grabbing coffee at a nearby bistro, Dani walked her friend to the bus station, then spent the day with her foster mother’s family. By late afternoon, she left, also restless. Like Louisa, she’d loved meeting the Felice family, but they weren’t her family. Her family was the little group of restaurant workers at Mancini’s.

Saddened, she began the walk back to her hotel. A block before she reached it, she passed the bistro again. Though the day was crisp, it was sunny. Warm in the rays that poured down on a little table near the sidewalk, she sat.

She ordered coffee, telling herself it wasn’t odd that she felt a connection to the staff at Mancini’s. They were nice people. Personable. Passionate. Of course, she felt as if they were family. She’d mothered the waitresses, babied the customers and fallen for Emory like a favorite uncle.

But she’d never see any of them again. She’d been fired from Mancini’s. Rafe hated her. She wouldn’t go home happy, satisfied to have met Rosa’s relatives, because the connection she’d made had been to a totally different set of people. She would board her plane depressed. Saddened. Returning to a man who didn’t even want to pick her up at the airport. A man whose marriage proposal she was going to have to refuse.

A street vendor caught her arm and handed her a red rose.

Surprised, she looked at him, then the rose, then back at him again. “Grazie...I think.”

He grinned. “It’s not from me. It’s from that gentleman over there.” He pointed behind him.

Dani’s eyes widened when she saw Rafe leaning against a lamppost. Wearing jeans, a tight T-shirt and the waist-length black wool coat that he’d worn to the tavern, he looked sexy. But also alone. Very alone. The way she felt in the pit of her stomach when she thought about going back to New York.

Her gaze fell to the rose. Red. For passion. But with someone like Rafe who was a bundle of passion about his restaurant, about his food, about his customers, the color choice could mean anything.

Carrying the rose, she got up from her seat and walked over to him. “How did you find me?”

“Would you believe I guessed where you were?”

“That would have to be a very lucky guess.”

He sighed. “I talked to your roommate, Louisa, this afternoon. She told me where you were staying, and I drove to Rome. Walking to your hotel, I saw you here, having coffee.”

He glanced away. “Look, can we talk?” He shoved his hands tightly into the side pockets of his coat and returned his gaze to hers. “We’ve missed you.”

“We?”

She almost cursed herself for the question. But she needed to hear him say it so she’d know she wasn’t crazy, getting feelings for a guy who found it so easy to fire her.

“I’ve missed you.” He sighed. “Two trust-fund babies faked me out the other night. They insulted my food and when they couldn’t get a rise out of me, they made it look like I was tossing one out on her ear to get a picture for Instagram.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Instagram?”

“It’s the bane of my existence.”

“But you hadn’t lost your temper?”

He shook his head and glanced away. “No. I hadn’t.” He looked back at her. “I remembered some things you’d done.” He smiled. “I learned.”

Her heart picked up at the knowledge that he’d learned from her, and the thrill that he was here, that he’d missed her. “You’re not a bad guy.”

His face twisted around a smile he clearly tried to hide. “According to Emory, I’m just an overworked guy. And interviewing for a new maître d’ isn’t helping. Especially when no one I talk to fits. It’s why I need you. You’re the first person to take over the dining room well enough that I don’t worry.”

She counted to ten, breathlessly waiting for him to expand on that. When he didn’t, she said, “And that’s all it is?”

“I know you want there to be something romantic between us. But there are things that separate us. Not just your fiancé, but my temperament. Really? Could you see yourself happy with me? Or when you look at me, do you see a man who takes what he wants and walks away? Because that’s the man I really am. I put my restaurant first. I have no time for a relationship.”

Her heart wept at what he said. But her sensible self, the lonely foster child who didn’t trust the wash of feelings that raced through her every time she got within two feet of him, understood. He was a gorgeous man, born for the limelight, looking to make a name for himself. She was a foster kid, looking for a home. Peace. Quiet. Security. They might be physically attracted, but, emotionally, they were totally wrong for each other. No matter how drawn she was to him, she knew the truth as well as he did.

“You can’t commit?”

He shook his head. “My commitment is to Mancini’s. To my career. My reputation. I want to be one of Europe’s famed chefs. Mancini’s is my stepping stone. I do not have time for what other men want. A woman on their arm. Fancy parties. Marriage. To me those are irrelevant. All I want is success. So I would hurt you. And I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Which makes anything between us just business?”

“Just business.”

Her job at Mancini’s had awakened feelings in Dani she’d never experienced. Self-worth. A sense of place. An unshakable belief that she belonged there. And the click of connection that made her feel she had a home. Something deep inside her needed Mancini’s. But she wouldn’t go back only to be fired again.

“And you need me?”

He rolled his eyes. “You Americans. Why must you be showered with accolades?”

Oh, he did love to be gruff.

She slid her hand into the crook of his elbow and pointed to her table at the bistro. “I don’t need accolades. I need acknowledgment of my place at Mancini’s...and my coffee. I’m freezing.”

He pulled his arm away from her hand and wrapped it around her shoulders. She knew he meant it only as a gesture between friends, but she felt his warmth seep through to her. Longing tugged at her heart. A fierce yearning that clung and wouldn’t let go.

“You should wear a heavier coat.”

His voice was soft, intimate, sending the feeling of rightness through her again.

“It was warm when I came here.”

“And now it is cold. So from here on I will make sure you wear a bigger coat.” He paused. His head tilted. “Maybe you need me, too?”

She did. But not in the way he thought. She wanted him to love her. Really love her. But to be the man of her dreams, he would have to be different. To be warm and loving. To want her—

And he might. Today. But he’d warned her that anything he felt for her was temporary. He couldn’t commit. He didn’t want to commit. And unless she wanted to get her heart broken, she had to really hear what he was saying. If she was going to get the opportunity to go back to the first place in her life that felt like home, Mancini’s, and the first people who genuinely felt like family, his staff, then a romance between them had to be out of the question.

“I need Mancini’s. I like it there. I like the people.”

“Ah. So we agree.”

“I guess. All I know for sure is that I don’t want to go back to New York yet.”

He laughed. They reached her table and he pulled out her chair for her. “That doesn’t speak well of your fiancé.”

Hauling in a breath, she sat, but she said nothing. Her stretching of the truth to Rafe about Paul being her fiancé sat in her stomach like a brick. Still, even though she knew she was going to reject his marriage proposal, it protected her and Rafe. Rafe wouldn’t go after another man’s woman. Not even for a fling. And he was right. If they had a fling, she would be crushed when he moved on.

One of his eyebrows rose, as he waited for her reply.

She decided they needed her stretched truth. But she couldn’t out-and-out lie. “All right. Paul is not the perfect guy.”

“I’m not trying to ruin your relationship. I simply believe you should think all of this through. You have a place here in Italy. Mancini’s needs you. I would like for you to stay in Italy and work for me permanently, and if you decide to, then maybe your fiancé should be coming here.”

She laughed. Really? Paul move to Italy because of her? He wouldn’t even drive to the airport for her.

Still, she didn’t want Paul in the discussion of her returning to Mancini’s. She’d already decided to refuse his proposal. If she stayed in Italy, it had to be for her reasons.

“I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves. I have a few weeks before I have to make any decisions.”

“Two weeks and two days.”

“Yes.”

He caught her hands. Kissed the knuckles. “So stay. Stay with me, Daniella. Be the face of Mancini’s.”

Her heart kicked against her ribs. The way he said “Stay with me, Daniella” froze her lungs, heated her blood. She glanced at the red rose sitting on the table, reminded herself it didn’t mean anything but a way to break the ice when he found her. He wasn’t asking her to stay for any reason other than her abilities in his restaurant. And she shouldn’t want to stay for any reason other than the job. If she could prove herself in the next two weeks, she wouldn’t be boarding a plane depressed. She wouldn’t be boarding a plane at all. She’d be helping to run a thriving business. Her entire life would change.

She pulled her hands away. “I can’t accept Louisa’s hospitality forever. I need to be able to support myself. Hostessing doesn’t pay much.”

He growled.

She laughed. He was so strong and so handsome and so perfect that when he let his guard down and was himself, his real self, with her, everything inside her filled with crazy joy. And maybe if she just focused on making him her friend, a friend she could keep forever, working for him could be fun.

“I can’t pay a hostess an exorbitant salary.”

“So give me a title to justify the money.”

He sighed. “A title?”

“Sure, something like general manager should warrant a raise big enough that I can afford my own place.”

His eyes widened. “General manager?”

“Come on, Rafe. Let’s get to the bottom line here. If things work out when we return to Mancini’s, I’m going to be taking on a huge chunk of your work. I’m also going to be relocating to another country. You’ll need to make it worth my while.”

He shook his head. “Dear God, you are bossy.”

“But I’m right.”

He sighed. “Fine. But if you’re getting that title, you will earn it.”

She inclined her head. “Seems fair.”

“You’ll learn to order supplies, check deliveries, do the job of managing things Emory and I don’t have time for.”

“Makes perfect sense.”

He sighed. His eyes narrowed. “Anything else?”

She laughed. “One more thing.” Her laughter became a silly giggle when he scowled at her. “A ride back to Louisa’s.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes. I will drive you back to Louisa’s. If you wish, I will even help you find an apartment.”

Leaving the rose, she stood and pushed away from the table. “You keep getting ahead of things. We have two weeks for me to figure out if staying at Mancini’s is right for me.” She turned to head back to the hotel to check out, but spun to face him again. “Were I you, I’d be on my best behavior.”

* * *

The next morning, she called Paul. If staying in Italy was the rest of her life, the real rest of her life, she had to make things right.

“Do you know what time it is?”

She could hear the sleep in his voice and winced. “Yes. Sorry. But I wanted to catch you before work.”

“That’s fine.”

She squeezed her eyes shut as she gathered her courage. It seemed so wrong to break up with someone over the phone and, yet, they’d barely spoken to each other in six months. This was the right thing to do.

“Look, Paul, I’m sorry to tell you this over the phone, but I can’t accept your marriage proposal.”

“What?”

She could almost picture him sitting up in bed, her bad news bringing him fully awake.

“I’m actually thinking of not coming back to New York at all, but staying in Italy.”

“What? What about your job?”

“I have a new job.”

“Where?”

“At a restaurant.”

“So you’re leaving teaching to be a waitress?”

“A hostess.”

“Oh, there’s a real step up.”

“Actually, I’m general manager,” she said, glad she’d talked Rafe into the title. She couldn’t blame Paul for being confused or angry, and knew he deserved an honest explanation.

“And I love Italy. I feel like I belong here.” She sucked in a breath. “We’ve barely talked in six months. I’m going to make a wild guess that you haven’t even missed me. I think we were only together because it was convenient.”

Another man’s silence might have been interpreted as misery. Knowing Paul the way she did, she recognized it as more or less a confirmation that she was right.

“I’m sorry not to accept your proposal, but I’m very happy.”

After a second, he said, “Okay, then. I’m glad.”

The breath blew back into her lungs. “Really?”

“Yeah. I did think we’d make a good married couple, but I knew when you didn’t say yes immediately that you might have second thoughts.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. This is just the way life works sometimes.”

And that was her pragmatic Paul. His lack of emotion might have made her feel secure at one time, but now she knew she needed more.

They talked another minute and Dani disconnected the call, feeling as if a weight had been taken from her shoulders, only to have it quickly replaced by another one. She’d had to be fair to Paul, but now the only defense she’d have against Rafe’s charms would be her own discipline and common sense.

She hoped that was enough.

CHAPTER NINE

HER RETURN TO the restaurant was as joyous as a celebration. Emory grinned. The waitresses fawned over her. The busboys grew red faced. The chefs breathed a sigh of relief.

Annoyance worked its way through Rafe. Not that he didn’t want his staff to adore her. He did. That was why she was back. The problem was he couldn’t stop reliving their meeting in Rome. He’d said everything that he’d wanted to say. That he’d missed her. That he wanted her back. But he’d kept it all in the context of business. He’d missed her help. He wanted her to become the face of Mancini’s. He didn’t want anything romantic with her because he didn’t want to hurt her. He’d been all business. And it had worked.

But with her return playing out around him, his heart rumbled at the injustice. He hadn’t lied when he said he didn’t want her back for himself, that he didn’t want something romantic between them. His fierce protection of Mancini’s wouldn’t let him get involved with an employee he needed. But here at the restaurant, with her looking so pretty, helping make his dream a reality, he just wanted to kiss her.

He reminded himself that she had a fiancé—

A fiancé she admitted was not the perfect guy.

Bah! That fiancé was supposed to be the key weapon in his arsenal of ways to keep himself away from her. Her admission that he wasn’t perfect, even the fact that she was considering staying in Italy, called her whole engagement into question. And caused all his feelings for her to surface and swell.

She swept into the kitchen. Wearing a blue dress that highlighted her blue eyes and accented a figure so lush she was absolutely edible, she glided over to Emory. He took her hands and kissed the back of both.

“You look better than anything on the menu.”

Rafe sucked in a breath, controlling the unwanted ripple of longing.

Dani unexpectedly stepped toward Emory, put her arms around him and hugged him. Emory closed his eyes as if to savor it, a smile lifted his lips.

Rafe’s yearning intensified, but with it came a tidal wave of jealousy. He lowered his knife on an unsuspecting stalk of celery, chopping it with unnecessary force.

Dani faced him. “Why don’t you give me the key and I’ll open the front door for the lunch crowd?”

He rolled his gaze toward her slowly. Even as the businessman inside him cheered her return, the jealous man who was filled with need wondered if he wasn’t trying to drive himself insane.

“Emory, give her your key.”

The sous-chef instantly fished his key ring out of his pocket and dislodged the key for Mancini’s. “Gladly.”

“Don’t be so joyful.” He glanced at Dani again, at the soft yellow hair framing her face, her happy blue eyes. “Have a key made for yourself this afternoon and return Emory’s to him.”

She smiled. “Will do, boss.”

She walked out of the kitchen, her high heels clicking on the tile floor, her bottom swaying with every step, all eyes of the kitchen staff watching her go.

Jealousy spewed through him. “Back to work!” he yelped, and everybody scrambled.

Emory sauntered over. “Something is wrong?”

He chopped the celery. “Everything is fine.”

The sous-chef glanced at the door Dani had just walked through. “She’s very happy to be back.”

Rafe refused to answer that.

Emory turned to him again. “So did you talk her into staying? Is her fiancé joining her here? What’s going on?”

Rafe chopped the celery. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if she’s staying?”

“She said her final two weeks here would be something like a trial run for her.”

“Then we must be incredibly good to her.”

“I gave her a raise, a title. If she doesn’t like those, then we should be glad if she goes home to her fiancé.” He all but spat the word fiancé, getting angrier by the moment, as he gave Dani everything she wanted but was denied everything he wanted.

Emory said, “I still say something is up with this fiancé of hers. If she didn’t tell him she’s considering staying in Italy, then there’s trouble in paradise. If she did, and he isn’t on the next flight to Florence, then I question his sanity.”

Rafe laughed.

“Seriously, Rafe, has she talked to you about him? I just don’t get an engaged vibe from her.”

“Are you saying she’s lying?”

Emory inclined his head. “I don’t think she’s lying as much as I think her fiancé might be a real dud, and her engagement as flat as a crepe.”

Rafe said only, “Humph,” but once again her statement that her fiancé wasn’t the perfect guy rolled through his head.

“I only mention this because I think it works in our favor.”

“How so?”

“If she’s not really in love, if her fiancé doesn’t really love her, we have the power of Italy on our side.”

“To?”

“To coax her to stay. To seduce her away from a guy who doesn’t deserve her.”

Rafe chopped the celery. His dreams were filled with scenarios where he seduced Daniella. Except he had a feeling that kind of seducing wasn’t what Emory meant.

“Somehow or another we have to be so good to her that she realizes what she has in New York isn’t what she wants.”

Sulking, Rafe scraped the celery into a bowl. Why did he have to be the one doing all the wooing? He was a catch. He wanted her eyelashes to flutter when he walked by and her eyes to warm with interest. He had some pride, too.

Emory shook his head. “Okay. Be stubborn. But you’ll be sorry if some pasty office dweller from New York descends on us and scoops her back to America.”

Rafe all but growled in frustration at the picture that formed in his head. Especially since she had said her fiancé wasn’t perfect. Shouldn’t a woman in love swoon for the man she’s promised to marry?

Yes. Yes. She should.

Yet, here she was, considering staying. Not bringing her fiancé into the equation.

And he suddenly saw what Emory was saying.

She wasn’t happy with her fiancé. She was searching for something. She’d gone to Rome looking for her foster mother’s relatives—family! What Dani had been looking for in Rome was family! That was why she was getting so close to the staff at Mancini’s.

Still, something was missing.

He tapped his index fingers against his lips, thinking, and when the answer came to him he smiled and turned to Emory. “I will need time off tomorrow.”

Emory’s face fell. “You’re taking another day?”

“Just lunch. And Daniella will be out for lunch, too.”

Emory caught his gaze. “Really?”

“Yes. Don’t go thinking this is about funny business. I’m taking her apartment hunting. Dani is a woman looking for a family. She thinks she’s found it with us. But Mancini’s isn’t a home. It’s a place of business. Once I help her get a house, somewhere to put down roots, it will all fall into place for her.”

Rafe’s first free minute, he called the real estate agent who’d sold him his penthouse. She told him she had some suitable listings in Monte Calanetti and he set up three appointments for Daniella.

When the lunch crowd cleared, he walked into the empty, quiet dining room.

Dani smiled as he approached. “You’re not going to yell at me for not going home and costing you two hours’ wages are you?”

“You are management now. I expect you here every hour the restaurant is open.”

“Except my days off.”

He groaned. “Except your days off. If you feel comfortable not being here two days every week, I am fine with it. But if something goes wrong, you will answer for it.”

She laughed. “Whatever. I’ve been coaching Allegra. She’ll be much better from here on out. No more catastrophes while I’m gone.”

“Great. I’ve lined up three appointments for us tomorrow.”

She turned from the podium. “With vendors?”

“With my friend who is a real estate agent.”

“I told you we shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves.”

“Our market is tight. You must be on top of things to get a good place.”

“I haven’t—”

He interrupted her. “You haven’t decided you’re staying. I get that. But if you choose to stay, I don’t want you panicking. Getting ahead of a problem is how a smart businessperson staves off disaster.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Good. Tomorrow morning, Emory will take over lunch prep while you and I apartment hunt. We can be back for dinner.”

* * *

Sun poured in through the huge window of the kitchen of the first unit Maria Salvetti showed Rafe and Dani the next morning. Unfortunately, cold air flowed in through the cracks between the window and the wall.

Dani eased her eyes away from the unwanted ventilation and watched as Rafe walked across a worn hardwood floor, his motorcycle boots clicking along, his jeans outlining an absolutely perfect behind and his black leather jacket, collar flipped up, giving him the look of a dangerous rebel.

For the second time that morning, she told herself she was grateful he’d been honest with her about his inability to commit. She didn’t know a woman who wouldn’t fall victim to his steel-gray eyes and his muscled body. She had to be strong. And her decision to stay at Mancini’s had to be made for all the right reasons.

She faced Maria. “I’d have to fix this myself?”

“Sì. It is for sale. It is not a rental.”

She turned to Rafe. “I wouldn’t have time to work twelve-hour days and be my own general contractor.”

“You could hire someone.”

She winced as she ran her hand along the crack between the wall and window. “Oh, yeah? Just how big is my raise going to be?”

“Big enough.”

She shook her head. “I still don’t like it.”

She also didn’t like the second condo. She did have warm, fuzzy feelings for the old farmhouse a few miles away from the village, but that needed more work than the first condo she’d seen.

Maria’s smile dipped a notch every time Dani rejected a prospective home. She’d tried to explain that she wasn’t even sure she was staying in Italy, but Maria kept plugging along.

After Dani rejected the final option, Maria shook Rafe’s hand, then Dani’s and said, “I’ll check our listings again and get back to you.”

She slid into her car and Dani sighed, glad to be rid of her. Not that Maria wasn’t nice, but with her decision about staying in Italy up in the air, looking for somewhere to live seemed premature. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize quite yet.” He pulled his cell phone from his jacket and dialed a number. “Carlo, this is Rafe. Could you have a key for the empty condo at the front desk? Grazie.” He slipped his phone into his jacket again.

She frowned at him. “You have a place to show me?”

He headed for his SUV, motioning for her to follow him. “Actually, I thought Maria would have taken you to his apartment first. It’s a newly renovated condo in my building.”

She stopped walking. “Your building?” She might be smart enough to realize she and Rafe were a bad bet, but all along she’d acknowledged that their spending too much time together was tempting fate. Now he wanted them to live in the same building?

“After Emory, you are my most valued employee. A huge part of Mancini’s success. We need to be available for each other. Plus, there would be two floors between us. It’s not like we’d even run into each other.”

She still hesitated. “Your building’s that big?”

“No. I value my privacy that much.” He sighed. “Seriously. Just come with me to see the place and you will understand.”

Dani glanced around as she entered the renovated old building, Rafe behind her. Black-and-white block tiles were accented by red sofas and chairs in a lounge area of the lobby. The desk for the doorman sat discreetly in a corner.

Leaning over her shoulder, Rafe said, “My home is the penthouse.”

His warm breath tickled her ear and desire poured through her. She almost turned and yelled at him for flirting with her. Instead, she squelched the feeling. He probably wasn’t flirting with her. This was just who he was. Gorgeous. Sinfully sexy. And naturally flirtatious. If she really intended to stay in Italy and work for him, she had to get accustomed to him. As she’d realized after she’d spoken to Paul, she would need discipline and common sense to keep her sanity.

He pointed at the side-by-side elevators. “I don’t use those, and you can’t use them to get to my apartment.”

His breath tiptoed to her neck and trickled down her spine. Still, she kept her expression neutral when she turned and put them face-to-face, so close she could see the little flecks of silver in his eyes.

Just as her reactions couldn’t matter, how he looked—his sexy face, his smoky eyes—also had to be irrelevant. If she didn’t put all this into perspective now, this temptation could rule her life. Or ruin her life.

She gave him her most professional smile. “And I’d be a few floors away?”

“Not just a few floors, but also a locked elevator.”

Dangling the apartment key, he motioned for her to enter the elevator when it arrived. They rode up in silence. He unlocked the door to the available unit and she gasped.

“Oh, my God.” She spun to face him. “I can afford this?”

He laughed. “Yes.”

From the look of the lobby, she’d expected the apartment to be ultramodern. The kind of place she would have killed to have in New York. Black-and-white. Sharp, but sterile. Something cool and sophisticated for her and distant Paul.

But warm beiges and yellows covered these walls. The kitchen area was cozy, with a granite-topped breakfast bar where she could put three stools.

She saw it filled with people. Louisa. Coworkers from Mancini’s. And neighbors she’d meet who could become like a family.

She caught that thought before it could take root. Something about Italy always caused her to see things through rose-colored glasses, and if she didn’t stop, she was going to end up making this choice before she knew for certain that she could work with Rafe as a friend or a business associate, and forget about trying for anything more.

She turned to Rafe again. “Don’t make me want something I can’t have.”

“I already told you that you can afford it.”

“I know.”

“So why do you think you can’t have it?”

It was exactly what she’d dreamed of as a child, but she couldn’t let herself fall in love with it. Or let Rafe see just how drawn she was to this place. If he knew her weakness, he’d easily lure her into staying before she was sure it was the right thing to do.

She pointed at the kitchen, which managed to look cozy even with sleek stainless-steel appliances, dark cabinets and shiny surfaces. “It’s awfully modern.”

“So you want to go back to the farmhouse with the holes in the wall?”

“No.” She turned away again, though she lovingly ran her hand along the granite countertop, imagining herself rolling out dough to make cut-out cookies. She’d paint them with sugary frosting and serve them to friends at Christmas. “I want a homey kitchen that smells like heaven.”

“You have that at Mancini’s.”

“I want a big fat sofa with a matching chair that feels like it swallows you up when you sit in it.”

“You can buy whatever furniture you want.”

“I want to turn my thermostat down to fifty-eight at night so I can snuggle under thick covers.”

He stared at her as if she were crazy. “And you can do that here.”

“Maybe.”

“Undoubtedly.” He sighed. “You have an idealized vision of home.”

“Most foster kids do.”

He leaned his shoulder against the wall near the kitchen. His smoky eyes filled with curiosity. She wasn’t surprised when he said, “You’ve never really told me about your life. You mentioned getting shuffled from foster home to foster home, but you never explained how you got into foster care in the first place.”

She shrugged. Every time she thought about being six years old, or eight years old, or ten years old—shifted every few months to the house of a stranger, trying unsuccessfully to mingle with the other kids—a flash of rejection froze her heart. She was an adult before she’d realized no one had rejected her, per se. Each child was only protecting himself. They’d all been hurt. They were all afraid. Not connecting was how they coped.

Nonetheless, the memories of crying herself to sleep and longing for something better still guided her. It was why she believed she could keep her distance from Rafe. Common sense and a longing for stability directed her decisions. Along with a brutal truth. The world was a difficult place. She knew that because she’d lived it.

“There’s not much to tell. My mom was a drug addict.”

He winced.

“There’s no sense sugarcoating it.”

“Of course there is. Everyone sugarcoats his or her past. It’s how we deal.”

She turned to him again, surprised by the observation. She’d always believed living in truth kept her sane. He seemed to believe exactly the opposite.

“Yeah. What did you sugarcoat?”

“I tell you that I’m not a good bet as a romantic partner.”

She sniffed a laugh.

“What I should have said is that I’m a real bastard.”

She laughed again. “Seriously, Rafe. I got the message the first time. You want nothing romantic between us.”

“Mancini’s needs you and I am not on speaking terms with any woman I’ve ever dated. So I keep you for Mancini’s.”

She looked around at the apartment, unable to stop the warm feeling that flooded her when he said he would keep her. Still, he didn’t mean it the way her heart took it. So, remembering to use her common sense, she focused her attention on the apartment, envisioning it decorated to her taste. The picture that formed had her wrestling with the urge to tell him to get his landlord on the line so she could make an offer—then she realized something amazing.

“You knew I’d love this.”

He had the good graces to look sheepish. “I assumed you would.”

“No assuming about it, you knew.”

“All right, I knew you would love it.”

She walked over to him, as the strangest thought formed in her head. Maybe it wouldn’t take a genius to realize the way to entice a former foster child would be with a home. But no one had ever wanted her around enough to figure that out.

“How did you know?”

He shrugged. His strong shoulders lifted the black leather of his jacket and ruffled the curls of his long, dark hair. “It didn’t take much to realize that you’d probably lost your sense of home when your foster mother died.”

She caught his gaze. “So?”

“So, I think you came to Italy hoping to find it with her relatives.”

“They’re nice people.”

“Yes, but you didn’t feel a connection to Rosa’s nice relatives. Yet, you keep coming back to Mancini’s, because you did connect with us.”

Her heart stuttered. Even her almost fiancé hadn’t understood why she so desperately wanted to find Rosa’s family. But Rafe, a guy who had known her a little over two weeks, a guy she’d had a slim few personal conversations with, had seen it.

He’d also hit the nail on the head about Mancini’s. She felt they were her family. The only thing she didn’t have here in Italy was an actual, physical home.

And he’d found her one.

He cared about her enough to want to please her, to satisfy needs she kept close to her heart.

Afraid of the direction of her thoughts, she turned away and walked into the master bedroom. Seeing the huge space, her eyebrows rose. “Wow. Nice.”

Rafe was right behind her. “Are you changing the subject on me?”

She pivoted and faced him. He seemed genuinely clueless about what he was doing. Not just giving her everything she wanted, but caring about her. He was getting to know her—the real her—in a way no one else in her life ever had. And the urge to fall into his arms, confess her fears, her hopes, her longings, was so strong, she had to walk away from him. If she fell into his arms now, she’d never come out. Especially if he comforted her. God help her if he whispered anything romantic.

“I think we need to change the subject.”

“Why?”

She walked over to him again. For fifty cents, she’d answer him. She’d put her arms around his neck and tell him he was falling for her. The things he did—searching her out in Rome, making her general manager, helping her find a home—those weren’t things a boss did. No matter how much he believed he needed her as an employee, he also had feelings for her.

But he didn’t see it.

And she didn’t trust it. He’d said he was a bastard? What if he really was? What if he liked her now, but didn’t tomorrow?

“Because I’m afraid. Every time I put down roots, it fails.” She said the words slowly, clearly, so there’d be no misunderstanding. Rafe was a smart guy. If she stayed in Italy, shared the joy of making Mancini’s successful, no matter how strong she was, how much discipline she had, how much common sense she used, there was a chance she’d fall in love with him.

And then what?

Would she hang around his restaurant desperate for crumbs of affection from a guy who slept with her, then moved on?

That would be an epic fail. The very thought made her ill.

Because she couldn’t tell him that, she stuck with the safe areas. The things they could discuss.

“For as good as I am at Mancini’s, I can see us having a blowout fight and you firing me again. And for as much as I like the waitstaff, I can see them getting new jobs and moving on. This decision comes with risks for me. I know enough not to pretend things will be perfect. But I have to have at least a little security.”

“You and your security. Maybe to hell with security and focus on a little bit of happiness.”

Oh, she would love to focus on being happy. Touring Italy with him, stolen kisses, nights of passion. But he’d told her that wasn’t in the cards and she believed him. Somehow she had to stop herself from getting those kinds of thoughts every time he said something that fell out of business mode and tipped over into the personal. That would be the only way she could stay at Mancini’s.

When she didn’t answer, he sighed. “I don’t think it’s an accident you found Mancini’s.”

“Of course not. Nico sent me.”

“I am not talking about Nico. I’m talking about destiny.”

She laughed lightly and walked away from him. It was almost funny the way he used the words and phrases of a lover to lure her to a job. It was no wonder her thoughts always went in the wrong direction. He took her there. Thank God she had ahold of herself enough to see his words for what they were. A very passionate man trying to get his own way. To fight for her sanity, she would always have to stand up to him.

“Foster kids don’t get destinies. We get the knowledge that we need to educate ourselves so we can have security. If you really want me to stay, let me come to the decision for the right reasons. Because if I stay, you are not getting rid of me. I will make Mancini’s my home.” She caught his gaze. “Are you prepared for that?”

CHAPTER TEN

WAS HE PREPARED for that?

What the hell kind of question was that for her to ask?

He caught her arm when she turned to walk away. “Of course, I’m prepared for that! Good God, woman, I drove to Rome to bring you back.”

She shook her head with an enigmatic laugh. “Okay. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He rolled his eyes heavenward. Women. Who could figure them out? “I am warned.” He motioned to the door. “Come. I’ll drive you back to Louisa’s.”

But by the time they reached Louisa’s villa and he drove back to his condo to change for work, her strange statement had rattled around in his head and made him crazy. Was he prepared for her staying? Idiocy. He’d all but made her a partner in his business. He wanted her to stay.

He changed his clothes and headed to Mancini’s. Walking into the kitchen, he tried to shove her words out of his head but they wouldn’t go—until he found the staff in unexpectedly good spirits. Then his focus fell to their silly grins.

“What’s going on?”

Emory turned from the prep table. “Have you seen today’s issue of Tuscany Review?”

In all the confusion over Daniella, he’d forgotten that today was the day the tourist magazine came out. He snatched it from Emory’s hands.

“Page twenty-nine.”

He flicked through the pages, getting to the one he wanted, and there was a picture of Dani. So many tourists had snapped pictures that someone from the magazine could have come in and taken this one without anyone in the restaurant paying any mind.

He read the headline. “Mancini’s gets a fresh start.”

“Read the whole article. It’s fantastic.”

As he began to skim the words, Emory said, “There’s mention of the new hostess being pretty and personable.”

Rafe inclined his head. “She is both.”

“And mention of your food without mention of your temper.”

His gaze jerked up to Emory. “No kidding.”

“No kidding. It’s as if your temper didn’t exist.”

He pressed the magazine to his chest. “Thank God I went to Rome and brought her back.”

Daniella pushed open the door. Dressed in a sheath the color of ripe apricots, she smiled as she walked toward Rafe and Emory. “I heard something about a magazine.”

Rafe silently handed it to her.

She glanced down and laughed. “Well, look at me.”

“Yes. Look at you.” He wanted to pull her close and hug her, but he crossed his arms on his chest. The very fact that he wanted to hug her was proof he needed to keep his distance. Even forgetting about the fiancé she had back home, she needed security enough that he wouldn’t tempt her away from finding it. Her staying had to be about Mancini’s and her desire for a place, a home. He had to make sure she got what she wanted out of this deal—without breaking her heart. Because if he broke her heart, she’d leave. And everything they’d accomplished up to now would have been for nothing.

“You realize that even if every chef and busboy cycles out, and every waitress quits after university, Emory and I will always be here.”

Emory grinned at Daniella. Rafe nudged him. “Stop behaving like one of the Three Stooges. This is serious for her.”

She looked up from the magazine with a smile for Rafe. “Yes. I know you will always be here.” Her smile grew. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe that’s part of the problem?”

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