The Real Rio D'Aquila Read online

  Any of those things could have been explained by a phone call, but Orsini had not called.

  Rio’s lips thinned.

  Okay. He’d wasted enough time on this. It would be sticky, telling Dante and Gabriella what had happened, but he’d had it.

  A shadow passed overhead. Rio looked up, tilted his head back, watched a squadron of pelicans soar overhead, aiming for the ocean. The cool, refreshing ocean.

  That did it.

  He yanked the shovel free of the soil and put it back where he’d found it.

  He’d bought this place as somewhere he could relax. Well, he damned well wasn’t relaxing now. Thinking about an idiot who’d let a chance at a job like this slip through his fingers made his blood boil.

  Back when he was just starting out, he’d never have let something so important get away. He’d have walked, crawled, done whatever it took to snag even a chance at a job that would pay well and could lead to something even better.

  No wonder Gabriella was hustling this Orsini jerk. The fool couldn’t do anything on his own.

  Rio stretched and rotated his shoulders. His muscles ached. He’d skinned a couple of knuckles and there was dirt under his usually well-manicured fingernails.

  The truth was, he’d enjoyed a couple of hours of work. Real work, physical work just as he enjoyed being in the ring at his gym. But enough was enough.

  Sweat dripped off the end of his nose. He yanked his T-shirt over his head and used it to mop his face.

  The sun was starting to drop lower in the sky. The day was coming to an end. He hated to leave. The city would be hot and noisy …

  Rio made a quick decision.

  He’d take that swim. Then, instead of flying back to Manhattan, he’d spend the night here. Hell, why not? Most of the furniture he’d ordered was in. Thanks to his property manager, he had steaks, fresh corn, even wine. The more he thought about it, the better it—

  Bzzzz.

  What the hell was that? A bee? A wasp? No. It was the intercom at the gate.

  He wasn’t expecting anyone …

  Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

  Orsini. It had to be. The fool had shown up after all, except he was three hours late.

  Rio almost laughed. The guy had cojones, he had to give him that, but that was all he had. No way was he going to buzz him in. The business of the day was over. This was his own time. His quiet time. His—

  Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

  Rio folded his arms. Stood his ground.

  The damned thing buzzed again.

  Cristo! What would it take to get rid of the guy?

  More buzzing. Rio narrowed his eyes, marched to the intercom and depressed the button.

  “What?” he snarled.

  A blast of static roared from the speaker.

  Rio cursed, slapped the button. No good. Orsini had to be leaning on the button at his end, or maybe the freaking thing wasn’t working again. Nothing but static was coming through.

  Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

  His jaw tightened. If Orsini wanted in, then “in” and a lesson on courtesy and punctuality was what he’d get. And he was in the mood to give it to him.

  Rio balled up his T-shirt and tossed it aside, yanked open the glass French doors that led into the great room, marched through the house to the entry foyer, his work boots leaving muddy prints on the Carrara marble floors.

  “Damnit,” he roared, as he flung open the front door—

  And stopped.

  A figure was coming toward him, hurrying up the long, unfinished driveway. Trying to hurry, at any rate, but how fast could a person go on that uneven, pitted, rocky surface in—in—

  Were those stiletto heels?

  His visitor was not Izzy Orsini.

  It was a woman.

  Damn the malfunctioning intercom and gate!

  He’d been this route one time before. A woman had decided he was her true love. He’d never talked to her, never heard her name, never seen her in his life but he’d turned out to be a fixture in her mental landscape. She’d sent him letters. Emails. She’d sent him gifts and cards. She’d stalked him without letup, settled in on the corner near his Manhattan condo, which was when he’d finally, if reluctantly, pressed charges.

  Was this her again?

  No. His stalker had been fiftyish, short and rotund. This woman was young. Mid-twenties. Tall and slender, and dressed as if she were on her way to a board meeting: the stilettos, a white blouse showing under the suit jacket, dark hair pulled severely back from her face. She didn’t look like a crazy stalker or like a nosy reporter, though in Rio’s book, the two could easily be one and the same, but who gave a damn?

  She had no business here and that was all that mattered.

  “Hold it right there,” Rio barked, but his command didn’t stop her and he trotted down the steps, eyes narrowed. “I said—”

  “Mr. D’Aquila expects me.”

  Not a reporter or a crazy, at least not one looking for him if she didn’t recognize him, even shirtless, in jeans and work boots, but clearly a liar with an agenda all her own.

  Rio gave a thin smile.

  “I assure you, madam, that would be news to him.”

  There were only a couple of feet between them now. Close up, he could see that there was a rip in her skirt, dirt on those stiletto heels and a smudge on her blouse. Her hair wasn’t quite as neatly drawn back as he’d at first thought; tendrils of it, dark and curling, were coming loose around her face.

  It was an interesting face. Triangular. High cheekbones. Big green eyes. Feline, he thought.

  Not that it mattered, but if she’d been in some kind of accident he supposed he could, at least, offer to—

  “It is your attitude that would be news to him,” Isabella Orsini said, hoping her voice would not tremble because everything inside her was bouncing around like an unset bowl of gelatin and after all she’d gone through today, there wasn’t a way in hell she was going to permit this half-naked, good-looking-if-you-were-foolish-enough-to-like-the-type flunky of a too rich, too powerful, too full-of-himself ape to stop her now.

  There was a moment’s silence. Then Mr. Half-Naked raised one dark eyebrow.

  “Really.”

  His tone was soft but it made Izzy’s heart thump. To hell with thumping hearts, she thought, and lifted her chin.

  “Really,” she said, with all the hauteur she could muster.

  Mr. Half-Naked gave another of those thin smiles and motioned toward the door.

  “In that case,” he said, in a voice that was almost a purr, “you had better come in.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  A NAKED man.

  A house in the middle of nowhere.

  An open door, and an invitation to step through it.

  Izzy swallowed hard.

  Did she truly want to do that? She was not into taking risks. Everyone knew that about her, even her father, who didn’t actually know anything about any of his children.

  I have heard that you are considering taking on a new client, Isabella, Cesare Orsini had said during one of the inevitable Sunday command performance dinners at the Orsini mansion. But you will not.

  “Excuse me?” Izzy had said.

  Her father had given her what she’d always thought of as one of his “I am the head of this family” glares except, of course, his glares as don of the East Coast’s most powerful famiglia had more impact on those who feared him than they did on his sons and daughters.

  To them, he was not the head of anything. He was just a shame to be borne for the sake of their mother.

  “Do I not speak English as well as you? I said, you are not to work for Rio D’Aquila.”

  “And you say this because …?”

  “I know of him and I do not like what I know. Therefore, accepting a position that will make you his servant is out of the question.”

  Isabella would have laughed had her father’s view of what she did for a living not been such an old argument.
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  “I am not a servant, Father, I am a horticulturist with a degree from the University of Connecticut.”

  “You are a gardener.”

  “I certainly am. And what if I were what you call a servant? There’s nothing dishonorable in being a maid or a cook.”

  “Orsinis do not bow their heads or bend their knees to anyone, Isabella. Is that clear?”

  Nothing had been clear, starting with how her father had learned she’d been invited to bid on a job for a billionaire she’d never even heard of until a couple of weeks ago, going straight through to how Cesare could have imagined she would take orders from him.

  If anything, his certainty that she would click her heels and obey him was what had convinced her to give serious consideration to the offer, something she really had not intended until then.

  Now here she was, in Southampton, a place that might as well have been Mars for all she knew about it, hours late for an important interview, her car in a ditch, her suit and her shoes absolute disasters.

  No. She was not going to think about that now. It would be self-defeating … and hadn’t she had enough of that?

  It was enough to wonder at the crazed logic of moving past an all-but-naked man, a gorgeous all-but-naked man, to step inside a house that was, conservatively speaking, the size of an airplane hangar.

  “Well? Are you coming inside, or have you changed your mind about Mr. D’Aquila expecting you?”

  Izzy blinked. The caretaker, or whatever he was, was watching her with amusement. Forget amusement. That expression on his face was a smirk.

  How lovely to be the day’s entertainment, Isabella thought, and drew herself to her full five foot seven.

  “I am not in the habit of changing my mind about anything,” she said, and almost winced.

  Such a stupid thing to say.

  Too late.

  She’d said it and now her feet, which seemingly had only a tenuous connection to her brain, propelled her past him, up a set of wide steps, through a massive door and into the house. She jumped as the door slammed shut behind her.

  She wanted to think it was with the sound of doom but the truth was, it was the sound of a door slamming, nothing more, nothing less …

  And ohmygod, the entry foyer was so big! It was huge!

  “Yes. It is, isn’t it?”

  She spun around. Mr. Half-Naked was standing right in back of her, arms folded across his chest. A very impressive chest, all muscle and golden skin and dark curls.

  Her gaze skimmed lower.

  A six-pack, she thought, sucking in her breath. Those bands of muscle really did exist, neatly bisected by silky-looking hair that arrowed down and down and …

  “The foyer,” he said, his voice not just amused but smoky. Her gaze flew to his. “You were thinking it was big. Huge, in fact.” A smile tilted the corner of his lips. “That was what you were referring to, wasn’t it?”

  She felt her face heat. Had she spoken aloud? She must have, but she’d certainly never meant to infer …

  Isabella narrowed her eyes. Damn the man!

  He was playing games at her expense.

  Still, she could hardly blame him.

  He might be only half-dressed but she—

  She was a mess.

  Everything she had on was stained, torn or smudged. A few hours ago, she’d looked perfect. Well, as perfect as she could ever look. She’d taken more time preparing for this meeting than she’d ever prepared for anything in her life.

  Actually, she hadn’t done a thing.

  Anna had done it all.

  A suit instead of her usual jeans. A wool suit, hot as blazes on a day like this but, Anna had said, The Proper Thing for such an important interview. A silk blouse instead of a T-shirt. Shoes rather than sandals, and with heels so ridiculously high she could hardly walk in them, especially the million miles she’d had to plod after that rabbit had somehow materialized in the middle of the road and her car had taken a nosedive into that miserable ditch.

  All of it was Anna’s, of course. The suit, the blouse, the shoes.

  The car.

  Oh, God, the car!

  Forget that for now.

  She had to concentrate on what lay ahead, the all-important chance to transform Growing Wild from a shoe-box operation in a cheap storefront on what was most definitely not a trendy street near the Gowanus Canal to an elegant shop—an elegant shoppe, Anna had joked—in SoHo. Or in the Village. Or on the Upper East Side.

  No.

  She’d never go that far.

  The truth was, she liked the neighborhood she was in, seedy as it was, but she had to admit the growth of her little landscaping business was dependent on location and on landing a couple of really important clients. Aside from the admitted pleasure of defying her father, that was why she’d agreed to the interview with Rio D’Aquila, a man the papers called a removed, cold, heartless multibillionaire.

  Heaven knew she was familiar enough with the type.

  Izzy’s work was skilled and imaginative; she used only the most beautiful flowers and greenery. That made her services costly. It made them the province of the very rich.

  And dealing with them was sometimes unpleasant. It was sometimes downright horrible. The very rich could be totally self-serving, completely selfish, uncaring of others …

  “They’re not all like that,” Anna had said.

  Well, no. Her brothers were very rich. So was Anna’s husband. But—

  “But,” Anna had said, with incontrovertible logic, “if you’re going to have to like a person before you take him as a client, Isabella, you’re never going to make Growing Wild a success.”

  True enough. And when you coupled that simple wisdom with the fact that the offer was important enough for Anna to refer to her as Isabella …

  Well, that had convinced her.

  Unfortunately, Izzy was here, not Anna.

  Sophisticated Anna would have known how to handle the situation. She would not have gotten lost or crashed the car. She certainly would not have turned up hours late for this appointment.

  And she absolutely would not have let a man like this intimidate her. She’d have known how to handle the half-dressed muscleman who was having such fun at her expense.

  That smirk was still on his face.

  It infuriated her. After the day she’d had, Izzy was in no mood to be laughed at, certainly not by him.

  She knew his type.

  Good-looking. Glib-tongued. Full of himself, especially when it came to women, because women, the silly fools, undoubtedly threw themselves at his feet with all the grace of—of salmon throwing themselves upstream.

  Okay, a bad metaphor. The point was, she was not a woman to be intimidated by an empty-headed stud. She was a self-sufficient businesswoman, never mind that she wasn’t self-sufficient enough to be wearing her own clothes or driving her own car.

  All that mattered was that she was here. And time was wasting. The sun would set soon, and then what?

  Then what, indeed?

  The caretaker was leaning against a table, hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans. She had a choice of views. His incredible face. His incredible chest. The tight fit of those faded jeans—

  Stop it, she told herself sternly, and set her gaze squarely on his chin.

  “Look,” she said, “I really don’t have time for this.”

  “For what?”

  Was the man dense?

  “Where is your boss?”

  That won her a shrug. “He’s around.”

  The answer, the lazy lift of those shoulders, those amazingly broad shoulders, infuriated her. All that macho. That attitude. That testosterone.

  That naked chest.

  Damnit, she was back to that and it was his fault. She’d have bet it was deliberate.

  Izzy narrowed her eyes.

  “Do you think you could possibly muster up enough ambition to find him and tell him I’m here?”

  Mr. Half-Naked didn’t mov
e. Not a muscle. Well, that wasn’t true. He did move a muscle; one corner of his mouth lifted, either in question or in another bout of hilarity at her expense.

  Could you actually feel your blood pressure rising?

  “One problem,” he said lazily. “I’m still waiting for you to tell me why you’re here.”

  The simplest thing would be to do exactly that. Just say, I’m here to meet with Mr. D’Aquila and talk about landscaping this property.

  It was certainly not a secret.

  The problem was, she didn’t like Mr. All Brawn and No Brains’s attitude.

  Okay. That wasn’t fair.

  Just because he looked like he’d stepped off one of those calendars her roommate used to drool over in her college-dorm days didn’t mean he was stupid.

  It only meant he was so beautiful that looking at him made her heart do a little two-step, and that was surely ridiculous, almost as ridiculous as this silly power game they were playing.

  Who cared if it was silly? She was entitled to win at something today!

  “What are you?” she said sarcastically. “His appointment secretary?”

  One dark eyebrow rose again. “Maybe I’m his butler.”

  She stared at him for a long minute. Then she laughed.

  Rio grinned.

  He was really getting to her. Good. Fine. It was a lot more rewarding to take his pent-up irritation out on the woman, whoever she was, than on a trench.

  “His butler, huh?” Her chin went up. “One thing’s for sure, mister. I guarantee you’re going to be looking for another job two minutes after I meet your employer.”

  Rio folded his arms over his chest.

  The lady was losing her temper. Let her lose it. Let her get ticked off. Let her see how it felt to be frustrated enough to want Izzy Orsini to finally show up if only so that he could deck the jerk. If that was unfair—

  Hey, life was unfair. Besides, the lady wasn’t exactly behaving like a lady.

  Well, yeah, she was.

  Her clothes were a mess, but they were expensive.

  So was her attitude.

  He was the peasant, she was the princess. Only one problem in that little scenario.

  The princess had no idea he held all the cards.