Bought With The Italian's Ring. Tara PammiЧитать онлайн книгу.
snorted. “You do realize that your grandfather is a manipulative bastard, si?”
“That’s a horrible thing to say.”
“Doesn’t make it any less true. Giovanni will manipulate you until you agree the sun revolves around the earth.”
She rubbed her forehead, something clicking. “Wait...so you don’t think I’m an impostor anymore?”
“My PI informed me that you’re indeed Lucia’s granddaughter. And Giovanni’s.”
* * *
Which was why Raphael hadn’t visited Gio. But four days and a million thoughts hadn’t been enough for him to figure out how to handle the fact that Pia was Gio’s granddaughter. Or to convince himself not to handle her, in any way.
There were a hundred more beautiful, more sophisticated women among his acquaintances. Women who would suit him for any kind of arrangement he wanted. Women who didn’t look at him with barely hidden longing.
Women who were not his complicated godfather’s innocent granddaughters.
He’d been waiting it out. Telling himself that she was just a novelty with her honest admissions and her innocent looks.
That he’d always preferred experienced women—both in bed and when dealing out of it.
And yet, from the moment he’d seen her standing outside his office, awareness had hummed in his blood.
Today, she looked the part of an elementary teacher with her black-framed geeky glasses, her brown hair in a messy knot precariously held together with a wooden stick, he realized with a grin, and a frilly, floral blouse and worn-out denim shorts that clung to her nicely rounded buttocks and displayed her mile-long legs.
With no makeup on, she should have looked ordinary. But he’d already looked past the surface. Knew that beneath the plain facade was a woman who felt everything keenly. Knew that if he touched her, she would be as responsive and ravenous as he was.
The summery blouse made her look more fragile than usual. He wanted to trace the jut of her collarbone with his fingers. And then maybe his tongue. He wanted to pull that stick in her knot so that her hair tumbled down. He wanted to slowly peel those shorts down until he found the silky skin of her thighs so that he could...
Fingers at his temple, he forced the far too vivid, half-naked image of her from his eyes. Christ, even as a hormonal teenager he hadn’t indulged like that. For one thing, he’d never had a spare minute.
“You had a PI dig into my background?”
He shrugged, glad that he was sitting. “Gio has been hoodwinked by three ex-wives into not only marrying them but settling fat alimonies on them.”
She got up, walked around the coffee table that separated them and sat down at the other end of the sofa he was sitting on. Tilting her chin up, she gave him a haughty look. “I’m waiting, Raphael.”
He grinned. “For what?”
“An apology. What do you think?”
“Didn’t you just tell me you don’t want apologies for things I’m not really sorry about?”
“You’re the most arrogant, annoying man I’ve ever met.”
“Tell me what brought you here, despite that.”
“Last night we had a really bad argument. He was pushing me into a corner and I... I said something really awful.” Big fat tears filled up her eyes. And just like that Raphael went from mild irritation to a strange tenderness in his chest.
Raphael leaned forward and took her tightly clasped hands in his. Even as he fought it, awareness seeped through him from her hands. The rough calluses on her hands, the slender wrists, the blunt nails—everything about her enthralled him.
He looked up and his gaze snagged on her wide mouth, pinched in sadness. “What happened?”
She tugged at her hands and he let go with the utmost reluctance. “Of all the men who have been...pursuing me, for lack of a better word, I like Enzo the best and it was easier to spend time with him than run around trying to avoid the rest of them. I enjoy his company and we’ve been pretty inseparable the last two weeks. He’s kind, genuine and he told me the first moment that—”
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