And the higher the chance he would see it? He allowed his fingertips to graze her warm skin.
She sat straighter, but he couldn’t tell if that was reaction or rejection.
“Your blog says you knew him at school. I thought all the men there were twits who failed to impress you?”
“I couldn’t help being impressed by Nels. He’s very intelligent, but was always very focused on his studies. Now that he’s written the bar, he has time for a relationship.”
“So you’re sleeping with him.” It made him sick.
She jerked to her feet and spun to confront him, catching at the gaping front of her dress. “Do you have the right to question me on whether I was faithful when you were pretending to be dead?”
He narrowed his eyes. “You knew I was alive. You knew we were still married.”
“But I didn’t know where you were or whether you would ever show your face again. You were dead enough. For all I knew, you were sleeping with other people.”
“Kurt and Marie are not into swinging. Aside from them, Everett and the pilot—neither of whom is my type—are the only people I’ve seen between leaving hospital and getting you today.”
“Poor you. I’ve had nothing but offers. It’s amazing how alluring a woman is when she has a billion dollars to her name. Nels is the only man I trust these days. That includes you.”
“So you’re marrying him for protection?” Not love?
“No one was coming to save me, Giovanni. You weren’t. I had to look after myself and I have.” Her chin came up and scorched flags of anger sat on her cheekbones. “I guess I’m being unnecessarily modest. If you were interested in seeing any of this, you would have shown up sooner.”
She dragged her dress down, exposing her braless breasts. The pale globes jiggled as she worked the gown past her hips and left it as a mound on the floor, like a pile of melted snow.
He stopped breathing as he ate up her lissome figure. His entire being came alive as though he was feeling sunshine for the first time after a decade in prison. Her beige underpants looked paper-thin. They hugged her hips from her navel to the tops of her thighs, seamless as yoga shorts. He wanted to touch them, feel her warmth through the fine silk.
She turned to a drawer and shook out a lemon-yellow T-shirt. She dropped it over her head, then stepped into a pair of jeans from the next drawer. They were a little loose. She’d definitely lost weight.
“Nels has probably seen the video.” She picked up her phone off the top of the dresser. “I should let him know I’m fine. What’s the password to get online?”
“He’ll see that you were with your husband. Since he’s so intelligent, I’m sure he’ll figure out the wedding is off.”
She threw her phone onto the bed, temper instantly relit and now incandescent, beautiful in the way that the lightning strike that kills you fills you with awe at the same time.
“Or he’ll activate the transmitter he suggested I wear because I’m worth a billion dollars and wanted to come to Europe alone.” She picked up the pendant she wore around her neck.
How was he still underestimating her?
“Damn you, you always look so damned innocent and you’re not!” He crashed his fist against his dead leg. “This is why I had to wonder if you were working for another government. You do these sly, underhanded things, hack my calendar and track my phone—yes, I know you did that. You followed me to Dubrovnik the very day I was nearly killed—”
“I thought you were having an affair!” she cried. “And that is a completely understandable suspicion when you were sneaking around as much as you were. You kept telling me you wanted to be a f—” She choked to a halt.
His heart clenched again, the way it had a few minutes ago in the lounge. He had never properly dealt with that pain because he didn’t know how.
Freja turned away and flung open the drapes to reveal the glass doors that opened onto the fire escape. A full-spectrum bulb gave the impression of natural light, but it only led to a wide breezeway that terminated at the veranda.
“This is a stupid house!” She clattered open the door and stormed out.
CHAPTER SEVEN
FREJA HADN’T BOTHERED to put on socks or shoes. She was barefoot and even the paved passageway out of the bedroom had tiny pebbles that were sharp enough to cut into her soles. She didn’t get very far on the cold path that wound down the hill.
With a huff, she stopped at the rail near the now empty helipad and brooded, rubbing one foot over the other to brush off the bottoms of her feet.
“I should have asked if you have any dietary restrictions,” Marie said behind her.
Freja turned to see the woman was wearing gloves and a sunhat. She was pulling up plants in a small vegetable garden that was going to seed.
“I’m not fussy, but I’m not hungry right now, thanks.”
Marie hesitated, then said, “It’s nice to meet you in person. I’ve read all of your father’s books and really enjoyed them.”
Freja scrounged up the smile she turned on for her father’s fans. “Pappa would be pleased to know they entertained you.”
“I usually prefer romance, but they were here and there’s not much to do in the evenings except read, so—”
“They’re here?” Oh, that odious man.
“In the study,” Marie said, but Freja was already charging up the path as quickly as her bare feet would take her.
She burst into the study to find Giovanni speaking to his open laptop. “—ensure he knows she’s safe and—”
Giovanni halted and Everett’s voice asked sharply, “What is it?”
In one sweeping glance, Freja took in the hardwood floors that Giovanni preferred. He sat at one of the modern desks he seemed to order in bulk because they accommodated all his different types of chairs. There was a small reading area in the corner with a recliner and a standing lamp. Bookshelves bracketed golden drapes that she assumed disguised another of those weird emergency exits.
Freja marched over and sure enough, there were all her father’s titles in a tidy row at a convenient height to a man in a wheelchair. All the book jackets showed signs of wear, like library books that had been read several times.
“Giovanni,” Everett prompted, but he was watching her.
She grabbed a handful and pulled them off the shelf, letting them tumble to the floor.
“I’ll call you back,” Giovanni said in a tone more weary than wary. “But yes, make that call and come for us in the morning. We’ll return to Rome and have the press conference there.” He closed the laptop. “Why are you angry that I have those?”