Page 32 of Steal My Heart

“Um, yeah.” I clear my throat. “So I’m just going to take Nola some treats.” I start for the exit, but Maks throws up his hand again, blocking me. “You want me to limbo? Because I’m not that flexible. Never understood how people can bend their backs so low.”

He doesn’t move.

“Remi, ignore him. The rabid lapdog has no house training.” She shoots Maks a death glare before turning her attention back to me. “Why did Nola need a vet? And why were my brother’s clothes soaked?”

“Nola loves to play in the bath, but it never crossed my mind that she’d get in the pool.” A feeble defense of my cat parenting skills. “Your brother found her stuck in the deep end, and he jumped in and rescued her.”

“My brother? As in Angelo Calvani?” Alessandra’s jaw falls open

“Non far scorrere la bocca, bambina.” Maks cuts his eyes to her.

“Non sono una bambina,” she replies with attitude.

His phone buzzes, and he grabs it from his pocket. Without a word, he turns around and walks off.

“That’s right, go heel like a good boy,” Alessandra calls after him. “If anyone asks, I’ll be outside making sure Rome doesn’t disappear,” she tells me with a huff, stomping off.

“Guess it’s true: all roads do lead to Rome.” I take the treat jar with me, my stride faltering when I reach the study.

Angelo’s lying on the floor with his wet dress shirt and tie discarded beside him. Nola’s lounging on his chest, her paws kneading his bare skin as she purrs contentedly.

And my heart practically melts.

“There you are.” Angelo spots me. “She hated my wet shirt,” he explains.

Nola spots the treat jar and jumps off him, bounding across the room. Watching out of the corner of my eye as Angelo rises, I agree with Nola:hatethe wet shirt.

Two Italian words span his broad chest:Puro Dispetto. Beneath the ink, a delicious smattering of chest hair. My eyes follow the happy trail below his navel, disappearing beneath the waist of his designer pants.

It’s Angelo’s turn to clear his throat, and my eyes snap to his, my cheeks flaming. “Thank you. Not for taking off your shirt. I mean, sure, it’s a nice, um?—”

“View?”

“Tattoo. I was going to say tattoo.” I pause, trying to get it together. “What I mean is, thank you for rescuing my cat.”

Nolameows.

“You’re not a cat. I didn’t mean she’s a cat.” Flustered, I sigh loudly. “Thank you for rescuing Nola.”

A smile teases the corner of his lips. He takes a step closer, and I take a step back. He advances again, with me bumping into the door. His arms cage my face as he leans in, his warm breath fanning my face. “You’re keeping secrets, Remi, and I will find out.” Not a threat, but in Angelo Calvani’s mind, a statement of fact. “The hard way, or the easy way. Your choice.”

“Alright, I’ll tell you my secret, but you have to promise not to tell anyone.” Dramatic pause. “I don’t like crawfish. There, I said it. Yes, it’s sacrilegious coming from a Cajun. But I cannot eat a mud bug while their little dead eyes stare at me, and then I’m supposed to suck out their brains?” I shudder.

“Tell me where you got Nola,” he says, clearly unamused.

My heart thuds frantically. “That’s none of your business.”

“Everything about you is my business.”

“Are you this invasive with all your ‘houseguests?’” I deflect.

“I don’t typically entertain larcenist houseguests,” he answers dryly.

“How boring for you. We’re a much more interesting lot, us larcenists.”

Not even a hint of a smile.

“Trade you a secret for a secret,” I try.