Alec pointed to a marina of large, expensive-looking yachts. “We should rent a boat.”

“You’re joking.” Talk about an extravagance.

“You have to see the river, particularly at sunset. The bridges, the statues. St. Peter’s Basilica and the Castillo de San Angelo are absolutely magnificent.”

“Look.” It was her turn to point. “There’s a patio café. We can see the river for the price of a cup of coffee.”

Alec turned to stare at her in confusion. “You don’t want to cruise?”

“I don’t want to rent a yacht!”

“It’s only money.”

She took his hand. “Let’s get a cup of coffee, then we’ll walk a ways.”

“Coffee?” he confirmed with obvious disappointment.

She nodded and pointed them toward the little café.

They found mesh, metal seats and a little metal table by the rail. The breeze was cool off the water, and a barge floated by, while compact cars made their way over an ancient stone bridge.

Before sitting down, Alec removed his jacket, putting it around Charlotte’s shoulders. She smiled her thanks.

While he spoke to the waiter in Italian, Alec pulled out his own seat.

He sat down, his gaze soft on her face as he seemed to consider her. “You’re different,” he finally told her.

“Different from what?” The coat was still warm from his body heat, and it felt comforting around her body.

“From other women.”

She toyed with the silverware on the table. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

He sat back in his chair. “Ever since they estimated my net worth in Forbes, it’s as if I have a bull’s-eye painted in the middle of my back. A great big target for every woman who thinks her life would be improved by money.”

“Were they right?”

His forehead creased. “The women?”

A tourist barge sounded its horn, and a group of partyers waved and shouted.

Charlotte waved in return. “Forbes.”

“Why? Did you read it?”

“No. But your château and your jet plane have me convinced you’re a pretty good catch.”

He shook his head. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve had a date pay for her own clothes?”

Charlotte couldn’t help but smirk. “You buy your dates clothes?”

“I buy my dates many things.”

“You ever stop to think you’re bringing this on yourself?”

“You ever stop to think most women in the world are mercenary?”

Charlotte wasn’t sure how to answer that. He was probably right. At least, he was probably right about the women he’d been hanging out with most of his life.

“Not all women are interested in your money.”

The waiter stopped at their table, placing clear mugs of espresso on little blue saucers. He added a tray of sugared and chocolate-drizzled pastries in the center of the table.

The aromas hit Charlotte, reminding her that she was hungry. She pushed her arms into the sleeves of Alec’s jacket and reached for a tiny cream-filled, cherry-topped morsel.

“These,” she told him, “you can buy me any old time.”

“That’s the secret?” He chose a sugared croissant.

She nodded enthusiastically. “Pander to my sweet tooth, and I’m yours for life.”

Something flickered in the depths of his brown eyes, and she instantly regretted her choice of words. They might have moved past one-night stand, but they hadn’t gone anywhere beyond a fling. She was fine with that, and she didn’t want Alec to worry that she had any other expectations.

She wondered if she should explain. Or would protesting just make things worse?

He considered her for a second longer. “Good to know,” he said simply.

“Of course,” she put into the silence, waving her pastry, “the downside is, I won’t fit into the clothes for much longer.”

He smiled. “I’m not worried. Your derriere’s a little on the skinny side, anyway.”

“Are you serious?” She twisted to look at her backside. She exercised quite extensively to keep her derriere fitting into designer clothes.

Alec laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with a curve or two.”

“Don’t let Lesley Manichatio hear you say that.”

“I already told her.”

“Right.”

He shrugged.

“You actually know Lesley Manichatio?”

“We carry her brands at Esmee ETA.”

“Wait a minute.” Charlotte set her pastry on the edge of her plate, wiping her hands on a paper napkin. “You own Esmee ETA?”

“Yes.”

“The stores? The chain?”

“Uh-huh.” He nodded.

“Alec?”

“Yes?”

“You really are a catch.”

“You want to rethink the river cruise?”

“Not on your life.”

He grinned. “At least eat your pastry.”

She picked it up again.

No wonder the man was paranoid. How would he ever know if a woman fell in love with him or his money? He could write a prenup, sure. But he’d still never know. A woman could fake love for a very long time if Alec was paying the bills.

Seven

The sun slipped below the horizon, and Alec watched the lights come on up and down the Tiber River. He was in no hurry to leave the café. He didn’t want to share Charlotte with Raine or anyone else just yet.

Over her empty coffee cup, she sighed at the sight. “It really is beautiful, isn’t it?”

Alec reached for her hand, smoothing his thumb over her soft knuckles, moving to her palm. “Let me take you on a cruise.”

She gave him a pained, wistful look.

“Don’t fixate on the cost,” he whispered. Then he raised her hand to his lips, turning it over to place a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist. “I want to get you alone, and I can’t think of anywhere more alone than in a boat on the river.”

Her glance slid to the marina below, and Alec knew he had her. He seized the opportunity, signaling the waiter. “Do you have a number for the marina?” he asked.

The man nodded and withdrew.

“I didn’t say yes,” Charlotte pointed out.

“Not with your lips,” Alec agreed. “But you said yes with your eyes.”

“That’s a stretch.”

He shook his head. “I’ve been reading women’s eyes for many long years.”

“Bragging?”

“Merely supporting my position.”

The waiter returned with the number written on a small piece of paper, and Alec retrieved his cell phone. He made a quick call, arranged for a yacht and crew, then flipped the phone shut.

He stood from his chair and came around to hers. “We have to eat dinner somewhere,” he told her.

“It’s a dinner cruise?”

“It’s whatever we want it to be.”

The only available boat, the Florence Maiden, was ninety-five feet from bow to stern. She had a chef, a fully stocked galley, three luxury staterooms, a formal dining room, a hot tub on the aft deck and five crew members to ensure the entire evening ran smoothly.

Charlotte drew a deep breath. “I guess a girl’s got to eat.”

Alec held out his hand, helping her to her feet. “That’s the spirit.”

He kept her hand as they made their way down several staircases to the marina gate. There, he gave his name to a uniformed security guard.

“Berth 27B,” the man informed him. “Enjoy your evening.”

Still wearing his jacket, Charlotte slipped her arm into his as they moved onto the bobbing dock. It was full dark now, and the lights of Castle St. Angelo seemed even brighter across the river.

Alec noted a sign on the wharf and pointed to their left. “This way.”

Charlotte turned, and they started past several dozen gleaming-white yachts berthed nose-in. “Tell me it’s not the one on the end.”

Alec could already see the name painted near the bow. “It’s what they had available.”

“You truly can’t be trusted.” But there wasn’t a trace of anger in her tone. In fact, she sounded pleased. Well, he was feeling pretty pleased himself.

The captain greeted them at the bottom of the gangplank, welcoming them aboard. With Charlotte climbing in front of him, Alec’s spirits lifted with every step upward.

They settled in padded, teak deck chairs at the bow of the boat. The steward provided a wine list, and Alec chose a merlot.

“We should call Raine.”

“Why would we do that?” Alec had finally succeeded in separating Charlotte from the herd; he wasn’t about to make contact.

The ship’s whistle sounded and the engines rumbled as they reversed out of the berth, drawing back from the traffic, trees and buildings along the bank.

“She might be worried,” said Charlotte.

“She’s got my cell number. And yours, too, I imagine. She’ll call if she needs anything.”

“They probably expected to join us for dinner,” Charlotte continued.

“They’ll get over it.”

The steward arrived to uncork the wine. He offered Alec a taste and, at Alec’s nod, filled their glasses.

“The chef can offer you a seven-course Italian dinner, featuring gamberi al Limone and rigatoni alla Caruso. If you prefer French, he has a lovely petits tournedos aux poivres vert accompanied by la salade du Montmartre. Or he can prepare a grilled filet mignon, Portobello mushrooms, with a traditional Caesar salad.”

Alec looked to Charlotte. “When in Rome?”

“The Italian dinner sounds perfect,” she said to the steward.

As the man walked away, she leaned closer to Alec. “We can only hope the pasta will improve the size of my derriere.”

Alec leaned toward her, keeping his voice at a conspiratorial level. “I’ll let you know later.”

“Feeling pretty sure of yourself?”

He glanced at the moon, the water, the lights of the city and Charlotte wrapped in his jacket lounging back amongst the subtle lights of the yacht’s deck. “So far, so good,” he admitted, taking a satisfied sip of the merlot.

“It is nice to get away from the crowds,” Charlotte agreed. “The noise.”

“The explosions.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Did you see your father this morning?” asked Alec.

She shook her head.

“He was due in, right?”

Her gaze went to a cloud wisping across the moon. “Yes, he was.”

“But you didn’t stay to say hello?”

She watched straight over the bow. “I didn’t want to hold everybody up.”

Alec considered her profile for a moment. “You didn’t want to see him,” he concluded.

“I told you, it’s not the same as Jack. With David, I don’t care one way or the other.”

“What about the rest of the family?”

“What about them?”

“Your cousins Dev and Max were coming in today. And Isabella would have been on set. Don’t you want to get to know them?”

Charlotte’s expression tightened.

“You escaped, didn’t you?” Alec guessed.

She waved a dismissive hand. “I needed clothes.”

“You could have had some shipped from home.”

She mustered a cocky grin. “And where would be the fun in that?”

“Charlotte,” Alec pressed. “Are you afraid of your family?”

“It’s not the same as for you.”

“Blood is still blood,” said Alec. He had dozens of aunts, uncles, cousins and second cousins in and around Provence. Montcalm family occasions were large, boisterous and entertaining. It didn’t matter how seldom he saw some relatives, they always meant something.

She gathered his jacket closer around her.

“You said you missed Jack,” Alec pointed out, struggling to figure out her feelings. “Now’s your chance to get to know him.”

Storm clouds gathered behind her blue eyes. “It’s complicated.”

“That’s just part of the package. You want to hear about my Uncle Rudy and his affair with cousin Giselle’s next-door neighbor? Or the time Uncle Bovier disinherited his eldest son, Leroy, because he was gay? Talk about a crisis. My phone rang off the hook for weeks.” Alec took a breath.

“At least you know them,” said Charlotte.

“Not that well.” There were members of his family he saw only once a year.

“And.” She gave a hollow laugh. “They didn’t give you away.”

Alec stilled.

Her voice went hard. “Nobody looked at you and Raine, and said, ‘We like Raine better. Give Alec away.’”

“I’m sure it wasn’t-”

“I have one father, an aunt and uncle, two grandparents, a brother and four cousins on the Hudson side of the family, and not one, not one of them thought I was worth keeping.” She closed her eyes, shook her head and took a swallow of her wine.

“I was wrong,” Alec put in softly, drinking in the intense emotion on her face. “You’re not scared. You’re angry.” He nodded to himself. “That makes sense. You have every right to be angry with them.”

She waved her glass for emphasis. “My grandparents took wonderful care of me.”

“You waited your whole life for Jack to come and rescue you. He never did.”

“Jack was a little boy.”

“Emotions have nothing to do with logic.” Alec rose from his chair, crossing the polished, redwood deck. He crouched next to Charlotte’s chair. “If you could control your emotions with logic, would you be here?”