Under The Tuscan Sun...: A Bride for the Italian Boss / Return of the Italian Tycoon / Reunited by a Baby Secret

He listened to the man, scanning the dining room for his hostess. When she finally walked into the dining room from the long hall that led to the restrooms, he sighed with relief. He accepted the praise of his customer, smiled and returned to his work.

An hour later, Dani came into the kitchen. “Chef Mancini, there’s a customer who would like to speak with you.”

Her voice was soft, meek. She’d also called him Chef Mancini, not Chef Rafe, but he didn’t question it. A more businesslike demeanor between them was not a bad thing. Particularly considering that he’d actually wanted to have an affair with her and had been thinking about that all damned day—until they’d gotten into that argument about soup and salad.

Which was why the smile he gave her was nothing but professional. “It would be my pleasure.”

He expected her to say, “Thank you.” Instead, she nodded, turned and left the kitchen without him.

He rinsed his hands, dried them and headed out to the dining room. She waited by a table in the back. When she saw him she motioned for him to come to the table.

As he walked up, she smiled at the customers. She said, “This is Chef Mancini.” Then she strode away.

He happily chatted with the customer for ten minutes, but his gaze continually found Daniella. She hadn’t waited for him in the kitchen, hadn’t looked at him when he came to the table—had only introduced him and left. Her usually sunny smile had been replaced by a stiff lift of her lips. Her bright blue eyes weren’t filled with joy. They were dull. Lifeless.

A professional manner was one thing. But she seemed to be...hurt.

He analyzed their soup-and-salad conversation and couldn’t find anything different about that little spat than any of their disagreements—except that he’d been smiling at her when she walked in, thinking about kissing her. Then they’d argued and he’d realized what a terrible idea kissing her was, and that had shoved even the thought of an affair out of his head.

But that was good. He should not want to get involved with an employee. No matter how pretty.

When the restaurant cleared at closing time, he left, too. He drove to his condo, showered and put on jeans and a cable-knit sweater. He hadn’t been anywhere but Mancini’s in weeks. Not since Christmas. And maybe that was why he was having these odd thoughts about his hostess? Maybe it was time to get out with people again? Maybe find a woman?

He shrugged into his black wool coat, took his private elevator to the building lobby and stepped outside.

His family lived in Florence, but he loved little Monte Calanetti. Rich with character and charm, the stone-and-stucco buildings on the main street housed shops run by open, friendly people. That was part of why he’d located Mancini’s just outside of town. Tourists loved Monte Calanetti for its connections to the past, especially the vineyard of Palazzo di Comparino, which unfortunately had closed. But tourists still came, waiting for the day the vineyard would reopen.

Rafe’s boots clicked on the cobblestone. The chill of the February night seeped into his bones. He put up the collar of his coat, trying to ward off the cold. It didn’t help. When he reached Pia’s Tavern, he stopped.

Inside it would be warm from a fire in the stone fireplace in the back. He could almost taste the beer from the tap. He turned and pushed open the door.

Because it was a weekday, the place was nearly empty. The television above the shelves of whiskey, gin and rum entertained the two locals sitting at the short shiny wood bar. The old squat bartender leaned against a cooler beside the four beer taps. Flames danced in the stone fireplace and warmed the small, hometown bar. As his eyes adjusted to the low lights, Rafe saw a pretty blonde girl sitting alone at a table in the back.

Dani.

He didn’t know whether to shake his head or turn around and walk out. Still, when her blue eyes met his, he saw sadness that sent the heat of guilt lancing though him.

Before he could really think it through, he walked over to her table and sat across from her.

“Great. Just what every girl wants. To sit and have a drink with the boss who yells at her all day.”

He frowned. “Is that why you grew so quiet today? Because I yelled at you? I didn’t yell. I just didn’t take your suggestion. And that is my right. I am your boss.”

She sucked in a breath and reached for her beer. “Yes, I know.”

“You’ve always known that. You ignore it, but you’ve always known. So this time, why are you so upset?”

She didn’t reply. Instead, she reached for her coat and purse as if she intended to go. He caught her arm and stopped her.

Her gaze dropped to his hand, then met his.

Confused, he held her blue, blue eyes, as his fingers slid against her soft pink skin. The idea of having an affair with her popped into his head again. They were both incredibly passionate people and they’d probably set his bedroom on fire, if they could stop arguing long enough to kiss.

“Please. If I did something wrong, tell me—”

An unexpected memory shot through him. He hadn’t cared what a woman thought since Kamila. The reminder of how he’d nearly given up his dream for her froze the rest of what he wanted to say on his tongue and forced him back to business mode.

“If you are gruff with customers I need to know why.”

“I’m not gruff with customers.” Her voice came out wispy and smoky.

“So it’s just me, then?”

“Every time I try to be nice to you, you argue with me.”

He laughed. “When did you try to be nice to me?”

“That suggestion about lunch wasn’t a bad one. And I came to you politely—”

“And I listened until you wouldn’t quit arguing. Then I had to stop you.”

“Yes. But after that you told Emory I wasn’t needed.” She sniffed a laugh. “I heard you telling him you didn’t even want me around.”

His eyes narrowed on her face. “I tell Emory things like that all the time. I vent. It’s how I get rid of stress.”

“Maybe you should stop that.”

He laughed, glad his feisty Dani was returning. “And maybe you should stop listening at the door?”

She shook her head and shrugged out of his hold. “I wasn’t listening. You were talking loud enough that I could easily hear you through the door.”

She rose to leave again. This time he had no intention of stopping her, but a wave of guilt sluiced through him. Her face was still sad. Her blue eyes dull. All because of his attempt to blow off steam.

She only got three steps before he said, “Wait! You are right. I shouldn’t have said you weren’t wanted. I rant to Emory all the time. But usually no one hears me. So it doesn’t matter.”

She stopped but didn’t return to her seat. Standing in the glow of the fireplace, she said, “If that’s an apology, it’s not a very good one.”

No. He supposed it wasn’t. But nobody ever took his rants so seriously. “Why did it upset you so much to hear you weren’t wanted?”

She said nothing.

He rose and walked over to her. When she wouldn’t look at him, he lifted her chin until her gaze met his. “There is a story there.”

“Of course there’s a story there.”

He waited for her to explain, but she said nothing. The vision of her walking sadly around the restaurant filled his brain. He’d insulted hundreds of employees before, trying to get them to work harder, smarter, but from the look in her eyes he could see this was personal.

“Can you tell me?”