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

She shrugged away again. “So you can laugh at me?”

“I will not laugh!” He sighed, softened his voice. “Actually, I’m hoping that if you tell me it will keep me from hitting that nerve again.”

“Really?”

“I’m not an idiot. I don’t insult people to be cruel. When I vent to Emory it means nothing. When I yell at my employees I’m trying to get the best out of them. With you, everything’s a bit different.” He tossed his hands. He wouldn’t tell her that part of the problem was his attraction. Especially since he went back and forth about pursuing it. Maybe if he’d just decide to take romance off the table, become her friend, things between them would get better? “It might be because you’re American not European. Whatever the case, I’d like to at least know that I won’t insult you again.”

The bartender walked over. He gruffly threw a beer coaster on the table, even though Dani and Rafe stood by the fireplace. “What’ll it be?”

Rafe tugged Dani’s hand. “Come. We’ll get a nice Merlot. And talk.”

She slid her hand out of his, but she did return to her seat. He named the wine he wanted from the bartender, and with a raise of his bushy brows, the bartender scrambled off to get it. When he returned with the bottle and two glasses, Rafe shooed him away, saying he’d pour.

Dani frowned. “No time for breathing?”

He chuckled. “Ah. So she thinks she knows wine?”

Her head lowered. “I don’t.”

His eyes narrowed as he studied her. The sad demeanor was back. The broken woman. “And all this rolls together with why I insulted you when I said you weren’t wanted?”

She sighed. “Sort of. I don’t know how to explain this so you’ll understand, but the people I’m looking for aren’t my relatives.”

He smiled. “They’re people who owe you money?”

She laughed. The first genuine laugh in hours and the tight ball of tension in Rafe’s gut unwound.

“They are the family of the woman who was my foster mother.”

“Foster mother?”

“I was taken from my mother when I was three. I don’t remember her. In America, when a child has no home, he or she is placed with a family who has agreed to raise her.” She sucked in a breath and took the wineglass he offered her. “Foster parents aren’t required to keep you forever. So if something happens, they can give you back.”

She tried to calmly give the explanation but the slight wobble of her voice when she said “give you back” caused the knot of tension to reform in Rafe’s stomach. He imagined a little blue-eyed, blonde girl bouncing from home to home, hugging a scraggly brown teddy bear, and his throwaway comment about her not being wanted made his heart hurt.

“I’m sorry.”

She sipped her wine. “And right about now, I’m feeling pretty stupid. You’re a grouch. A perfectionist who yells at everyone. I should have realized you were venting.” She met his gaze. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“You do realize you just called me a grouch.”

She took another sip of her wine. “And a perfectionist.” She caught his gaze again. “See? You don’t get offended.”

He laughed.

She smiled.

Longing filled Rafe. For years he’d satisfied himself with one-night stands, but she made him yearn for the connection he’d had only once before. With her he wasn’t Chef Rafe. She didn’t treat him like a boss. She didn’t talk to him like a boss...

Maybe because she had these feelings, too?

He sucked in a breath, met her gaze. “Tell me more.”

“About my life?”

“About anything.”

* * *

She set down her wineglass as little pinpricks of awareness sprung up on her arms.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d longed for his apology until he’d made it. But now that he was asking to hear about her life, everything inside her stilled. How much to tell? How much to hold back? Why did he want to know? And why did she ache to tell him?

He offered his hand again and she glanced into his face. The lines and planes of his chin and cheeks made him classically handsome. His sexy unbound hair brought out urges in her she hadn’t ever felt. She’d love to run her fingers through it while kissing him. Love to know what it would feel like to have his hair tumble to his face while they made love.

She stopped her thoughts. She had an almost fiancé at home, and Rafe wasn’t the most sympathetic man in the world. He was bold and gruff, and he accepted no less than total honesty.

But maybe that’s what appealed to her? She didn’t want sympathy. She just wanted to talk to someone. To really be heard. To be understood.

“I had a good childhood,” he said, breaking the awkward silence, again nudging his hand toward her.

She didn’t take his hand, so he used it to inch her wine closer. She picked it up again.

“Even as a boy, I was fascinated by cooking.”

She laughed, wondering why the hell she was tempting fate by sitting here with him when she should leave. She might not be engaged but she was close enough. And though she’d love to kiss Rafe, to run her fingers through that wild hair, Paul was stability. And she needed stability.

“My parents were initially put off, but because I also played soccer and roughhoused with my younger brother, they weren’t worried.”

She laughed again. He’d stopped trying to take her hand. And he really did seem to want to talk. “You make your childhood sound wonderful.”

He winced. “Not intentionally.”

“You don’t have to worry about offending me. I don’t get jealous of others’ good lives. Once Rosa took me in, I had a good life.”

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

“She was brave.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Let’s just say I had a wild streak.”

Looking at his hair, which curled haphazardly and made his gray eyes appear shiny and mysterious, Dani didn’t doubt he had lots of women who’d helped his wild streak along.

Still, she ignored the potential to tease, to flirt, and said, “Rosa really was brave. I wasn’t so much of a handful because I got into trouble, but because I was lost.”