LITMIR.BIZ

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be fighting. She’d also have to be able to handle his. And that might be a little trickier.

      “I’ve been in touch with a Realtor in Rome. I go to see buildings tomorrow.”

      A look passed between him and Emory.

      Emory tucked the software manual into the bottom bin of an in basket. “Good. It’s time to get your second restaurant up and running.” He slid from behind the desk. “But right now I have to supervise dinner.”

      He scampered out of the room and Rafe’s gaze roamed over to hers again. “I’d like for you to come to Rome with me.”

      Heat suffused her and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. “Me?”

      “I want you to help me scout locations.”

      “Really?”

      “I told you. You are the one who created the atmosphere of this Mancini’s. If I want to re-create it, I think you need to be in on choosing the site.”

      Because that made sense and because she did have to learn to deal with him as a boss, owner of the restaurant for which she worked, she tucked away any inappropriate longings and smiled. “Okay.”

      She could be all business because that’s what really worked for them.

      * * *

      The next day, after walking through an old, run-down building with their Realtor, Rafe and Dani stepped out into the bright end-of-February day.

      “I could do with a coffee right now.”

      He glanced at her. In her sapphire-blue coat and white mittens, she looked cuddly, huggable. And very, very, very off-limits. Her smiles had been cool. Her conversations stilted. But she’d warmed up a bit when they actually began looking at buildings.

      “Haven’t you already had two cups of coffee?”

      She slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, like a friend or a cousin, someone allowed innocent, meaningless touches.

      “Don’t most Italians drink something like five cups a day?”

      When he said, “Bah,” she laughed.

      All morning, their conversation at his apartment two nights ago had played over and over and over in his head. She wanted a commitment and he didn’t. So he’d figured out a way they could be lovers and work together and she’d rejected it. He’d had to accept that.

      But being with her this morning, without actually being allowed to touch her or even contemplate kissing her was making him think all kinds of insane things. Like how empty his life was. How much he would miss her when he stopped working at the original Mancini’s and headquartered himself in Rome.

      So though he knew her hand at his elbow meant nothing, he savored the simple gesture. It was a safe, nonthreatening way to touch her and have her touch him. Even if he did know it would lead to nothing.

      “Besides, I love coffee. It makes me warm inside.”

      “True. And it is cold.” He slid his arm around her shoulders. Her thick coat might keep her toasty, but it was another excuse to touch her.

      They continued down the quiet street, but as they approached a shop specializing in infant clothing, the wheels of a baby stroller came flying out the door and straight for Daniella’s leg. He caught her before she could as much as wobble and shifted her out of the way.

      The apologetic mom said, “Scusi!”

      Dani laughed. In flawless Italian she said, “No harm done.” Then she bent and chucked the chin of the baby inside the stroller. “Isn’t she adorable!”

      The proud mom beamed. Rafe stole a quiet look at the kid and his lips involuntarily rose as a chuckle rumbled up from the deepest part of him. “She likes somebody’s cooking.”

      The mom explained that the baby had her father’s love of all things sweet, but Rafe’s gaze stayed on the baby. She’d caught his eye and cooed at him, her voice a soft sound, almost a purr, and her eyes as shiny as a harvest moon.

      A funny feeling invaded his chest.

      Dani gave the baby a big, noisy kiss on the cheek, said goodbye to the mom and took his arm so they could resume their walk down the street.

      They ducked into a coffeehouse and she inhaled deeply. “Mmm...this reminds me of being back in the States.”

      He shook his head. “You Americans. You copy the idea of a coffeehouse from us, then come over here and act like we must meet your standards.”

      With a laugh, she ordered two cups of coffee, remembering his choice of brews from earlier that morning. She also ordered two scones.

      “I hope you’re hungry.”

      She shrugged out of her coat before sitting on the chair he pulled out for her at a table near a window. “I just need something to take the edge off my growling stomach. The second scone is for you.”

      “I don’t eat pastries from a vendor who sells in bulk.”

      She pushed the second scone in front of him anyway. “Such a snob.”

      He laughed. “All right. Fine. I will taste.” He bit into the thing and to his surprise it was very good. Even better with a sip or two of coffee. So tasty he ate the whole darned thing.

      “Not quite the pastry snob anymore, are you?”

      He sat back. He truly did not intend to pursue her. He respected her dreams, the way he respected his own. But that didn’t stop his feelings for her. With his belly full of coffee and scone, and Daniella happy beside him, these quiet minutes suddenly felt like spun gold.

      She glanced around. “I’ll bet you’ve brought a woman or two here.”

      That broke the spell. “What?” He laughed as he shifted uncomfortably on his chair. “What makes you say that?”

      “You’re familiar with this coffeehouse. This street. You were even alert enough to pull me out of the way of the oncoming stroller at that baby shop.” She shrugged. “You might not have come here precisely, but you’ve brought women to Rome.”

      “Every Italian man brings women to Rome.” He toyed with his now-empty mug. He’d lived with Kamila just down the street. He’d dreamed of babies like the little girl in the stroller.

      “I told you about Paul. I think you need to tell me about one of your women to even the score.”

      “You make me sound like I dated an army.”

      She tossed him an assessing look. “You might have.”

      Not about to lie, he drew a long breath and said, “There were many.”

      She grimaced. “Just pick one.”

      “Okay. How about Lisette?”

      She put her elbow on the table, her eyes keen with interest. “Sounds French.”

      “She was.”

      “Ah.”

      “I met her when she was traveling through Italy...” But even as he spoke, he remembered that she was more driven than he was. He had taken second place to her career. At the time he hadn’t minded, but remembering the situation correctly, he didn’t feel bad about that breakup.

      “So what happened?”

      He waved a hand. “Nothing. She was just very married to her career.”

      “Like you?”

      He laughed. “Two peas in a pod. But essentially we didn’t have time for each other.”

      “You miss her?”

      “No.” He glanced up. “Honestly, I don’t miss any of the women who came into and walked out of my life.”

      But

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