Working on a Full House (39 page)

"And you do?" Valerie laughed.

Roy joined her.

Valerie looked at him, with the two happy crescents creasing his cheeks and knew beyond a doubt that this wolf belonged to her.

At that moment, Diana frowned her tiny little face and sneezed. It was the cutest wispy breath of a thing. Both Roy and Valerie turned to look at her and sighed.

"We're really a family, now, aren't we?" Roy said.

"We are," Valerie agreed. "We really are."

The End

About the Author

Alyssa Kress completed her first novel at age six, an unlikely romance between a lion and a jackal. Despite earning two degrees from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and spending nearly a decade in the construction industry, she's yet to see her feet stay firmly on the ground. She now lives in Southern California, together with her husband and two children.

You can learn more about Alyssa Kress and her other novels at
http://www.alyssakress.com
.

Other books by Alyssa Kress
on Amazon
:

Marriage by Mistake

The Heart Heist

The Indiscreet Ladies of Green Ivy Way

Asking For It

Love and the Millionairess

Preview of Your Scheming Heart

The man in the long overcoat was definitely following her.

He'd been on her tail like a tick on a dog ever since Sabrina had left the airport gift shop. From there she'd ambled through the cafeteria, taken a long powder in the ladies' room, and even visited the ticket lines.

He'd shadowed her every step.

Sabrina hoped he wasn't a cop.

Stopping outside the duty-free shop, she stared at the ivy leaves and fake snow painted on the glass store window, evidence it was winter in Miami. The man was behind her, reflected green and red in the glass. He was pretending to leaf through postcards in the shop across the corridor. There was a furtive, embarrassed manner about the way he took one card at a time, studied it, and then replaced it on the rack.

He didn't look like a cop, Sabrina had to admit, taking her time to study him. For one thing, he was dressed far too well. That overcoat had to be worth a couple grand and the suit beneath it, custom-tailored, maybe another. She doubted Miami PD officers dressed with that much money.

Or maybe that was just wishful thinking because, God knew, she had enough on her plate as it was. Not only was she broke, but her most recent business partner probably wanted to kill her.

It had been a mistake to get involved with Lise Gunther. Sabrina should have realized the hustler queen wouldn't follow the rules Sabrina's mentor, Joe, had taught her all those years ago.

You never took a mark for more than he could afford.

Unfortunately, Sabrina hadn't discovered their intended victim's true circumstances until too late. She'd used up Lise's front money. So now what she needed was time, and a safe place to think a way out of her present fix.

What she didn't need was to be dodging the law on top of everything else.

Besides, she hadn't done anything illegal...in this state...yet.

The man who'd been following her had now exhausted the small stand of postcards. He stood there, at apparent loose ends, absently rubbing his chin. Sabrina narrowed her eyes.

Policeman or not, he was making life very difficult. She'd come to the airport looking for fast, easy cash. Means to get out of town. Fat chance of picking up any dough, however, with an audience watching.

On the other hand, if he wasn't a cop and was as rich as he looked, her follower might be the answer to her problem.

Making a sudden decision, Sabrina spun to face her follower.

He froze, one hand still at his chin, his eyes fastened on her.

A poker face he had not
. His stunned dismay gave her a glimmer of amusement as she started toward him.

He simply stood there, the edge of his palm against his chin. He was a couple inches better than six feet and dark — dark hair, dark eyes, and dark, finely shaped brows. He had the soft, romantic beauty of a poet, complete with long, sweeping dark eyelashes.

My word
, Sabrina thought, coming to a halt before him.
He's prettier than I am
.

"Excuse me," she said aloud. "Do you have the time?" The asinine question seemed to fit the circumstances.

He appeared to appreciate it, too, slowly lowering his hand from his face with an expression of undisguised relief. "
Naturalmente
," he said, speaking in a rich European accent. He turned his wrist to look at a fancy watch. "It is ten minutes to eight o'clock in the evening."

Italian, Sabrina decided. From Milan, judging by the natty clothes. Now that she was closer she could see that the suit was not merely custom-tailored, but custom-
made
. The tie was the same, raw silk, and pierced with a solid gold pin. No diamond inset, however, in that gold pin. That would have been obtrusive and Money, real Money, big Money, was never obtrusive. Sabrina's heart began to pound, happy and excited.

Real, big money didn't rouse her scruples. Real, big money could afford to donate his wallet so she could give Lise the slip.

His eyes sought hers over his wrist. "Is that all right?" he asked, probably referring to the time.

"All right? Oh, it's great. I mean, I have plenty of time before my flight." Considering that that flight was completely imaginary, she had all the time in the world. Sabrina bit her lip and took a pensive look around. An awkward silence ensued.

Come on, you ninny
, she silently urged.
You've been following me for the past forty-five minutes. Now you've got an opening--take it!

"Perhaps..." Getting the words out seemed awfully difficult for him. "If you have the time," he managed to stammer, "I could buy you...something to eat. Or a drink?"

Sabrina spared him a sidelong glance. A man this good-looking should have developed a better technique by his age — early thirties, she guessed. But then, maybe the good-looking ones didn't need much technique. Maybe women chased them.

"Sure, a drink would be okay." The truth was she dearly would have loved a meal. It had been two days since she'd had the opportunity to eat right. She'd had to leave everything behind in Gainesville, and hadn't had much cash to begin with. But she didn't want to get too chummy with the guy. Just chummy enough to get close to his wallet...

"There's a lounge, I believe, in that direction." He gazed down at Sabrina as though he could hardly fathom his good fortune. "Oh, and my name is Vincenzo. Vincenzo Nicolazzi."

"Raven," Sabrina said, which was the closest to a real name she had. "Sabrina Raven." And then, because she knew he'd expect it, she held out her hand.

She couldn't help tensing, though, before his flesh met hers. She hated to be touched. But the Italian's handshake wasn't bad. It was brief, dry, and not particularly unpleasant.

She looked up, mildly surprised, and caught a similar surprise in his face. But before Sabrina could react to this strange phenomenon, the Italian did something far worse than the handshake. He smiled.

She wasn't prepared, but how could she have been? The man was rich. In her experience, rich men didn't smile like angels. But this one did. His smile was innocent. It was pure. It brimmed over with generous warmth.

Sabrina actually had to take a step back. Whoa. He was good. A person might almost think he truly was innocent and warm. But Sabrina knew better. No full-grown man — no rich one — was warm or innocent.

"Shall we?" the Italian asked, and indicated the direction.

"What? Oh yeah, sure." Sucking in her lips, Sabrina led the way.

The bar was crowded. Under soft recessed lighting harried passengers-to-be clustered around a scattering of gray laminate tables. Heaps of carry-on luggage surrounded each group, making navigation tricky.

Nevertheless, her Italian companion managed to get them a table near the window looking out on the corridor. Sabrina would have preferred something closer to the wall, out of view, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

At the moment, she was a beggar. God, she hadn't been this down for ten years, not since she was a runaway teenager, picking pockets outside Grand Central.

"What would you like?" The Italian held out a chair for her. "Wine, or perhaps a cocktail?"

Any alcohol would go straight to her head. Even on a full stomach Sabrina couldn't handle the stuff. "Actually, a hot cup of coffee would be great."

"
Bene
." Another smile, not quite as lethal as the last one, and he raised a hand for the waitress. Sabrina was not surprised when that personage made a straight beeline for her companion. Money learned at an early age how to command service. One of these days, Sabrina promised herself, she'd learn the knack.

Once the waitress had taken their order, the Italian turned back to Sabrina. He'd shed his overcoat and she could see the rich sienna colors and elegant design of his suit. With one knee crossed over the other and that pretty face, he should have looked effeminate. He didn't. He looked sheerly, beautifully male — something Sabrina was surprised she noticed. Not only was she presently preoccupied with staying alive, but she wasn't particularly man-crazy.

"I'm afraid this is going to sound like a — how you say? — like a line," he said.

"Ah, go ahead and try me. What's the line?" She had a mild curiosity about why this beautiful man had picked her, of all people. Meanwhile, the conversation gave her time to try guessing the location of his wallet. Probably his inside jacket pocket. Someplace that wouldn't ruin the lines of his suit. Joe had taught her how to guess such things, back when she was underage and starving.

His gaze turned unfocused, as though he were looking at something far beyond her. "That you look...so very like her."

Sabrina's attention snapped back to the Italian's face. So. That was behind the dogged pursuit. She reminded him of someone else. "You're right. That does sound like a line." But she softened the complaint with a smile. Hell, so long as she got what she was after, why complain? "Friend of yours?"

"No." He paused, thinking. "More like family."

Sabrina raised her brows. With her honey-blond hair and clear green eyes she doubted she resembled anybody in this Italian's family.

"Perhaps I should be more clear," he worried. "She is not a person. She is a painting."

"A painting." Sardonic amusement crept into her smile. Sabrina was no beauty, but she did have some curves. "In that case I'm surprised you could make the comparison--I mean, with my clothes still on."

It took him a moment to understand, and then his handsome face turned a dull red color. "Oh, no. The painting is not a nude. Certainly not. It is a painting of the madonna.
La Madonna della Montagna
."

Sabrina's eyes widened. She couldn't help a guffaw. "The madonna!" She put a hand to her mouth, trying in vain to smooth out a broad grin. "I'm sorry, but that's -- that's -- "
completely ridiculous
" — A new one."

He appeared nonplussed by her amusement. "I assure you, the resemblance is quite striking." While Sabrina struggled not to chuckle, he sketched a hand in the air across her wide cheekbones, drawing down past the beauty mark over her mouth to the sharp, cunning chin. "It's in your eyes, your expression...a certain aura."

A certain aura? Sabrina had to bite her tongue to gain a semblance of composure. She knew she had a kittenish, naturally mischievous face. Most of the time she had to bend over backwards to make it appear halfway respectable. "I must admit, you are the first man who's ever compared me to the virgin Mary."
Indeed
.

"There is a likeness," he repeated, stubborn. He turned to nod toward the waitress, who'd come to set down their coffees.

"All right, then. I'll take your word for it," Sabrina said, once the waitress had left. "So. Tell me more about this painting." Despite her immediate problems, she felt a tug of curiosity. "What did you say the name was?"

"
La Madonna della Montagna
." He reached for the packets of sugar the waitress had left with their coffee. "The Lady of the Mountain. She was commissioned by my family over five hundred years ago."

"Five hundred years." That was old. Sixteenth century. "Wouldn't that make it from the Renaissance?"

"That is correct. Since then, for five centuries she hung in a revered spot in the village chapel. Her presence, her spirit, guarded the town. Many came to pray before her. You see -- " He broke off abruptly.

Sabrina, who'd been leaning toward his jacket, halted as well. "Many came to pray before her?" she prompted. There was a faraway, glazed quality to his eyes that she liked very well. Despite her curiosity, she hadn't forgotten his wallet.

Unfortunately, his focus changed. Once again it sharpened, directing straight on her face. He leaned closer, his voice hushed. "You see, she had special powers."

"Special powers," she repeated, staring at him.

"It is true," he said. "Magical powers."

Magic! Sabrina met the quiet insistence in his eyes and realized something elemental.
Nuts. The guy was completely nuts
.

"I see," she murmured, then cursed as he leaned back in his seat and his wallet moved out of range. "Um, what kind of powers?" Keep him talking, Sabrina figured. Crazy or not, given time, he'd lean close again.

He shook his third packet of sugar. "She was said to grant prosperity." Carefully he ripped the packet open, tilted it, and then watched the granules fall into his coffee. A muscle in his jaw tightened. "And...
fertilita
. Fertility."

Sabrina's eyes narrowed. First virgins and now fertility? "You don't say."