“So,” Vito was saying, and his Italian accent was doing wonderful things to her as well as his warm, admiring eyes. “Am I to call you only bella signorina? Though if I do,” he murmured, his lashes sweeping over his eyes as his gaze dipped to meet hers, “it would be nothing but the truth. Bellissima signorina...”

She took a breath. The air seemed to have too much oxygen in it suddenly.

“It’s Eloise,” she said. “Eloise Dean.”

He smiled again, warm and intimate, and she felt breathless now.

“Come,” he said again, and there was that low husk in his voice again, “lean on me, Signorina Eloise Dean. I’ll take care of you.”

She gazed up at him. He seemed very tall, she realized. And so absolutely devastating...

Her breath caught, her lips parting softly, her eyes wide as she just stared up at him, drinking him in. The sculpted mouth quirked again. Long lashes swept down over deep, dark eyes.

“Oh yes,” he said softly, “I’ll take care of you...”