Page 87 of Ricardo

The car smells like leather and wet and the faint trace of him that has become far too familiar in the last few hours.

I settle my bag on my lap and check the file again because I need to remember I am a competent professional woman with a task.

The file is there and dry.

Ricardo gives the driver instructions, and the SUV pulls away from the club.

At first, the storm is inconvenient. Heavy rain, slow wipers, tires hissing over wet pavement. Then it worsens. The sky opens completely, rain striking so hard that the world beyond the glass turns silver and smeared. The road disappears in sections beneath fast-moving water. Thunder cracks close enough that I flinch despite myself.

Ricardo notices.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.” I tighten my grip on my bag. “I just hate being in cars during storms.”

The driver slows as brake lights gather ahead of us through the rain.

Another roll of thunder follows.

Ricardo leans forward slightly, watching the road through the windshield. The driver says something in Italian. My Italian is rusty—it's been years since I was in Naples—and this was too rapid for me to catch any of it.

Ricardo answers, just as rapidly.

His voice changes when he speaks Italian. Not softer exactly. More fluid. Sharper in places, warmer in others. Though the words go over my head, the order in the tone is unmistakable.

The driver responds once, then switches lanes carefully.

A few moments later, he turns off the main road.

I look from the window to Ricardo. “Where are we going?”

“My house.”

My heart gives one hard, stupid kick.

“Your house?”

“Yes. It is close.”

I glance toward the road we have left behind, then back at him. “W-Why?”

“Because it is not a good idea to drive into the city right now. The roads will be locked within twenty minutes, if they are not already. Wall-to-wall traffic, standing water, bad visibility.”

The SUV turns onto a narrower road. Rain pours through the branches in silver sheets.

“We’ll wait out the storm there,” he says.

At his home.

At Ricardo’s home.

Alone. Together.

I panic. “I have to get this paperwork to Mario.”

“I will have a courier take it in.”

I stare at him. “In this weather?”