Widow - Anne Stuart [49]
That didn’t sit well, either. She didn’t like to go unnoticed. She smiled stiffly, not willing to give up. “And how is the job going? Is there any sign of the missing paintings?”
“Not a trace. I don’t suppose you have any idea where they might have gone to?”
“Me? How would I know?” Her innocence was just a bit overplayed.
“Because you were living in the house when they disappeared, and unlike the other members of the household you’re neither senile nor busy working for a living. At least, not by most standards.”
She missed the veiled insult, which was just as well. “I’m a student at the university,” she said stiffly. “I’m working on my degree.”
“In what? Art appreciation?”
“Art history.”
“Interesting,” he murmured. “So you have to spend a lot of time in Florence for that, don’t you? The old man must have missed you.”
“He would have, but I took the last two semesters off. He needed me.”
Sure he did, Maguire thought wryly. Undeterred, he continued, “So it must be nice living so close to Florence. You get the peace of the countryside and the excitement of the big city nearby. The best of both worlds.”
“I’m tired of the countryside,” she said frankly, her eyes meeting his. “I’m tired of Italy. I want to travel.”
“Then for your sake I hope the old man left you a tidy amount in his will,” Maguire drawled. “Travel’s expensive.”
“Not if I go with someone.” She moved toward the bed with a slow, graceful languor, and he noticed her feet were bare.
She had very pretty feet, with painted toenails. Unfortunately feet were not much of a turn-on for him, and neither were manipulative little girls looking for a way out.
“Honey,” he said with a laugh, “I can’t afford you.”
She halted, clearly affronted. “What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean. You need a new sugar daddy now that Pompasse has kicked the bucket, and so far I’m the only male around. But you can do a hell of a lot better. I’m too old for you.”
“I like older men,” she said. “Besides, Pompasse was probably twice your age.” She sat down on the bed beside him, making one last attempt at charming him. It didn’t work.
“Then you need someone blinded by your beauty. I’m afraid I’m too much of a cynic for you. I can see right through that manipulative little brain of yours.”
She turned off the phony seduction like flicking a light switch, and if her pout was childish it was at least a lot more honest. Not that he was anyone to put much store in honesty, he reminded himself. “But I need someone to take care of me,” she said.
“Why don’t you go home to your family?”
“I’d rather die,” she said flatly. “Don’t you like me? Don’t you think I’m pretty? Don’t you want to sleep with me?”
“Sure I like you, yes, I think you’re absolutely gorgeous, and no, I don’t want to sleep with you,” he said, wondering if he was being noble, stupid, picky or all three. It wasn’t every day that women like Gia offered themselves to a battle-scarred soul like himself. He had to be nuts to turn her down. Considering the stories she could tell if properly motivated. But the damnable thing was, he wasn’t in the mood. Not for her.
“Tell you what,” he added, out of pure malice. “Charlie’s fiancé is supposed to be arriving sometime soon. He’s a lawyer, he’s rich, and he lives in New York. Why don’t you try your luck with him? After all, if Pompasse liked you both then maybe this guy will, too. And I get the impression that you wouldn’t mind sticking it to Charlie. Am I right?”
He’d struck pay dirt. Her dark eyes lit up with pure malice. “She already told me I could have you with her blessing,” she said.
“Did she, now? Well, I’m not so easily had. And if she doesn’t care, what’s the fun in it, right? She’ll think twice about handing her wealthy fiancé over to you, though. I’m a poor man, sweetheart. You need someone to keep you in style. I’m betting Charlie’s fiancé is just the man to do it.”
She slid off the bed, as sunny-tempered as a child. “You’re a very smart man, Maguire,” she said. “I underestimated you.”
“I didn’t underestimate