Taken by the highest bidder Read online

  He was the right man to take her virginity.

  He was the right man to teach her about making love.

  A loud horn sounded outside, not a normal car horn but a beeping blaring sound that jolted Sam and Cristiano apart. They jumped and looking up they saw the yellow tractor and Gabriela bundled in borrowed winter clothes, jumping down.

  Gabby was back and for the first time ever, Sam wished the little girl could have stayed away another hour.

  Gabby came bursting into the house, laughing and breathless while the white-haired farmer climbed off his tractor to follow Gabriela, Sam and Cristiano met the farmer on the doorstep. "We got you your girl back," the farmer said, cheeks ruddy with cold. "Later today we'll try to get your driveway plowed."

  "When you've time," Cristiano said, thanking the farmer and sliding a folded bill into his hand.

  The farmer nodded, pocketed the twenty-pound note and turned away before turning back. "She told me you're Cristiano Bartolo," the farmer said, indicating Gabby. "And I wondered if maybe you're not Bartolo's boy. You sure look like him. Italian and all."

  Cristiano smiled. "I am."

  "Well, I'll be." The farmer clapped Cristiano on the shoulder once, "You're a good man. I like you." He nodded at Sam, chucked Gabriela under the chin and headed back to his tractor.

  But before Sam could organize her thoughts, before she could ask Cristiano what the farmer had meant, Gabriela was dancing around them. "It's like a fairyland outside" she cried Jumping from one foot to the other. "Come see, Sam. It's like The Nutcracker ballet. It's magic!"

  It was indeed magic; Sam had to agree, standing with Gabby at the open cottage door.

  The great oak trees were covered in white. Icicles glistened from the edge of the cottage roof. Bright powdery snow glittered beneath bright blue skies and sunlight that had never been clearer or more golden.

  "Let's go for a walk," Gabby cried, still bundled in her bor­rowed winter clothes.

  Actually a walk sounded exactly like what Sam needed and she went to get her coat while Gabby waited out front

  Gabby looked like a puffy blue marshmallow as she smiled up at Cristiano. "Are you coming with us?"

  "For a walk?" he asked,

  "Yes,"

  He shook his head. "No. I'll skip the exercise."

  "Exercise is good for you," Sam said, sliding her arms into her coat. She didn't have the warm clothes Gabby did but a brisk walk should help warm her up.

  "So is a toasty fire," he answered dryly.

  Sam made a face at him then extended a hand to Gabriela. "Suit yourself. We'll be back in a little bit."

  Outside, the air was biting cold and the snow deep and powdery. They set off for the Rookery, but walked around the back of the old building to what had once been the kitchen garden.

  Almost immediately they sank knee deep into a chilly white mound. Gabby gasped even as Samantha did,

  "It's freezing," Gabriela said breathlessly.

  "Look," Sam said, pointing to the edge of the roof where melt­ing snow had frozen into long spinning strands of ice. "Isn't that the most gorgeous icicle? Looks like a waterfall."

  "Like in Switzerland," Gabby agreed, as they tramped further on, slow quiet steps that required lots of concentration on Gabby's part-Sam glanced down at the top of Gabby's head. "You remem­ber that trip?"

  Gabby's fingers tightened- "We went for a ride in a carriage and had bread in melted cheese for supper."

  Gabby wasn't even three yet then. "That was two years ago”

  Gabby's hazel eyes narrowed- "It was fun."

  Sam's chest squeezed with emotion. "It was fun," she agreed softly- The visit to Bern had been the first—and last—trip Sam had taken with Gabby and Johann. Johann had said he had busi­ness in the city and while he attended meetings, Sam and Gabby played tourist, taking a horse-drawn carriage through the city and then stopping later on the way back at a chalet-style restaurant where they sat outside beneath a heat lamp and dunked chunks of crusty bread in a golden cheese fondue.

  They were huffing a little as they reached the back garden where dormant rosebushes looked like snow-flecked sculptures.

  Sam brushed snow off one of the benches and she and Gabby sat. Almost immediately Sam could feel the chill from the bench seep through her pants.

  "Has he come to take me back with him?" Gabby asked, touching Sam's sleeve-Sam covered Gabby's mitten with her gloved hand. For a mo­ment she couldn't bring herself to speak, not trusting her voice.

  "I heard him," Gabby added. "That first night he was here when you thought I was sleeping."

  Sam tried to sound severe. "You shouldn't eavesdrop. Because the problem with eavesdropping," she added more gent­ly, "is that you don't always hear the whole conversation and you miss the meaning of what is being said."

  "So he's not going to take me home?"

  Sam lifted Gabby's mitten hand, pressed a kiss to her fuzzy palm. "Not without me, he isn't."

  Cristiano stood at the kitchen window watching Samantha and Gabriela make their way back to the cottage. They made a picture, he thought, teeth scraping as he bit back the hot emo­tion rushing through him.

  Fair, pink-cheeked Samantha, her long loose spiral curls dusted with snow, bent down to hear whatever it was Gabriela was say­ing, and Sam looked exactly the way he imagined a snow angel would look. And Gabriela, with her long dark hair escaping her cap in wisps, black tendrils clinging to her cheeks that were rosy from the cold, looked so vibrantly alive that it made Cristiano's heart hurt.

  Gabby should always look so healthy and happy.

  He'd do everything in his power to ensure her health and happiness.

  As he watched, Sam impulsively wrapped her arm around Gabby's shoulders, giving her an affectionate squeeze and he smiled reluctantly. Sam and Gabby looked nothing alike and yet they suited each other perfectly. And Sam, even though she'd been employed as Gabby's nanny, was more mother than any mother he'd ever seen.

  He left the doorway, went to the fireplace in the living room, held his hands over the heat.

  It was difficult being here with them when they were to­gether. They had such a long history together and even though he was Cabby's family, he felt like the outsider.

  He was the outsider. And that hurt.

  The front door opened and voices and light filled the cottage. Cristiano blinked at the brightness of the light and yet welcomed the warmth they brought to the cottage. Sam and Gabriela liter­ally lit up a room.

  "Cristiano," Gabby called from the doorway, still wheezing from laughing and running in the snow. "Come play with us."

  Play in the snow? Cristiano grimaced. Maybe as a child he'd loved to ski, but since his accident, he avoided snow and ice. "How about a card game instead?" he suggested.

  Gabby appeared in the living room, cheeks red, light hazel eyes fringed by long black lashes. She clapped her gloved hands sending little snow flurries across the room. "But it's beautiful outside!"

  "And cold."

  "Pssh" she said dismissively, waving one gloved hand in his direction- "You're not that old. Come out and play. It'll be fun. It's snow."

  He wasn't that old.

  Bene, grazie, he thought- Great, thanks. And yet he was amused. Women chased him. He was never short of female com­pany, most adored his wealth, his looks, his celebrity status, and yet here he was, sequestered with two who seemed impervious to his charms.

  And then as Cristiano looked down into Gabby's little face, her dark eyes so much like his, his heart ached. "I don't play in snow very well," he said gruffly,

  "That's okay. All you have to do is try your best."

  What a minx. She was certainly her father's daughter. "Is that all?" he drawled, mocking her.

  "Yes," She reached for his hand, tugged on it, leading him to­ward the door. "Do you need your coat? It's chilly out"

  It was as if she'd taken his heart in her small fingers, instead of his big calloused hand. He bit down on the inside of his che
ek to hide the intense emotions tilling him. He'd spent his life want­ing family, craving a traditional family, but it had never been his to have. His father wasn't the sort to settle down. His father wasn't the sort to want anything but speed. Risk. Danger. Cristiano had it in his blood, too, but not to the extent his father did.

  And Gabriela...

  Cristiano shook his head, amazed by her bright eyes, quick mind, and unflinching nature. He knew he'd never actually send her to boarding school, especially not after the miserable experiences he'd had.

  But Samantha didn't have to know that. Let Sam think he was a brute. Let her think the worst. He didn't need her ap­proval, and he didn't need her to like him. He just needed Gabriela to come home.

  Sam blew on her fingers as Gabby led Cristiano out of the house by the hand. He, like Sam, didn't have warm winter clothes, and she supposed she could have dug through the clos­ets and bureau drawers at the Rookery to find heavier coats and caps and gloves, but it seemed wrong. The Rookery had been shut up so long, closed after Charles died; it felt more like a shrine to Charles than a place orphan children had once lived.

  But Cristiano, even gloveless, tackled the snowman with Gabby, helping pack big snowballs and then stack the balls to form the snowman's body. Together they hunted up sticks for arms and ransacked the kitchen for a carrot for the nose, but sadly all the carrots were used in the shepherd's pie. but they finished with stones for the eyes and mouth and then Gabby's cap and scarf.

  Sam was just about to warm milk for hot cocoa when Cristiano and Gabby returned. They were laughing, shivering and discussing the merits of their snowman they'd named most originally, Mr. White.

  "Let's get out of your wet clothes' Sam said, taking Gabby's cold, damp hand in hers.”I think you'll need a warm bath, too. You're frozen through."

  "But it was fun!" Gabby cried, turning to look at Cristiano for affirmation. "Wasn't it?"

  He nodded, and his thick dark hair, worn long, formed inky ringlets on his brow. The curls hadn't been so prominent earlier and Samantha suspected that tramping about in the snow had brought the curls to life.

  And Gabby smiled broader, dimpling with pleasure. She couldn't look away from Cristiano, her gaze riveted to his face.

  He was very handsome, Sam admitted silently, reluctantly. With the chiseled features, the very strong nose, and dark lashed eyes, Cristiano was good-looking in that hunky Italian film star way, but Sam knew that's not why Gabriela adored him.

  Gabriela adored him because he talked to her, listened to her, and made her feel important. And with a pang Sam realized Gabby had never had this before, not from a man anyhow.

  Johann had spent very little time with Gabby, and the time they did spend together inevitably revolved around Johann's mood, Johann's temper, Johannes problems. Tragically Gabby had been lost in the shuffle and it was only now that Sam began to understand how much the little girl had craved attention, and needed love, from a father. Gabby might have called Johann Papa, but Johann had never been her father. Not in name, not in word, not in deed.

  "You're not leaving now, are you?" Gabby asked him, as Sam tugged on her hand, trying to steer her toward the small bath­room.

  For a moment Cristiano said nothing and then he shook his head slowly. "No/' His voice was sober, "I'm not going any­where without you."

  Gabby's smile returned, and it was bright, all light and hap­piness. "Good. And we'll take Sam with us when we go."

  We'll take Sam with us when we go.

  Gabby's innocent words echoed in Sam's head while Sam prepared the makeshift bath. Sam had essentially said the same thing to Gabby on their walk earlier in the afternoon, but it was different coming from Gabby.

  Once Gabby was out of the bath and dry, Sam dressed her and towel-dried her hair, and let her sit close to the fire while Sam combed her wet hair. "I'll bring your cocoa in here," she said to Gabby. "Don't sit too close to the fire, though. I'll be right back,"

  And even though Sam wasn't gone more than a couple min­utes, by the time she'd returned with the cup of hot chocolate, Gabriela was out, sound asleep in front of the fire, a fistful of old tin soldiers in her hand.

  Sam covered Gabby with a blanket and went to hang up the towels and wet winter clothes to dry. Cristiano was still in the bathroom so Sam headed into his room first but on opening the door she discovered she'd been mistaken.

  Cristiano wasn't in the bathroom anymore. He'd already fin­ished his bath and she'd caught him with his back turned toward her just starting to dress. Sam stopped short at the sight of a naked Cristiano.

  His back was broad and tan, his hips narrow, his buttocks muscular, hard, but paler than his back and legs. But it was his thighs that caught her attention. His thighs, though thickly muscled, were heavily scarred.

  Burns, she thought. Burns and more. A long incision indicat­ing he'd been cut Surgery, yes. But whether for setting broken bones or a skin graft, she didn't know.

  Cristiano had heard the door open and he turned suddenly, covering his lower belly with his towel. 'Thank God you're not Gabby."

  She made a soft incoherent sound. His chest was as tan and muscular as his back, his biceps knotted with muscle but the front of his thighs were like the back—scarred, disfigured with scars that ran down his hard, carved quadriceps toward his knees.

  He saw she was staring and she flushed, looked away and then up into his face. His gaze met hers, and he gave her a long level look but said nothing.

  "I was going to dry Gabby's wet things in here," she said awkwardly. "They're still so wet"

  "Leave them on the bed. I'll do it"

  She nodded, a hasty embarrassed nod, before dropping the clothes and leaving.

  But back in the living room Sam couldn't forget what she'd seen. Cristiano's skin, so tan and gorgeous above his hips, looked nothing short of tortured below. He’d obviously been badly hurt, burned in a fire. But how and when?

  Cristiano reappeared moments later, dressed, his black hair combed, the curls tamed, the sage linen shirt open at the throat, the tails out over his sturdy khaki pants. He was so tall, so male that Sam found herself wanting to move toward him, to touch him and see if he was as warm and hard as he looked.

  It was a crazy thought. It made no sense because she didn't trust him, didn't want to like him, and yet she was also so drawn to him, like a fly to sticky paper.

  Her attraction, as well as her ambivalence, scared her. She hadn't been attracted to a man in years and years.. .since Charles, actually, and yet as much as she cared about Charles, she'd never felt this kind of curiosity or interest She'd never really thought of Charles as a man. In her mind, Charles was always just a good person—kind, compassionate, saintly—but not physical, and certainly not sexual.

  "When did she fall asleep?" Cristiano asked, gesturing to Gabriela who was curled up on the floor.

  "Right after her bath. I went to get her hot cocoa, and when I came back she was out"

  "I worry about her sleeping so close to the fire. ‘I’ll carry her to bed." Cristiano crouched down and scooped Gabriela into his arms as though she weighed nothing, and yet as he stood, she saw his jaw tighten, an almost imperceptible tensing of the mus­cles in his jaw.

  He still hurt, she thought.

  Funny, if she hadn't seen the actual burns on his thighs, she wouldn't have known he'd been injured. He compensated well, but now she could see things she hadn't seen before, the adap­tations he'd made to compensate for loss of agility, probably even muscle weakness. Like his slower walk. She'd thought it was ar­rogance, confidence. Instead it was practicality. And when he sat, he nearly always chose a chair with arms, sitting down by lean­ing on the chair's right arm. And then dropping into the seat.

  As he returned to the living room she studied his walk more closely, saw for the first time the slight hitch in his step, how he put a little more weight on one leg than the other.

  Probably playing with Gabby in the snow hadn't helped, she thought. He didn't have boot
s and in his leather dress shoes he wouldn't have had much traction.

  He casually took a seat in one of the old leather chairs facing the fire. And he did just what she remembered: he leaned on the chair's right arm, dropped his right hip onto the leather cushion and then the left. His thick hair, now nearly dry, looked glossy in the firelight and the dark beard shadowing his jaw emphasized his straight nose and his firm expressive mouth.

  And Sam, who'd felt such conflicting, ambivalent things for Cristiano, felt something new. Tenderness. Admiration. Despite everything, she liked him. But she had no desire to complicate an already complicated situation, so any attraction she felt would have to be suppressed- Gabriela came first. Gabriela's stability was everything.

  "I'm sorry I walked in on you," Sam said, taking a seat on the couch. "I should have at least knocked."

  "It's fine. F in sure it's not the first time you saw a naked man."