The Raven (The Florentine 1)

The man who’d kissed her the evening before.

She had limited experience when it came to kisses, but she recognized his expertise. The recognition was accompanied by the cooling tide of guilt.

William was handsome and he could be charming. Certainly he’d helped her more than once. But he was an art thief, a member of almost the lowest form of humanity.

And I let him kiss me.

Raven told herself she hadn’t pushed him away because she’d been emotional. She’d been frightened. She couldn’t be attracted to a criminal.

More precisely, she wouldn’t allow herself to be attracted to a criminal. No matter what.

She pulled on a robe to greet Lucia and was delighted when the woman set her brunch out on the balcony that opened from the bedroom.

Raven was grateful that two aspirin had been left on the tray, since her leg and ankle were aching. If the pain worsened, she’d have to start taking her prescription pain medication again.

She sighed at the thought.

As she enjoyed the noon sunshine her mind naturally drifted to the evening before.

William York was behind the theft of the illustrations from the Uffizi Gallery. Whether they’d belonged to him in the past or not, Raven didn’t know. Certainly his story was at odds with the account the Emersons had given.

In addition, William seemed almost too young to be a serious art collector. The collection he’d amassed downstairs rivaled that of many museums in quality, if not quantity, leading Raven to believe it had been acquired over decades, if not centuries, by his family.

Since Professor Emerson had already mentioned William as a potential suspect, it was more than likely he’d been investigated. Knowing he was guilty, she wondered why he hadn’t fled the city and returned to England.

Raven looked down at her half-eaten sweet roll. She’d suddenly lost her appetite.

William claimed to have saved her life, and killed in order to do it. While it was possible he’d lied about that, too, she couldn’t explain the strange images that continued to flood her consciousness—images of a dark alley and blood and the faces of the man and woman she’d seen the night before.

And there was the fact that she’d sketched William’s face before seeing it. She must have met him before.

If he’d killed to protect her, she certainly didn’t condone it. But she knew her story would be too fantastic for the police to believe. She’d had enough trouble with them already.

She could try to persuade William to give the illustrations back, so they could be enjoyed by everyone and not relegated to a private room in his villa. Given his attitude and the way he’d spoken about the illustrations, this task would not be easy.

A shadow fell across the table.

“Good morning,” William greeted her. “Did you rest well?”

“I found it difficult to sleep.” She pulled the edges of her bathrobe closed. “Would you like to join me?”

“I’ve eaten already.” He stepped out of the sun and back into the master bedroom, hovering in the doorway.

She found the movement strange.

“Don’t you want to sit in the sun?”

“Not particularly.” He sounded prim.

She gestured to his fair skin. “Do you burn easily?”

“I find the sun uncomfortable and tend to avoid it. Is breakfast to your liking?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Raven felt conspicuous eating in front of him, especially since her waist had noticeably thickened overnight. She pushed the tray aside and sipped her coffee, looking out over the extensive gardens and trees at the back of his villa.

“You have a beautiful home.”

“Thank you.”

Raven shifted in her chair in order to appraise him. His clothes were impeccable and clean, although he appeared to be wearing the same black shirt and jeans he’d worn the night before.

Raven inferred he was wearing new clothes that resembled the others.

“Do you always wear black?”

He seemed taken aback by her question. “Ah, yes.”

“It’s a warm, sunny day. Aren’t you hot?”

“Not really.” His body tensed.

His nearness reminded her of the kiss they’d shared the evening before. It also reminded her that he’d had to convince himself not to kill her. It was time to disentangle herself from this situation.

“Thank you for your hospitality and coming to my rescue last night. I really should be going. I’d like to visit Bruno in the hospital.” She placed her coffee cup on the tray and gave him a smile calculated to disarm him.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you go.”

A feeling of alarm coursed through her. “Why not?”

“A longer conversation is in order. I’ll leave you to dress and meet you downstairs. You have one hour.”

Raven watched as he strode through the bedroom toward the door, his spine ramrod straight.

“I don’t want to wait,” she called. “Let’s talk now.”

William paused before turning around. He did not look pleased.

“We can’t talk here.”

“Because?”

William walked back to her so quickly he was almost a blur.

“Because your proximity to my bed reminds me of all the things I’d rather be doing with you.”

Raven’s mouth dropped open.

William took a moment to regain his control, willing his body to obey his mind.

“Get dressed and come downstairs.”

He returned to the door, closing it loudly behind him.

Raven sat in her chair, dumbfounded.

She was not accustomed to receiving attention from men. Mostly she’d been treated a little like wallpaper or a piece of furniture.

At college, she’d had two boyfriends. The first one was affectionate, but not especially passionate. The second was duplicitous. Neither of them ever looked at her as William had just done, even in their most intimate, secret moments.

William had seen her and wanted her. He knew she wasn’t a size zero, with a dainty figure. Still he wanted her in his bed.

She tried to reconcile his expression of wanton desire with the tenderness with which he’d kissed her the night before. And the way he called her Cassita.

He doesn’t even know my true name.

Raven’s realization was enough to stop her speculation about William’s desire and his probable talent in bed. She was not lonely and desperate enough to trade her respect for herself (and her name) for an afternoon of pleasure.

Plus, he’s a criminal.

She needed to remind herself of the fact.