Читать книгу She's On Top - Susan Lyons - Страница 7

Rina straightened her spine and pulled the scarf tighter around her neck. No doubt he’d patented this routine, and used it to get into the panties—no, make that thongs—of countless stars and star wannabes.

But why would he be wasting it on her? No matter how close and sexy their relationship once might have been, no way could she still be his type.

“Rina? What’s wrong? You’re scowling at me.”

Although she hated confrontation, she’d long ago learned—partly by watching her mom with her dad—that things left unsaid could fester dangerously. “I asked you earlier what you wanted from tonight, and you said to catch up, which is great. But you…God, I’m hopelessly naïve, but I’m not used to men like you. The way you look at me, the inflection in your voice…Oh, this is crazy.” How pitiful, to read a come-on into an old friend’s attempts to be nice. Why on earth should she think he—

“I want far more than just to catch up.”

Wait a minute. Had she thought those words or had he actually said them? “Giancarlo?”

His gaze darkened, heated, and he leaned toward her, that thin sweater stretching across firm pecs and revealing bronzed skin and a few curls of black hair. Under it, he was naked. She imagined warm skin over firm muscle, enough hair to tangle her fingers in—all new since she’d known him. One thing wouldn’t have changed though: the milk chocolate nipples that had hardened so readily under her exploring fingers.

She sucked in a breath, feeling her own nipples tighten.

Again Giancarlo captured her hand. His touch robbed her of any hope of thinking straight. His fingers were long and graceful, yet firm and masterful as he stroked her hand then gripped it in his. Her skin grew warm and tingly, heat darted through her veins, her breath quickened. Between her legs, her sex throbbed and tightened.

“I don’t want to rush you, mia carissima, but the moment I saw you tonight, I felt the same as all those years ago.” His hand squeezed hers, his gaze was intense and—oh my God—passionate.

No, what was she thinking? Things like this never happened to Rina Goldberg. The man was just horny and looking for an easy lay. She jerked her hand free. “Giancarlo, you may think you’re flattering me, but what I’d appreciate most is honesty.”

His mouth fell open, then he shook his head vigorously, all those shoulder-length dark curls tumbling wildly. “No,” he said, a little too loudly. Then, more softly, “I’m telling the truth. Why don’t you believe me?” He leaned forward, his gaze hooking her and not letting go. “Tell me you looked at me and felt nothing.”

“I—” Even before she’d recognized him, when he’d been a stranger across the room, she’d felt attracted. Then, when she’d looked into those familiar eyes…Yes, she’d felt, for a moment, like everything was the same as it used to be. Before she came to her senses and took another look at the handsome, successful man he’d turned into. “All right, maybe I felt like I’d gone back in time. But we can’t just…pick up where we left off.”

That couldn’t be what he was suggesting. And yet, her needy body tingled with hope.

He reached out and with his index finger stroked the back of her hand, from the tip of her middle finger down to her wrist and up again, barely skimming the surface yet creating havoc with her senses. Oh yes, he still had that magic touch.

“Why not?” he asked. Now he danced all five fingers across her skin and she knew what he was doing. The piano man was playing music.

Could she recognize it?

Of course. It was “Für Elise.” When she’d been seventeen she thought the piece was hopelessly romantic, this music Beethoven had supposedly composed for the woman he hoped to marry.

Rina remembered all the other pieces Giancarlo had played for her, and the parts of her body he’d played them on. Running scales up and down her back, pounding chords with both hands on her buttocks, tinkling delicate melodies across her breasts.

And, between her legs, composing songs just for her, to make her body sing for him.

A wave of lust poured through her and she gave a wrenching shudder. Her scarf slid off her shoulders but she made no effort to retrieve it.

She did make a grab at her scattered thoughts. “Why would you want to pick up where we left off? In your work, you must be surrounded by beautiful women.”

He shook his head. “I’m surrounded by girls who are trying desperately to create an image, an illusion, that appeals to their target audience.” He shrugged. “Not the company I would choose to share—” He broke off as a waiter lifted the champagne bottle from the ice bucket, then finished, with a smile at the waiter—“a peaceful meal in a fine Italian restaurant.”

What had Giancarlo been going to say? From that gleam in his eye, she’d guessed he was thinking about a long, sweaty, passionate night in bed.

The waiter poured the last of the champagne into both their glasses. “Another bottle?”

“No,” Rina quickly protested.

“We need something to drink with our dinner,” Giancarlo said. “How about a glass of white wine, to go with your salmon?” When she nodded he asked the waiter what was available by the glass. Rina chose a pinot grigio and Giancarlo picked a chianti classico to go with his lasagne.

When the waiter went to get their wine, Giancarlo raised his champagne glass to Rina. “No, I can think of no woman I’d rather share an Italian meal with, or a glass of champagne. Or any of the things that, if a man is very lucky, may come after.”

Rina knew her cheeks were rosy from his suggestion, and her own arousal. So was her chest, now bare of the draped scarf. She really must have had too much wine, because damned if the man didn’t come across as genuine. Helplessly she raised her glass to click it gently against his. “To sharing,” she murmured.

Quickly she added, “Dinner, I mean. And talk. That’s it, for now. We don’t even know each other anymore. Okay, maybe there’s an attraction—”

His knowing smile made her falter. Yes, there was no question she craved the man, and it seemed as if, by some miracle, he was attracted too.

“But,” she went on firmly, “that’s not enough. We’re probably not even compatible anymore.”

Another meaningful grin made her flush. “Damn it, I meant as people,” she said. “Not as l-lovers. I’m not going to bed with someone I barely know.”

Besides, Al had proposed to her and she hadn’t given him her answer.

Although…didn’t she know the answer?

The girls had told her she had to see her old lover before she’d be sure how she felt about marrying Al. And now she knew.

Sparks. Yes, they flew through her body whenever Giancarlo touched her, when his gaze even lit on her. Passion? Yes, if erect nipples and the burning ache between her thighs were any indication. Romance? What could possibly be more romantic than the most handsome man in the world toasting her, Rina Goldberg, with French champagne?

If she didn’t seize this opportunity, she might never have the chance again.

And yet, she’d never been the kind of woman who could date, much less sleep with, two men at the same time.

“Damn,” she muttered.

“Sorry?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.” Just the end of a caring friendship that quite possibly might have turned into a companionable, even loving marriage. But no, she wasn’t willing to settle. She wanted those damned sparks. Wanted the kind of passionate romance her girlfriends had found.

Even if only for one night.

Even if it was only a fantasy, an illusion, a creation of a charmer who was here today but might be gone tomorrow.

She was a fool. Al was a good man, a forever kind of man. They could have worked out that issue about him getting pushy when he didn’t get his way. How could she hurt him, cast him away for a crazy, enchanted fling with a man like Giancarlo?

Because, for her, there were no other men like Giancarlo. When she’d been a girl, she’d loved her time with him but hadn’t realized how truly amazing it was. Hadn’t known theirs would remain the standard against which she measured other relationships. A standard that had yet to be topped.

This was too confusing. She’d always believed in the romantic idea of The One. That for each woman there was one special man. She was almost twenty-seven and Giancarlo was the only man who’d ever felt special to her—and it had happened twice now.

Still, she reminded herself firmly, he wasn’t The One for the long term. She didn’t want a crassly commercial jet-setter any more than he’d want her. But if he was offering her romance, passion and fantastic sex for even just a night…

Was she utterly insane to consider it?

“Rina, what’s wrong?”

Inside her head, she bid a quiet good-bye to Al. She’d make it official tomorrow, but for her they were broken up as of this moment.

Raising both hands, she dragged her hair back from the sides of her face. “This wasn’t what I expected when I came tonight.”

“What did you expect, cara?” he asked gently.

Clenching her hair, she thought about his question. She hadn’t expected him to be so handsome. Or to come on to her. Nor had she anticipated finding him so impossible to resist.

She released her hair and it sprang free. “A high school reunion,” she said wryly. “Where people who used to be best friends no longer have anything in common. Where the chat is superficial and forced and there’s just no…” She shrugged. “No connection anymore.”

“And here we most definitely have a connection.” There wasn’t an ounce of uncertainty in his heated gaze, the conviction in his voice.

“Yes,” she admitted softly.

A smile of delight split his face. “I’m so glad you feel it too. Now, stop fighting it and just enjoy. Yes?”

“I’ll try. We’ll talk, eat dinner, see where things go.”

Even as she spoke to Giancarlo, a part of her was still worrying about Al. How could she have led the poor guy on—to the point he’d propose—then reject him?

But she hadn’t meant to lead him on. Every step of the way, she’d been honest. She’d never told him she loved him. Maybe he’d assumed it, because she slept with him.

Not a mistake Giancarlo would ever make. If—big if—she did go to bed with him.

“You’re still worried about something,” he said softly. “Something more than tonight.”

She nodded. “There’s something I need to do. Something unpleasant, and sad. It’s going to be very hard.”

“I’m sorry. Can I help in any way?”

The more she looked at him, the more she saw the boy he’d been. The engaging tilt to his head, the way unruly curls tumbled over his forehead.

She smiled across at him. “I have to do this on my own. But thank you.”

“Can you do this thing tonight?”

“No. Tomorrow.” Al was a dentist; he worked all day. She’d arrange to meet him in the evening, to break the news. Hopefully not to break his heart. Or to get into another argument.

“Then put it aside and don’t worry about it until then. Here we are, with good food growing cold, enough champagne in our glasses for a toast, so much yet to talk about. Let it go, Rina.”

He’d always been like that. Quick to shove problems aside, take the easy route. But tonight, he was right. She’d enjoy tonight and tomorrow face the consequences.

“You’re right.” She shook back her hair, as if that one head toss could free her of all troubling thoughts. “What’s the toast?”

He raised his glass. “To us, being together.”

She lifted hers and clicked it gently to his. “To us, being together.” The warm intensity of his smile brought another flush to her cheeks and chest.

She drained her champagne just as the waiter arrived with their glasses of wine and their dinners. Then she took a forkful of salmon, swirling it in tomato, lemon, olive oil sauce. “Delicious. How’s your lasagne?”

Giancarlo had been tasting too, and let out a sigh of contentment. “Fancier than Mamma’s, but very good. Here, have a taste.” He extended his fork, which held a sizable mouthful of pasta, meat and cheese.

Had to be a hundred calories in a bite. But man, did it look and smell good. She leaned forward and closed her lips around the food. She closed her eyes too, the better to savor the taste as she drew the lasagne into her mouth. “Mmm.” Heaven.

When she opened her eyes, she found him staring at her, his face taut with…was that excitement? Sexual excitement?

An unusual sense of female power filled her. Before she could talk herself out of it, she leaned forward so that her loose top slipped off one shoulder, revealing a lacy black bra strap and more than a hint of cleavage. His gaze moved down, lingered, and his eyes glittered with heat.

“More, please,” she murmured, trying to sound seductive.

He exhaled with a quick rush of air. When he scooped up another bite of lasagne and held out his fork, his hand was actually shaking.

Even a woman of her limited experience could tell he was seriously aroused.

And so was she. If she’d had Jenny’s nerve, she’d have grabbed his hand and said, “Let’s go find a bed.” Instead, she leaned forward and parted her lips to slide the lasagne off his fork.

“You have a sexy mouth,” he said, voice rough at the edges. “It makes a man imagine all sorts of things.”

“What do you imagine?” she dared to ask.

His eyes widened, and he gave a quick bark of laughter. “I can’t tell you; I’m too turned on as it is.”

“What do you want to do about that?”

“Want?” His smile flashed wickedly. “To tell the absolute truth, I want you to slide under the table, unzip my pants, and…well, you can figure out the rest.”

“Giancarlo!” God, she’d loved having him in her mouth, and loved the way he responded. The memory made her squirm with desire.

“I’d never ask you to do anything embarrassing. Besides, I’m trying to learn pazienza.” At her curious look, he explained, “Patience. All good things are worth waiting for, yes?”

“They are. We’ve waited a long time for…this.” Nine whole years, and now that she’d felt his fingers on her hand, she craved the whole-body experience.

“Do you know what I’d been thinking just before I got your e-mail?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“That my life’s been crazy and I wanted to slow down, enjoy a quiet evening, a nice lasagne. And then I read your message and thought, yes, this is what I want. To do these things, with this woman.”

He’d really thought that? And yet, obviously, he’d chosen her company over that of whatever females were working on his current video. “Well, that’s what we’re doing,” she said, trying to regain control, “so let’s continue. The food is wonderful.”

“I’m so glad you enjoy it. We should eat before it gets cold. And we’ll talk about…what would you like? Anything other than sex. You must help me be patient.”

His wink made her smile. She considered various topics of conversation. If he got onto his career in music video, the romantic mood would be spoiled. After all, what was she thinking, contemplating sex with a man who’d chosen a career she couldn’t respect?

No, enough. For tonight she wanted to preserve her rosy-colored romantic glasses. “If we’re to take up where we left off, then we need to go back. Let’s relive that summer, share the memories we’ve carried with us.” She slanted him a grin. “And I promise, I won’t mention sex unless you do.”

He smiled. “You are a tease, bella. Very well then, do you want to know my very first thought when I arrived in Banff? It was that I’d circled halfway around the world, only to end up back home, in a small village in the mountains. Except with people who were far richer and spoke English.”

“Your English wasn’t so great,” she remembered. “It’s sure improved, even though you’ve kept a touch of the accent.”

“I was so eager to learn.” His dark eyes sparkled as he added, “And you were such a great teacher.”

She flushed, thinking, as she knew he’d intended, of all the things they’d learned together. Mostly about their sexuality.

They continued to talk casually, exchanging reminiscences, as they ate their main courses. Both had chosen meals they could eat with one hand, and it wasn’t long until their free hands were linked across the table. A connection, a bond, a hint of more to come.

When their waiter cleared the empty plates and wine glasses, he asked, “Something more to drink?”

“Coffee,” Rina said. She’d had more to drink than usual, not to mention being intoxicated by Giancarlo’s charm. And she had to drive home.

Or did she? Would this evening really lead into bed? Either his or hers?

“I’ll have coffee as well,” Giancarlo said. “Rina, dessert?”

“We have an excellent tiramisu,” the waiter said.

“I’m full,” she said. If there really was a possibility she and Giancarlo were going to have sex tonight, she didn’t want a bulging stomach.

The waiter brought two cups of coffee, along with two liqueur glasses filled with something clear. “Sambuca,” he explained. “Compliments of Francesco. Please, enjoy.”

“Would you tell him molte grazie?” Giancarlo said.

Then, when the waiter had gone, he said, “Rina, will you excuse me a moment?”

“Of course.” She needed a trip to the ladies’ room anyway.

She collected her purse and made her way to the back of the restaurant, past a wall of photographs taken at one of Francesco’s earlier restaurants. Down a hallway she found a nicely lit bathroom in shades of pumpkin and stared at herself in the mirror. Flushed cheeks, wild hair, blouse slipping off one shoulder. She looked like a gypsy. Or a witch.

Did Giancarlo actually find this picture appealing?

Well, there was nothing much she could do to improve on it. No point trying to get a comb through those tangled curls. She splashed cold water on her cheeks, brushed her teeth, put on some lip gloss and made her way back to the table.

Giancarlo rose to his feet and held her chair.

Once she’d sat down, she slid her Sambuca across the table to him. She wanted to know what might come next, and this was a subtle way of asking his intentions. “I can’t drink this. I’m driving.”

“Ah yes, you drove here. From North Vancouver, you said in your e-mail.” He slid the glass back. “I think you’ve had too much wine already to be driving.”

“It’s a very long taxi ride to where I live.” And he’d been drinking too, so he could hardly suggest he’d drive her.

“I think—” He broke off as Francesco again appeared at the table.

This time, though, rather than speaking to them, the man broke into song. Opera. Rina recognized it immediately. “Nessun Dorma” from Turandot. Where the prince sings to Turandot, hoping to win her love.

Giancarlo captured her left hand in both of his and winked, making her realize this was his doing.

Rina didn’t know where to look—at the one Italian who was serenading her or the other who was gazing passionately across the table at her. She glanced around the restaurant, realizing all conversation had died and everyone else was watching Francesco. And her and Giancarlo, the favored couple.

She shoved embarrassment away and gave herself up to the moment, absorbing the powerful voice and beautiful words, the warm clasp of Giancarlo’s hands. Savoring each sensation and filing it away so she’d never forget. A gift, from Giancarlo to her.

When the song was finished, there was a moment of hush, then Francesco bowed and everyone in the restaurant burst into applause.

“Thank you,” Rina told him, her words swallowed up in the clapping. Then, as the applause died down, she dug into her tiny stock of Italian. “Grazie.”

“Prego, bella,” Francesco responded. “It’s my pleasure.” He strutted away, shoulders back and chest out, to be complimented by other diners as he crossed the restaurant.

Rina said to Giancarlo, “How did you arrange that?”

He shrugged. “They told me at the hotel, when they recommended this restaurant, that Francesco had studied opera and still sang on occasion. I thought you—we—might enjoy it. Something special, to mark our first night together.”

She had to laugh. “As if champagne wasn’t enough?” And his company, and the way he looked at her with wholly masculine appreciation?

“A man should treat his woman well.”

His woman. Maybe she was, at least for tonight. Already her relationship with Al felt as if it had happened long ago.

Rina raised the glass of Sambuca to her lips and tasted, savoring the licorice flavor. “If I can’t drive home anyhow, I might as well enjoy this.” She took another sip and said, feeling bold, “I seem to have a problem. I’m marooned downtown with no easy means of transportation.”

“My hotel is less than a mile away.” He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it, his lips soft and tantalizing, raising goose bumps. “It has a very large bed, an extra bathrobe and everything you could possibly want in the way of toiletries.”

“You had me back at large bed,” she admitted softly, finally acknowledging to both of them that this was what she wanted. One night with this man who was both the old and the new Giancarlo. She’d take this one night, then see what happened next.

“I’m afraid I’m not very good at this,” she said. “It’s new to me. Agreeing to, uh, spend the night after a first date.”

“I’m glad. But we’re hardly strangers, Rina. Remember what we said? Picking up where we left off? Don’t be nervous, it’s just me, the scrawny homesick kid who speaks broken English.”

She laughed. “That is so not the case. And yet, it is. It seems natural to relax with you. To let down my guard and be myself.”

“Why should you need to keep up a guard?”

“I guess I don’t trust my judgment. It takes me a while to get to know people, to decide if I can trust them.” Moving around all the time as she’d done as a child, one option had been to leap into instant friendships, with all the risks that entailed. She’d done that a couple of times and learned she’d rather have no friends than choose unwisely.

He nodded, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Yes. To know whether they like you for who you are or only want something from you.”

She studied him. “I suppose in your work you get a lot of that.”

“Oh yes. Some see me as a star-maker. At the very least, I can make them look attractive. Or ugly.”

If only he could make her look beautiful. On the other hand, the gleam in his eyes said that was how he saw her. How very strange. Teasingly she said, “And you’re so sure I don’t want to be on your next video?”

He laughed. “I’m positive.”

Because she was too heavy, not pretty enough? Hurt, she said, “Oh, and why’s that?” Yes, make him say it, admit he’d just been flattering her to get her into bed.

He gripped her hand firmly. “Because you’re the genuine thing, Rina. There’s no artifice in you. I may not have seen you in nine years, but that much I know.”

“Oh,” she said weakly. It seemed Giancarlo, too, was being sincere.

“Drink up,” he said. “I’m afraid my pazienza is wearing extremely thin. I can’t wait to have you in my arms.”

She wanted that too. So much. But she was nervous as well. When he held her, he’d discover how very much of her there was. But once she got Giancarlo into that big bed with the lights off, she’d make him forget her extra pounds.

One thing she was confident about was that she was a good lover. She’d learned a lot, all those years ago with Giancarlo, and she knew she’d pleased the few men she’d been with since. Her insecurity about her attractiveness made her try harder, and she knew many ways to make a man happy in bed.

The thought of pleasuring Giancarlo—and being pleasured in return—almost made her whimper with need. “My patience is wearing thin, too.” Lifting her Sambuca glass, she drained the last few drops.

Giancarlo beckoned their waiter and said, “The bill, please. And can you call us a cab?”

“There are taxis across the street at the Sutton Place Hotel. If you wave, one will come over.”

When they were ready to leave, Rina draped her scarf around her shoulders again and bent down to find her purse. Before she could rise, Giancarlo hurried to assist her. He stood behind her for a moment, not touching, but she could tell he was only inches away. His body generated a heat that made her back tingle. He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders for an instant, then he released her. “Come, cara, it’s time to be alone.”

Francesco came to wish them a pleasant evening—with a “Ciao, bella. I hope you return soon,” for Rina—but thankfully didn’t linger.

Rina’s whole body felt flushed, needy, impatient. She was glad when the door of the restaurant closed behind them and they were standing alone on the sidewalk.

The air was cool against her heated skin and she gave an involuntary shiver. She pointed across the street. “That’s the Sutton Place.” Sure enough, there were three cabs waiting outside.

“First, we need to do this.” Giancarlo turned her to face him.

He took a step closer—now he was so much taller than she—and she rose to meet him as he leaned down.

His arms swept around her and pulled her to him, firm and close, then his lips were on hers. And again, there was the comfort of familiarity combined with a heady rush of excitement.

Softly he nibbled the corner of her mouth. She did the same back, slanting her lips against his, teasing and nipping and savoring his firm, soft skin. Her eyes drifted shut. Her heart pounded and began to race as she wrapped her arms around him, snuggled closer into his embrace and felt the unmistakable ridge of his erection against her belly.

A hard, impatient cock, yet soft, patient, gentle lips. Another tantalizing combination.

The man was pure seduction.

Heat sizzled and throbbed through her, centering in a hot pulse of need in her sex.

He lifted his arms from her back to fist his hands in her hair and adjust the angle of her head. The tip of his tongue teased the crease between her lips. She sighed with desire, opening to him. He slipped inside, his tongue meeting hers in a slow greeting that quickly turned heated.

She wanted to savor his mouth too, so chased his tongue back and followed it. Mmm, he was so hot and wet, his taste purely Italian, a combination of licorice and coffee with an undertone of red wine.

So much sensation. The textures of lips and tongue, the inside of his mouth, the occasional gentle nip. That Italian taste, and the scent of something herbal like verbena from his shampoo or cologne. Under her hands, the silky fabric of his thin sweater and beneath it, the tensile strength of taut back muscles. And always, at the firm center of everything, the bold press of his cock.

She wriggled her pelvis, rubbing against him.

He groaned and thrust against her.

Damn, if they weren’t on a main street, if she were a small girl like Jenny, he could lift her up, give her the contact her body craved, drive her to satisfaction. It wouldn’t take much. She was so aroused and ready.

Funny thing was, at this moment, with this big and strong new version of Giancarlo, she felt almost petite. Well, not petite but…not huge either.

Feminine, for sure. Purely feminine.

Meltingly, bonelessly feminine.

Achingly, hungrily feminine.

She summoned the willpower to pull her mouth free of his and step back—but only because she honestly couldn’t wait much longer. “Giancarlo, I need you. Now.”

“Jesus.” He glanced around and ran a hand through his hair. Those long, beautiful fingers were shaking. “I forgot where we were.” His breathing was ragged. “Rina, you make me forget everything but you.”

“Me too.” She glanced around. It wasn’t eleven yet, and Burrard Street was busy. How many cars had driven by, perhaps even honked? How many pedestrians on their way home from dinner or movies had walked past and either smiled or scowled at them?

“We’ll get a taxi.” He glanced down. “Should’ve worn pants with pleats.”

She looked too. Oh yes, his hard-on was unmistakable. God, she wanted to touch it. Unzip his pants, take out his penis, wrap her lips around him. She barely suppressed a whimper.

But damn, why should she play innocent with Giancarlo? Once upon a time, they’d explored every single inch of each other’s bodies, done everything sexual they could imagine.

So she looked up at him and, feeling amazingly liberated and deliciously bold, said, “I want to taste you. Every inch of that luscious cock. I want to suck you. Make you beg me to stop because you have to be inside me.”

“Jesus, cara.” He took a deep breath then let it out slowly. “You’re wicked. You know what you’re doing to me.” Then his eyes began to twinkle. “But I don’t agree. You’ll be the first to beg.”

She chuckled, “I don’t think so. I give a very…” she paused deliberately, “…very…excellent…blow job.”

“Woman, you could make me come just hearing those words from your sexy mouth.”

“Well, that would be a waste,” she said huskily. “When you come, I want it to be inside me.”

“We’re getting a taxi now.” He raised a hand, waved in the direction of the taxis across the street and for good measure let out a piercing whistle.

“Thought you’d never get around to it.” She tossed back her hair as the first cab in the rank moved forward.

And yet, she was nervous. He’d cast a magic spell around her, one that made her feel free and easy, powerful and womanly. But when she glanced at her reflection in the window behind them, what she saw was the same old Rina.

Could the new Giancarlo truly be attracted to the old Rina?