“Of course I would. And will you answer my question? Why?”

He began driving again. “I didn’t intend to originally. When you told me about your trouble with your landlord, I had someone at my office look into it, just to see if I could nudge your owner into fixing all the stuff at your place.”

“You shouldn’t have done that. I could have taken care of it myself,” she said, scowling. He continued like she hadn’t spoken.

“The person I had working on it reported to me that Arthur Tamborg, the owner of your apartment complex, was in some seriously dire personal and financial straits and wasn’t responding to most phone calls. I had a look at his financials and decided the apartments he owned weren’t a bad investment. It was his lame management that was tanking things. So I decided to take the properties off his hands. I promoted somebody in order to manage, made a decent personal investment,” he paused while he paid the parking attendant, “and you got everything fixed on your list,” he said a moment later. He gave her a swift sideways glance before he pulled onto Wabash Avenue. “Why is that such a terrible thing?”

“So your decision to buy the apartments had nothing to do with me personally?”

“It related because I originally looked into Tamborg and the properties because of you, but after that, it was strictly business. It was a good investment. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think so,” he said, his gaze trained on the road.

“And it’s not going to make any difference whatsoever that you’re my landlord after we . . . after our time together is over?”

“Do you really think I’d try to hurt you somehow through your lease?” he asked, eyes flashing.

“No,” she admitted.

“I’m not your landlord. I won’t be even remotely involved in the day-to-day management of the apartments. That’d be the responsibility of the new property manager I hired.”

“I guess I don’t have any control over who buys or sells the place one way or another,” she conceded. “It just seems odd, that’s all. That you own my home.”

“Would you rather Arthur Tamborg was back?” he asked levelly as he crossed the bridge over the river on Michigan Avenue. Emma noticed several pedestrians doing a double take and staring at Vanni in the sleek, badass convertible.

“No,” she stated, frowning in memory of her dealings with the unresponsive landlord.

“Then there you have it. This way, if any other problems should arise at your apartment, you’ll get immediate results.”

“Just like everyone else who calls in with a problem,” she clarified.

“Of course,” he said smoothly as he pulled onto a side street. Emma studied him suspiciously, but she couldn’t locate a crack in his armor.

“Are we good?” Vanni asked her a few minutes later after they’d parked the car and walked down the sidewalk of a quiet, tree-lined street.

Emma looked at his profile. He caught her stare, and she couldn’t help but smile. It was hard to be miffed at him when her heart was doing cartwheels over seeing him again. He looked so tall next to her, so male . . . so beautiful.

“Just don’t do me any special favors,” she warned, forcing the smile off her face and replacing it with what she hoped was a forbidding glance.

He halted her by grabbing her hand and stopping. “What if I want to?”

Her fierce look faded at his sudden intensity and quiet question. “I meant in regard to owning my apartment complex. I don’t want any tenant favoritism.”

He gave a small smile and stepped forward. Her breath stuck on an inhale when he put his hands on her waist and the fronts of their bodies brushed together ever so slightly. “For now, you’re mine, Emma. I won’t have you struggling in any way if I can stop it. I’ll show you all the favoritism I want to,” he said before his mouth covered hers. She softened and heated beneath his kiss, his words ringing in her head.

For now, you’re mine.

By the time he lifted his head and stared down at her a moment later, she’d completely forgotten why she’d been irritated with him, or even that she stood on a city street lined with brownstones interspersed with shops and businesses. His sleek, demanding tongue and addictive taste had made her forget. He lightly caressed the shell of her ear, and her sex tightened with desire.

“It’s kind of hard to not show you any favoritism,” he murmured and Emma swayed forward, entranced by the heat in his eyes and his singular scent. “Are you going to complain more if I take you into that store right there and spoil you a little?” he nodded down the block. Emma turned to see where he indicated, her expression freezing when she saw the renowned department store on the corner. It was so exclusive and expensive that Emma had never even dreamed of stepping over the threshold, let alone shopping there.

“I don’t really need to go shopping, Vanni,” she said, backpedaling from what she’d said at Macy’s. “I was just passing the time when you found me.”

He began to walk down the street and she followed, her hand in his. “Trust me, if we didn’t need to do this, I wouldn’t be here right now. I’d have you at the Breakers in bed.”

“But I can’t—”

“You said you needed a dress and swimsuit,” he reminded her. “You’ll definitely need some new things for the trip.”

Emma sighed in exasperation as they entered the crosswalk.

“What?” he asked.

“I haven’t even spoken to Mrs. Ring yet about taking time off. Just because you act like something is going to happen doesn’t mean it will,” she said chuckling, both irritated and amazed by his absolute confidence.

“You’ll speak to Mrs. Ring tomorrow, and we’ll fly out on Tuesday,” he told her patiently. “You’ll see. It’ll be fine. And once we’re in France,” he nodded toward the department store, “you’re definitely going to want a new dress or two. Or three. This is more than just a race, it’s a social event that lasts almost a week.”

Emma glanced at the famous glass entrance to the department store. “But I can’t afford to buy things here, Vanni.”

“That’s all right,” Vanni said, reaching for the door and opening it for her. He met her stare steadily. “You’re with me.”

She shook her head, refusing to enter. He frowned.

“It’s a very simple thing, Emma. Do you want to come with me to the race?”

“Yes . . . if I can get off, that is,” she said fervently, dreading the idea of missing another week of their time together.

“If you think you’ll feel comfortable attending some of these events with me without any new dresses, then I’m fine with it. I was thinking of you in offering this.”

“Vanni,” she muttered under her breath, moved by his thoughtfulness and generosity, but torn. She glanced again anxiously at the name of the department store over the gilded entryway. If Mrs. Ring did grant her the time off and she indeed ended up going with him to France, he was correct. She’d look horribly out of place standing next to him in the extravagant European playground of the French Riviera. She didn’t want to embarrass him.

And they only had so much time together, after all . . .

He put out his hand.

“Come on. Just a couple of dresses, and then we’ll have some time to ourselves.”

“Okay,” she conceded, taking his hand.

The dressing room in the store was the size of her bedroom, featuring a lounging area with a sofa, coffee table, two armchairs, and an enormous, movable triple mirror. The friendly, chic middle-aged saleswoman, whose name was Sophia, escorted her into the changing lounge while asking her questions about fabric preferences and sizes. When Sophia asked her the names of her favorite designers, Emma gave her a wry grin.

“I doubt you’d find any labels from my closet here.”

Sophia’s smooth expression didn’t falter. “Not a problem. We’ll just introduce you to some new ones then.”