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second question and said, “I told you this morning. I’m the host of At Home Abroad .”
    “And that’s why you’re following me?” His steady gaze bore into her as he spoke, as if he could draw out what was in her mind through sheer intimidation. “Or are you here for some other reason?”
      It took every ounce of her fortitude to maintain eye contact. He’d imprisoned her in the space between his arms to compel her to respond, certainly, but there was something besides anger in his cold, assessing gaze, an emotion she hadn’t expected.  
    Astonished, she said, “I make you uneasy.”
    His eyes narrowed a fraction. “I’m not afraid of anyone, let alone an oh-so-innocent-looking American in skinny high heels.”
    “I didn’t say afraid. I said uneasy.” Which was exactly the way he made her feel. Panicky, yet attracted and fascinated at the same time. But what could possibly make him uneasy around her? It wasn’t sexual interest, though this morning she’d seen that, too. This was another emotion entirely.
    His upper lip twitched as he stared at her, the same involuntary movement she’d noticed this morning when she’d asked if his name was Vittorio. What was it he thought she wanted? This wasn't about appearing on her show.
    “You’re trying to distract me.” His strong, handsome face was only inches from hers now, so close she could kiss him with the barest of movement, if he didn't strangle her first for her perceived infraction. “Explain yourself or I’ll have the real estate agent throw you out. I doubt she wants to risk a sale because of you, not on a property with a commission as high as this one.”
    “All right.” Emily resisted the temptation to push him away. Putting a hand on his chest to give herself room to think would only worsen her predicament. “I admit that I saw which ads you circled.”
    “So you did follow me.”
    “No, not at first.” At his look of consternation, she explained, “When I said goodbye to you this morning, I had no intention of coming here. I’d taken a chance approaching you at the restaurant. When it didn’t work out, that was that.”
    “Then why did you inspect my newspaper?”
    She couldn't help but show her exasperation. “It wasn’t on purpose. I put it out of my head as soon as I left my card on the table.”
    “Yet here you are, which leaves my mind to all sorts of imaginings.”
    Was he flirting with her, or threatening her?  
    Both options were decidedly hazardous.
    “You’re making it rather hard for me to concentrate, let alone explain.” He had to realize it. Men with looks like Victor’s knew the effect they had on women. She eased to the side in an attempt to escape the prison in which he'd trapped her.  
    He moved his right hand a few inches, but only so he could gesture for her to continue speaking.  
    What did Victor do for a living? she wondered as his hand came back down on the heavy quartz countertop. Not only did he apparently have the budget for this apartment, he acted as a man used to getting his way.
    On an exhale, she said, “I went back to the office, fully intending to shoot the episode as planned. But when Rita and I walked in from breakfast—Rita’s the show’s other executive producer—we learned that the couple we originally scheduled asked to delay filming. Their son was in a bicycle accident and they wanted to fly home to the United States to be with him. Of course I thought they should go.” Seeing the doubt in his expression, she added, “I’m not heartless.”
    “I didn't accuse you of being heartless. Only deceptive.”
    He pushed away from her and leaned his hips against the top edge of the opposite counter. At the same time, Emily heard the distinct sound of high heels striking hardwood in the adjacent living room. Before Emily could respond to Victor's accusation, the real estate agent rounded the corner, carrying a thick information packet emblazoned with the building’s name. She