One Summer at The Villa. Rebecca Winters

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      She heard the door to the bathroom open, but she didn’t look up. Her heart rate bumped up a couple of degrees. She was beginning to get used to it, though she didn’t like that she couldn’t control her reaction to him.

      In her periphery, she saw him cross to the bedroom door. He was still shirtless, the white gauze standing out in the darkened room like a beacon. He pulled the door open. A gust of wind blew into the room, and guttered the candle. Cristiano closed the door again and the candle flared back to life.

      “Is it bad?” she asked, and then felt silly for doing so. Of course it was bad. There was a tree in the house, for heaven’s sake.

      “The storm is blowing a lot of rain our way. I think it will intensify over the next few hours.” He retrieved another shirt from his bag, slipped it over his head.

      “That door isn’t going to hold, is it?” Antonella said.

      “No, probably not.”

      “Shouldn’t we go into the bathroom? Or the dressing room? At least it’s another door between us and the storm.”

      He nodded. “Si. The dressing room is better. It is an interior room, and there are no skylights that could shatter in the night.”

      It didn’t take long to gather their minimal supplies. Antonella tried not to think about how it would feel to be confined in such a small space with Cristiano for the next few hours. She would get through it, however. She simply had to remind herself it could be worse.

      They could be impaled beneath that tree, for instance…

      When she thought they had everything, Cristiano left the small room, returning with the blankets and pillows from the bed. Antonella accepted a pillow gratefully, putting it behind her and leaning back against the wall. She tucked her legs under her and bowed her head. Her eyes were heavy, but she couldn’t succumb to sleep just yet. She was far too keyed up.

      That kiss. It didn’t matter how hard she tried to shove away the feelings, the images, she kept feeling his mouth on hers, his tongue stroking hers, his hands hard and smooth against her heated skin. She’d wanted him.

      She still wanted him.

      It was disconcerting as hell.

      If she hadn’t stopped him, where would they be now? Would they still be making love? Or would they be tangled together, sleeping?

      She wished she’d never seen him naked, because it was simply too easy to imagine his body lying alongside hers. To imagine the smooth, tanned flesh, the ridges and knots of muscle, the flat, hard stomach that begged her to press her mouth against him, to explore him completely.

      “What are you thinking, Antonella?”

      Her head jerked up, her gaze colliding with his. Seeing her need mirrored there no longer surprised her.

      “I was thinking how I wished I were at home in my own bed. With Bruno.”

      His gaze shuttered. “Bruno? This is one of your lovers?”

      Antonella laughed. “Bruno is my dog. He is the light of my life and I miss him.”

      “You were thinking of your dog,” he said, clearly not convinced. “This is not what I would have guessed.”

      “Then you don’t know everything, do you?”

      “Not everything, no. But the things I do know, I know quite well.”

      “And yet you can be mistaken, it seems.” Except he hadn’t been mistaken at all. But she wasn’t about to admit it to him.

      “What kind of dog?” he asked.

      Antonella nearly breathed a sigh of relief. “Bruno is a Pomeranian. He’s very cute.”

      Cristiano’s mouth twisted, but she was relieved to see it was only mock disdain. “A girly dog. I should have known.”

      “And I suppose you have a great big pony of a dog, yes? The kind you can saddle up and let a child ride?”

      Cristiano shifted his pillow and leaned back. “I have a cat, actually.”

      Antonella felt her jaw drop. She snapped it shut again. “A cat? Seriously?”

      “Scarlett is quite probably bigger than your Bruno.”

      A giggle bubbled in her throat. “You have a cat named Scarlett?”

      Now that was completely unexpected.

      Cristiano answered her with a grin that made her heart turn over. “Scarlett O’Hara, because she is a self-centered Southern Belle.” His smile faded by degrees. “She was my wife’s. Julianne was from Georgia, and Gone with the Wind was her favorite movie.”

      “Oh.” Antonella busied herself smoothing the fabric of her dress over her thigh. What was she supposed to say in reply? And why had he shared this now when he’d been so angry with her earlier? It forced her to see him as human, and she wasn’t sure she liked that.

      When she thought of him as a Monterossan, an enemy, she could fight her attraction to him. But when he was a man who’d lost his wife? A sexy man who seemed tender and caring? Who kept a cat named Scarlett O’Hara and knew she’d been named after the main character in his wife’s favorite movie?

      Madonna mia, it was too much.

      “She’s getting old now,” he continued. “And she’s very spoiled. I cannot seem to say no when she wants a treat.”

      The picture of this hard, ruthless man feeding a cat treats was mind-boggling. “She has you wrapped around her paw,” she ventured.

      “Yes.”

      His stoicism in the face of so much pain saddened her. She had to speak, even if he got angry with her. “I did not know about your wife,” Antonella said, her heart tripping along faster now. “How she died, I mean. I know you may not believe me, but I wouldn’t wish what happened upon anyone. I am sorry for your pain.”

      He closed his eyes. “Perhaps you are.”

      She waited for him to say something else. When he didn’t, she prepared to lie down and try to get some sleep. The day was catching up with her and she just wanted to forget all the pain and trouble for a few hours. Maybe when she awoke, the storm would have abated and they could get out of here. It was a lot to hope, but hope was all she had left at the moment.

      Her stomach rumbled loudly and she pressed her hand against her belly to muffle the sound.

      Cristiano’s eyes snapped open. “Why didn’t you say you were hungry?”

      “I didn’t realize it until now.” She truly hadn’t. Besides, how was she supposed to be hungry when she’d been riding an emotional roller coaster since this morning? The emotion hadn’t slowed, much less stopped. Hunger seemed minor in comparison.

      Cristiano glanced at his watch. “It’s been hours since breakfast. СКАЧАТЬ