Antonio Tenderly Touched Her Face With A Fingertip. “Do You Remember What You Asked Of Me Before You Fell Asleep, Maria?”

She did. Vividly. Show me what I need to know about love.

And, strangely enough, the only thing that had changed was her confidence that she could handle the lessons she’d requested of him.

“I remember,” she said, watching his expression. “I’d still like you to show me. I’m just not sure how.”

He observed her for a long time before answering. “It’s up to the man to know how. It’s up to you, the woman, only to say yes or no.”

A rush of heat swept through her body. When she tried to speak, the words dried up before crossing her lips. At last she managed the only ones that seemed important. “Then I say yes….”

Dear Reader,

In honor of International Women’s Day, March 8, celebrate romance, love and the accomplishments of women all over the world by reading six passionate, powerful and provocative new titles from Silhouette Desire.

New York Times bestselling author Sharon Sala leads the Desire lineup with Amber by Night (#1495). A shy librarian uses her alter ego to win her lover’s heart in a sizzling love story by this beloved MIRA and Intimate Moments author. Next, a pretend affair turns to true passion when a Barone heroine takes on the competition, in Sleeping with Her Rival (#1496) by Sheri WhiteFeather, the third title of the compelling DYNASTIES: THE BARONES saga.

A single mom shares a heated kiss with a stranger on New Year’s Eve and soon after reencounters him at work, in Renegade Millionaire (1497) by Kristi Gold. Mail-Order Prince in Her Bed (#1498) by Kathryn Jensen features an Italian nobleman who teaches an American ingenue the language of love, while a city girl and a rancher get together with the help of her elderly aunt, in The Cowboy Claims His Lady (#1499) by Meagan McKinney, the latest MATCHED IN MONTANA title. And a contractor searching for his secret son finds love in the arms of the boy’s adoptive mother, in Tangled Sheets, Tangled Lies (#1500) by brand-new author Julie Hogan, debuting in the Desire line.

Delight in all six of these sexy Silhouette Desire titles this month…and every month.

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Mail-Order Prince in Her Bed
Kathryn Jensen

KATHRYN JENSEN

has written over forty novels for adults and children, under various names, and lived in many interesting places, including Texas, Connecticut and Italy. She currently resides in Maryland with her husband and two feline writing companions, Miranda and Tempest, who behave precisely as their names indicate—the first, sweetly…the second, mischievously. Their thirty-two-foot sailboat, Purr, promises to carry all four on many new adventures. Aboard her is where Kathryn does much of her summer writing.

For Roger, with all my heart:

Two souls, unaware, felt the Italian sun.

Now sail love’s fair seas on the S. V. Purr.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

One

The situation was far worse than he’d imagined. Antonio Boniface stepped off the elevator at the tenth floor of the Washington, D.C., high-rise and stared at the plaque on the heavy oak door facing him—Klein & Klein Public Relations and Advertising. Quickly, he checked the address on the slip of paper, his eyes narrowing, the muscles across his stomach clenching as if in preparation for an opponent’s punch. Marco had said nothing about the place being a business establishment. He’d assumed he would end up at the woman’s apartment.

Don’t make more of this than necessary, he told himself firmly. A simple explanation to this Maria McPherson, the client Marco had been on his way to see before Antonio and U.S. Immigration had caught up with him. That was all that was required.

“Scusi, signorina—” No! English, he corrected himself, speak in English! “Pardon me, miss. Mr. Serilo is no longer employed by the Royal Escort Service. If you tell me how much you paid for his services, I shall be happy to reimburse you.”

There. What was so difficult about that? For one thing, he hadn’t counted on approaching the woman at her workplace with such delicate news.

But too much was at stake to back down now. He couldn’t let Marco’s use of his family’s illustrious name bring further dishonor. The Bonifaces d’Apulia had once ranked alongside the Medicis in power, had been benefactors to great artists including Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci. Their aristocratic roots extended back to the twelfth century, included two popes, illustrious statesmen, men and women of vision and pride. No rogue servant would be allowed to tarnish that name while Antonio lived!

Determined, he turned the knob and pushed through the door, into a gray-and-beige reception area furnished in sterile Scandinavian decor. The receptionist’s desk was vacant. No one seemed to be around. What to do now?

Suddenly, he heard shouts burst out from behind a half-closed door to his right. Antonio swung around, strode toward it with purpose, peered through the crack.

The conference room was jammed with men and women in business attire. On a long mahogany table at the room’s center was a neon-frosted cake, candles ablaze. Poised over the cake, her cheeks puffed out in preparation for extinguishing a blinding array of candles, was a petite young woman with cool gray eyes and long, wavy hair the color of champagne. She delicately blew out each candle then straightened and smiled nervously at the crowd around her.

“There. Now everybody enjoy a piece of cake. I really do have to get back to work,” she said, starting to turn away.

“Whoa! Not so fast, Maria.” A tall woman with blunt-cut black hair laughed, stepping forward to block her path. “Your present hasn’t arrived yet.”

A titter went up around the room, and Antonio guessed that everyone knew what that gift was to be.

Marco.

Clearly, the woman whose birthday they were celebrating did not.

He observed the waiflike creature, feeling sorry for her. Sensing also, in a sudden, too-vague recollection, that he had seen those gentle features before. Somewhere. The sense of familiarity was haunting, gnawed at his mind. But both place and time ultimately eluded him.

Maria shook her head nervously. “Please, Tamara, you shouldn’t go to all this trouble for me.”

“Oh, it’s our pleasure, dear. I think we’ll get as much out of this gift as you will.”

“Not if she’s lucky!” a voice rang out from the crowd, and everyone broke into laughter.

So that was their plan, Antonio thought. These sophisticated, brash PR types had decided to have a little fun at the expense of their bashful co-worker. They had sent for a mail-order prince as offered in the escort service’s vulgar advertisement.

Fortunately, his good friend the Senator had seen it and sent him a copy. The knave had been using Antonio’s name and official title, Il Principe di Carovigno, as his own. At least the service hadn’t been bold enough to use a photograph too!

In a way, it was a lucky thing for Miss McPherson that he’d learned of his former employee’s deception and sent the Casanova packing. The young woman he was watching tentatively nibble a slice of the gaudy cake wouldn’t have to suffer the indignities of Marco’s foolish performance, whatever that might entail. For all Antonio knew it might have involved removing articles of clothing. Or worse!

But would his walking in and announcing that the game was over only delay the young woman’s torment? A new scheme might soon replace the original farce. His heart went out to her. If there was any way of saving her further embarrassment…

The solution came to him in an unexpected flash of inspiration.

Antonio pushed through the door and into the conference room. All talk ceased. He smiled around the room at the women, fixed the male employees with a daunting glare, then turned his darkest, most mysterious gaze on the birthday girl.

“Ah, signorina,” he said, bowing as he approached. He lifted her limp fingertips to his lips. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you, cara mia.” Yes, he was laying the accent on a bit thick, but he suspected that would have been Marco’s style.

A worried smile hovered over Maria’s lips. She blinked up at him, at a loss. “Y-you have?”

“Si. Your friends have arranged for you to share l’avventura with me. I believe you have the rest of the day off?” The raven-haired woman nodded, her eyes wide, appreciative and more than a little envious. “Andiamo, cara. My car waits for us.”

Maria shot a panicky glance around the room, then looked pleadingly at Antonio as she sidled closer to him. “You don’t have to do this,” she whispered. “I know it’s all a joke.”

“But Signorina McPherson, it is my pleasure,” he said aloud, giving her a conspiratorial wink. He placed a hand at the hollow of her slim back and guided her firmly toward the door. She wore a conservative sweaterlike dress of a synthetic fiber—black, a bit scratchy to the touch.

He imagined her in cashmere, perhaps a soft blue to set off her eyes. Much better.

Tamara finally found her feet and rushed to catch up with them. She handed Maria her purse, coat and a card. “Have fun, honey. This will explain the services your date is prepared to offer. Be sure to let us know all the details tomorrow.”

Maria blushed a bright pink, snatched at her things and didn’t look back as she allowed Antonio to escort her out of the office to a chorus of cheers and hoots.

“Would you like my driver to help you carry anything else down?” he asked, allowing the exaggerated accent to fade.

“Ah, no…this is fine,” she said, tightly. “Let’s just get on the elevator and I’ll explain everything to you.”

“Certainly.” He let her step on ahead of him, admiring the view from behind. Yes, cashmere would suit her. She had an elegant figure. She just didn’t know how to dress. Or perhaps she couldn’t afford quality clothing.

As soon as the elevator doors shut, Maria faced him. “Listen, I know this is your job, but you can drop the phony aristocratic act now. They were just trying to embarrass me. You’ve done your job.” Her chin lifted and cool mist-gray eyes darkened as if it took a great deal of courage for her to speak. And now she seemed to be struggling to hold eye contact with him. “I don’t know what else you have been paid to do, but you can forget it. I don’t date strange men. I have no interest in a romantic…adventure,” she finished at last, looking flustered.

“You have other plans for the celebration of your birthday?” Antonio asked. “A party with your family?”

“No.” She laughed as if uncomfortable that he was prolonging the conversation. “No party. I’m going home. I expect I’ll enjoy my afternoon off with a good book and a hot bath.”

He raised a questioning brow. “Alone?”

“Yes, alone!” she gasped, sounding short of breath. “What kind of woman do you take me for?”

“A lovely, intelligent, sensitive one,” he said simply. He wasn’t trying to flatter her; he was being perfectly honest.

After a moment, the young woman apparently realized her mouth was resting open and she brought her lips tightly together. She scowled at him. “Who are you, and how do I turn off the Latin-lover act?”

He refused to be offended. After all, the poor thing must be confused by all that had happened in the past twenty minutes.

“My name is Antonio Boniface, Il Principe di Carovigno,” he explained solemnly. “I only wish to save you further harassment from your friends. And, by the way, I am an Italian citizen, not a Latin lover, as you say, and I—”

“Listen, you,” she interrupted with surprising force, “I know you were hired to do a job. What do you need to prove you’ve done it? A signed receipt? A customer satisfaction form filled out? Just give it to me now, and I’ll sign—oh my!”

They had stepped out from the lobby of the building onto Connecticut Avenue and stood on the sidewalk beside a sleek, ebony limousine. Antonio’s driver had positioned himself beside the rear passenger door. He swung it open, the snappy brim of his uniform cap inclined politely toward Maria.

She swallowed and turned to Antonio, her cheeks flushed, eyes wide and glistening with childlike amazement. “Tell me this isn’t part of the package.”

“It’s part of the package, as you put it,” he said with a shrug. He always engaged a car and driver when he traveled in unfamiliar cities. At home, he preferred to drive himself in the Ferrari. There he knew the twisting coastal roads intimately and enjoyed controlling the powerful vehicle.

“Oh, jeez,” she breathed. “I’ve never ridden in a real limo before.”

He smiled, charmed by her innocence.

“Let me at least transport you home,” he offered gently. “I would like to explain something to you on the way.”

She hesitated. “I don’t know…maybe we should just call it quits now and—”

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” he murmured, reaching out to take her hand again.

She nearly pulled away, then followed his gaze upward to the windows of the offices above. Rows of faces stared down at them.

“Do you want your friends to know that you’ve…what is the expression? Got chicken feet?”

She laughed, all the tension draining from her face. “You mean, I’ve chickened out…or I’ve gotten cold feet. No, I certainly don’t want to give them that satisfaction.” She shot one final grim look above them, then allowed Antonio to help her into the rear seat. Sliding across the smooth leather to give him room, she called out to the driver, “I live in Bethesda, Maryland, 755 Mullen Street. If you’ll drop me off, I’ll be most grateful.”

He closed the door behind them, then walked around the car.

“Your driver does know where Bethesda is?” Maria asked.

“I’m sure he does. I hope it’s a long ride. I have a lot to explain, Miss McPherson.” Antonio smiled. He watched as her glance followed the motion of his lips.

She sighed then shook her head as if denying herself a particularly fattening dessert. “Oh my, you’re awfully good. Listen, you’re a very nice looking man, handsome really. And you play your role well. But I’m just not interested in your kind of…service.”

She gave an almost imperceptible shiver of pleasure as she slipped the card Tamara had given her, unread, into her coat pocket. Her upper lip had become lightly beaded with perspiration, and her eyes were too bright. He was pretty sure she didn’t even realize the signals her body was giving off.

“Maybe it would be best if we just pulled around the block and you let me off there. I can take the bus home like I usually do.”

“No,” he said bluntly.

“No?” She looked alarmed now.

“On second thought,” he said slowly, “I believe you deserve a real celebration. Do you have friends you’d like to invite to come along?” He could explain all about Marco, Immigration and his real identity after she’d calmed down a bit.

“Friends? No, not really. I mean, I have college friends, but they’re back in Connecticut where I grew up. And the people I work with—” She shrugged as if unable to put her thoughts into words.

“They aren’t like you,” he supplied softly.

“No,” she murmured, “they aren’t like me. Take today, for instance. They get a kick out of singling out a person on their birthday and finding the most effective way to embarrass them. Tailored humiliation, I call it. I tried to take the day off, like I did last year when I’d just started working for the company, but my boss insisted she needed me.” She sighed. “It’s all in good fun, I suppose. But I’ve never liked being the center of attention.”

He nodded, intrigued by her lack of ego. So unlike the women he’d known.

“So we shall celebrate quietly, just the two of us. Si?” His flight didn’t leave until the next morning. He rarely allowed himself time away from the groves or the mill and factory. Spending an afternoon with an attractive American woman wouldn’t exactly be a hardship. Besides, after handling the Marco catastrophe, he deserved a little vacanza.

She laughed and rolled her pretty gray eyes dramatically at him. “The two of us? Alone? Oh, I don’t think so.”

“Why not? A pretty woman like you deserves at least to be treated to a delicious meal in a gracious setting on her special day. Why wouldn’t you allow yourself this simple pleasure?”

She gave a little growl of frustration from deep within her throat. To him it sounded delightfully sexy. “It does sound awfully tempting. I can’t remember the last meal I ate out that wasn’t fast food.” Good, she was at least debating her decision. “This is already paid for, right? I mean, you’re not going to hand me the check at the end of the meal, are you?”

He laughed. How fresh, how entertaining she was!

He had fully intended to explain about Marco, then leave her at her door. Just spiriting her off in the limo might have been enough to satisfy her work friends. But he sensed that if he took her home now, when she was questioned the next day she wouldn’t lie. She would admit that she’d let her hired prince leave, then they would all feel gratified that they had sufficiently shamed her.

However, if he actually romanced her for the day, in the most innocent of ways, of course, she’d at least have a great story to tell. She’d come out the winner.

He liked that idea. She seemed such a nice person. He wanted to give her as much armor as possible against their obnoxious teasing.

Maria wrapped her arms around her body and pressed tense shoulder blades into the buttery leather cushions of the limousine. Beyond the tinted windows, the Washington cityscape passed. The famous cherry trees hadn’t yet blossomed, but they were heavy with pink buds in the late morning light.

She felt awkward, out of her element. Her stomach was doing flip-flops because of her excitement. She didn’t know where to put her hands, where to look…or not look. One minute her glance settled on her companion’s sensuous mouth as he spoke, the next her eyes drifted to his wide, strong hands, resting on the elegant gray wool encasing his thighs.

She didn’t even know his real name, and here she was ogling his thighs! She more than half suspected he was ready to sleep with her, might even have been paid to do so. Did she dare look at the services listed on her gift card?

Her throat and cheeks flamed at the thought. When she tried to focus on the passing Washington sights, all she saw was his reflection in the smoky side window of the limo. He was watching her, thinking she didn’t know. The realization sent a provocative ripple of warmth down her spine where it settled in a tingling pool inside her.

“I should go home to change first,” she said, glancing down at her conservative black wool dress, “if we’re going anywhere fancy for lunch.”

“Prego. Wear something that makes you feel feminine and happy,” he suggested in a rich baritone.

She tried to ignore the way his words resonated pleasantly along her nerves. Sort of tickling. Sort of nice. What would she wear?

Nearly everything she owned was black or shades of neutral. Work clothes, chosen not to attract attention, to give her a professional appearance and avoid feminine vulnerability. Or else jeans and sweatshirts—those were for weekends. There had never been a reason to buy anything else, even if she could have afforded more. Maybe Sarah, her neighbor, would lend her one of her scores of dresses. Something at least with a little color in it.

“You’d look good in—” he seemed to be considering options “—perhaps an Ungaro, or a Dolce frock. Or one of the newer styles I’ve seen from Positano.”

“Positano?” She laughed, remembering a recent article in Vogue that she’d drooled over. “As in Italy and ultra-high couture? Listen, you don’t have to keep up the act for my benefit.”

“I don’t?” He lifted heavy, dark brows. There was a hint of amusement on his full lips.

“Of course not. I know you’re from around here, hired to escort me.” She brought out the card and flicked it at him. “The polite way of saying date me for money.” She gave him an understanding smile to let him know there were no bad feelings. “A prince? That’s honestly how your agency bills you?”

“That’s who I am,” he said mildly. He took the card from her and slipped it into his suit jacket pocket.

She gave a little snort. “Prince, indeed. Titles went out of style with fairy tales. Don’t they know that?”

“I wasn’t aware.”

She told herself she should hate the smug way he was observing her. But he was just so delicious to look at, it was hard to find fault with him.

Thirty minutes later they arrived at her apartment house. Maria slid closer to the door. The driver moved quickly, opening it for her. She felt Antonio come across the seat after her.

“You stay here,” she instructed him firmly, as if he were a mischievous puppy being told to heel.

“Escorting the lady to her door is the gentlemanly thing to do,” he objected, looking disappointed.

“Yeah, well, gentlemanly or not, you’re waiting in the car.”

She wasn’t about to let a call boy, or however they referred to themselves, into her apartment. Things were already complicated enough with him sitting on her street in a limousine.

It was a good thing most of her neighbors were at work. Someone was bound to be home, though. She wondered if she told Mrs. Kranski in 7B (who was undoubtedly staring out her window even now) that she was attending a funeral, would the woman believe her?

Maria punched in the security code and let herself into the building. She hit 8 in the elevator, tapped her foot impatiently as she rose to her floor. Another second and she was through her front door, breathing raggedly.

Was she insane? Agreeing to go with this stranger to her own private birthday celebration. But maybe she could pull this off. Just go out for lunch with the guy, give him as generous a tip as her weekly budget would allow, then be back before six when most of her neighbors arrived home.

Ten minutes later, she’d donned a nubby purple sweater and black wool skirt. Conservative black, low-heeled pumps. Off-black panty hose. Her only real gold jewelry (the tiny heart-shaped studs she’d gotten free when she’d had her ears pierced) and a fresh application of makeup completed the job.

She was ready for anything!

Anything, she realized when she returned to the car, except for this amazingly gorgeous man, whoever he really was. When he saw her coming down the steps to the sidewalk, he signaled his driver who swung the passenger door wide with a flourish. Her date stood up out of the car to let her pass, then held out a hand to guide her down and into the limousine.

“They certainly do train you guys well, I’ll say that much,” she murmured as she slipped back across the lake of gray leather.

“Mi scusi?” He sat beside her.

“Well,” she began nervously, “it’s just that practically no one has good, old-fashioned manners these days. My mother used to complain about that all the time.” She knew she was babbling, but she had to keep talking to control the runaway pace of her heart. “By the way, what should I call you, Prince?” She grinned, feeling silly just saying it.

He was looking at her that way again. As if she amused him. It wasn’t that she minded being entertaining. It was just that she so infrequently got that sort of reaction from men. From anyone.

“Antonio,” he said at last. “That’s my real name.”

“Oh.” Maybe it was.

“Your mother lives near you?” he asked.

“No,” she said regretfully, as the car pulled smoothly away from the curb. “My mother died two years ago. Cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

She was aware that he was observing her very closely. She blinked twice, taking care of the threat of tears. “It was hard. For both of us. We were close.”

“But for comfort you have the rest of your family—”

She was already shaking her head. “No one really close. But it’s okay. My father was never in the picture, and I was an only child. I have an aunt in Connecticut. We send Christmas cards,” she added with an effort to sound brighter.

“So you’re alone,” he said, “truly alone.”

She glanced across the car at him, and she could have sworn there was honest sympathy reflected in his eyes. Strange, she thought, someone in his line of work caring at all. After a while, she would have thought men like him would have become immune to their clients’ personal traumas. Sort of like bartenders.

“I have my work. It can be satisfying.” She slanted a quick look at him without turning her head. She could feel him still watching her. She wondered why he’d suddenly gone quiet, and what he was thinking.

A moment later Antonio sat forward on the seat and spoke quietly to the driver. She couldn’t make out his words.

They drove toward the center of the city, gliding over Wisconsin Avenue, through fashionable Chevy Chase. The car finally pulled up in front of a store she’d passed by many times but never would have dared step inside.

“Versace isn’t a restaurant,” she said helpfully.

“I know. But I’ve changed my plans. Where we’re going, you’ll feel more comfortable wearing something different.”

She looked down at her outfit. “This isn’t dressy enough?”

He tipped his head to one side and observed her objectively. “It doesn’t do you justice,” he stated. “Come. You decide after you’ve tried on a few pieces.”

Maria let out an involuntary little snort. “Now I know this isn’t part of the package deal. My office pals would never spring for anything this extravagant. Do you realize what stuff in a place like this costs?”

“It will be taken care of,” he said simply.

She stared at him then smiled, feeling a little daring. “All right. If you’re game, so am I. But no one in Versace is coming within ten feet of my charge card!”

He laughed and shook his head at her. “Agreed, cara.”

An hour later they left Versace Couture with a slim gold box, in which Maria’s old clothes, shoes and hose had been packed beneath shimmering layers of tissue. She wore an elegant powder-blue, cashmere suit with a gold brooch, and sleek Italian leather slings with tiny heels. All purchased for her through a mysterious arrangement between Antonio and the saleswoman that involved only a signature and not even a glimpse of a check or plastic. The sales staff all but genuflected as he left the boutique.

Maria had become a believer. Almost.

If he wasn’t actual royalty (which she still found hard to accept), he at least had one soaring credit allowance and the respect of high-end merchants—neither of which was likely to come as a perk for working as a professional escort.

This took serious mental adjustments.

Next stop was I Matti, an upscale Tuscan-style trattoria, on Eighteenth Street. Antonio ordered for her, and she was delighted with his choices. They dined on lamb shanks and pasta with a heady tomato sauce redolent with olive oil, accompanied by a delicious Barolo wine.

She couldn’t help questioning him further. “You’re really Italian then,” she said as they returned to the limousine.

“Yes.”

“And rich?”

“Very.” He seemed more amused than offended by her questions.

She nodded, thinking about times in the distant past when she’d been called gullible.

She had fallen for Donny Apericcio’s game, playing Doctor and Patient, when she was seven. She’d had to undress to be “treated” for her pretend ailment. And she had believed Becky Feinstein in high school when the popular girl had congratulated Maria on making the yearbook committee. It had been a cruel joke.

But those episodes were kids’ stuff, embarrassments she’d gotten over long ago. Allowing herself to be charmed, possibly even seduced by a stranger, was of the adult world. A game she wasn’t about to play with any man, rich or not.

“So-o-o-o,” she said pushing Antonio’s wide hand off of her knee where it had wandered as soon as they’d seated themselves in the limo. “You’re an honest-to-goodness prince, and you have a perfectly reasonable explanation for why you’re in this country, standing in for a paid date.”

“Si, my former valet, he was posing as me and causing my family terrible embarrassment.”

“Valet,” she repeated thoughtfully. “And what do you do in Italy? Own a vineyard or something?”

“Olive groves, a mill where the olives are crushed for their oil, and a bottling factory,” he corrected her, smiling proudly. “Passed down many generations through my family.”

She absorbed these new details. “Listen, I hope you’ll understand my confusion. I didn’t know you, but I do know my co-workers. They once hired a stripper dressed up like a pizza delivery person to surprise a man who was retiring. Then there was the singing kangaroo.”

“Kangaroo?”

“You don’t want to know,” she assured him with a roll of her eyes. “The thing is, I’m going along with this for one reason only. To save myself grief in the office.”

He looked a little disappointed. “I thought you were coming with me because you’d never ridden in a limousine.”

“That too,” she admitted quickly, uncomfortable that he’d remembered an unguarded moment of girlish enthusiasm. “But I really don’t need all this wining and dining stuff to be happy on my birthday. A good book and a hot bubble bath are just fine. And I don’t mind being alone,” she added quickly when he opened his mouth as if to comment. “I enjoy my privacy.”

Which was true. To a certain degree.

She’d always needed time to herself. Time to read, to write in her journal, to garden or listen without interruptions to a CD of her favorite opera. A cup of sweet tea and a melt-your-knees tenor singing to her while she soaked in steaming water was her idea of heaven.

But there were times, more and more often these days, when she’d have liked someone to eat dinner with, someone to talk to about her day or snuggle up with in bed at night before falling asleep. These were other kinds of quiet times.

Sex? The word popped into her head. Sex would be nice, she imagined.

Everyone said it was an indispensable part of life, although she believed most people made too much of it. Someday she’d be able to judge for herself. That time would come when she found the man she would marry.

Until then, she had promised herself she wouldn’t surrender totally to any man. Her mother had made that mistake, and had been left alone with a baby. Maria admitted to herself that she was curious, maybe even a little anxious as the months and years wore on and she felt child-bearing years slipping away from her. But she wouldn’t be foolish.

Antonio’s hand returned to her knee. This time she eyed it thoughtfully, but didn’t brush it off. “Where to next?” she asked.

“Next, we go to Espazio Italia. On my last trip to this country I saw there the loveliest terra-cotta pieces outside of my own country. I would like to buy presents for family back home and, if you like, something for you as well.”

She shrugged, having already decided it was easier to go along with him than fight a mulish man. “Sounds harmless enough. Why not?”

So why did she feel as if she’d just stepped off a cliff into thin air? Why did her instincts shriek at her that, with that simple gesture of lifted shoulders, she had just set forces in motion over which she had no control?

Two

Maria was delighted by the profusion of amazing hand-made pottery from Sicily, Taormina and Grottaglie. The brilliant colors evoked Mediterranean sunshine and made her feel cheerful just by looking at them.

Antonio bought a pretty glazed bowl and a small figurine of an ebony horse, and had them wrapped—for safe travel, he told the clerk. It seemed odd that he was purchasing items that had originated in his own country, but maybe he was too busy with his olive groves to go shopping very often at home.

He offered to buy Maria a pretty vase she had admired, but she politely refused after flipping over the price tag. “I’ll save up for it and come back someday.” But she knew she never would. Everything in the shop was gorgeous but way out of her budget’s league.

At last they drove back across the city as the sun set, and Maria felt as if she were melting into the limousine’s seats. She hadn’t felt so relaxed, so pleased with a day in as long as she could remember. If humiliating her had been her friends’ goal, their plan had failed miserably. This day and Antonio had been wonderful gifts.

The car pulled up in front of her apartment building. Maria sat up straight and was about to turn toward the passenger door beside her when Antonio’s hand closed around the back of her neck and easily guided her back toward him.

“Sei bellissima,” he murmured, then kissed her expertly, softly on the lips.

It happened so fast, she didn’t have time to draw a breath or protest. When he pulled back a few inches to observe her reaction, she was speechless.

“You still don’t believe me,” he said. “I can see it in your face.”

She shrugged, but the words came out in a froggy little whisper. “I believe you’re Antonio Boniface from Italy. It’s the prince part that’s still a little hard to swallow.”

“A pity you’re such a cautious woman.” He tapped one finger on her chin, her cheek, then the sensitive lobe of one ear.

“What’s wrong with being cautious?” she asked, mesmerized by his voice as much as by his touch.

“You will miss out on a lot of life’s pleasures.”

She laughed nervously, her heart thudding in her chest. “I don’t suppose we’re talking about chocolate cake or a good movie?”

“No.” He gave her an amused smile.

“Listen,” she said over a sudden dry spot in her throat, “I think I know what you’re getting at. I’m just not in the habit of sleeping around.”

“I know that.” His finger continued its path, tracing her lips, trailing down her throat.

She gulped. “You do?”

He nodded slowly. “You’re easy to read, Maria McPherson. You were an obedient child, and now you’re a careful woman. You don’t entice men, intentionally that is. In fact—”

He studied her face thoughtfully, then ran an experimental hand around behind her neck and brought his fingers up through the strands of her hair at her nape. The sensation was electric. She shivered deliciously.

“In fact, I wonder if you’ve not been too careful.”

“In, ah…in what way?” she asked breathlessly.

“In the way of totally avoiding satisfaction. By running from the joy of sharing yourself with a man.”

He was asking if she was a virgin. “This is getting way…way too personal,” she stammered.

He smiled apologetically but didn’t remove his hand. It felt pleasantly rough, not what she’d expected of gentry, if he was that. His fingers tangled playfully in her blond waves.

“Only an observation. I’m fascinated by your decision. If you elect to wait for your life mate, that is an honorable choice—one which any man should respect. I only wonder that a lovely woman like you shouldn’t be more eager to experiment a little.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t curious,” Maria blurted out, then realized she had made a tactical error in this matching of wits.

She suddenly wondered where the driver had gone. He was no longer in the front seat, but he didn’t seem to be waiting outside her door either.

“I mean, of course, anyone is curious about something they’ve never tried, something everyone talks about and requires at least one scene in every movie you see. That would be natural.”

“Of course,” he said. “Natural.” There, again, was that enigma of a smile. He didn’t insist upon an explanation, but she felt compelled to give one.

“Listen, my not wanting to have sex with you, a stranger, if that’s what you’re hinting at, has nothing to do with how attractive you are. Believe me, if I were to choose a man on looks alone, he’d be someone like you. On top of that, you have great manners and that super accent, and you’re fun to be around.”

“But you wouldn’t sleep with me?” He was teasing her, yet he was also serious. She could see mixed motives in the dark glitter of his oh-so-blue eyes.

“No!” she gasped. “I don’t even know you, Antonio. For goodness’ sakes, you could be married!”

“I’ve been honest, I told you my name and where I’m from. Now I add that I’m not married. Dio! I can see you still don’t fully believe me.” He sounded honestly frustrated. “How can we get to know each other? You tell me.”

She let out a long, weary breath. After all, she didn’t want to hurt the man’s feelings. “Listen, come upstairs for a cup of coffee. I think I have a pound cake in the freezer. But this is just a way for us to talk, okay? I’m not luring you up to my apartment to have my way with you.”

“Certainly not,” he said, agreeably.

“Or to let you have your way with me,” she added, just to make things perfectly clear.

But she feared all her warnings were doing no good. The dangerous twinkle in his eyes worried her. On the other hand, she’d already decided he wasn’t a threat. And even if he were, the walls of her apartment were onion-skin thin. One scream would bring three sets of neighbors running to her aid with the police soon to follow. Neighbors looked after each other in Bethesda.

She opened the door that led straight into her living room and turned, by habit, to lock the door behind them. Almost at once, she felt Antonio move up close behind her. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, warm, inviting her to turn to face him.

If she didn’t take evasive action, he’d kiss her again. She stepped to one side, ducked, maneuvered around him and aimed for her kitchen.

He didn’t follow her, as she feared he might. Instead, he strolled around her little apartment checking out her knickknacks—her collection of seashells, her dainty demitasse cups and saucers displayed on their own cherry wood wall rack—while she made coffee and nuked a Sara Lee.

Finally, they sat on her couch and sipped and nibbled in electric silence. She thought she could hear her own heartbeat drumming in her ears. Her palms were moist and hot.

It was she, despite all common sense, who returned to their earlier conversation. “It’s just that I believe sex to be only one factor in a complex relationship that develops, over time, into marriage. My mother had me when she was very young. She never went to college because of me. Her whole life was different than it might have been because I came along, because my father disappeared when she told him she was pregnant.”

“And she supported both herself and you on her own?” he asked.

“Yes. It must have been terribly hard for her. I just don’t want it to be like that for me, raising a child alone. I want a husband first, then children. Everything in its proper order, you see?”

He took a bite of cake then nodded thoughtfully. “I understand.”

“But, you’re right, a person can’t help being curious. I mean, at work every day, people tell jokes then look at me to see if I get them. They know, I guess, that I’m sort of…inexperienced, and it amuses them.”

“You’re charming,” Antonio murmured, a smile lifting the corners of his lips.

“And you have a one-track mind.” She rolled her eyes then laughed at his hurt expression.

He put his plate on the coffee table and leaned toward her, his wide hands braced on his knees. “I’m not as obsessed with sex as you imagine. I just haven’t had much time or desire to be with a pretty woman, not for several years now.”

She pinched off a morsel of cake to plop into her mouth. He certainly was an unusual man. Not at all easy to figure out. No woman in years?

“Are you telling me you’re no longer just trying to make up for what your former employee did? The time you’re spending with me now is personal?”

“It always was.” Before she could figure out what that was supposed to mean, he looked away from her so that she couldn’t read his expression. “Tell me, what will happen when you return to work?”

Maria grimaced. “Oh, they’ll bombard me with questions. They’ll demand to know everywhere we went and everything we did.”

“And you will say?”

“I’ll tell them about the restaurant and the lovely meal, about the clothes and seeing the beautiful ceramics.”

“But they will pester you for more, for they’ll want to hear what occurred later.”

“Yes, I suppose they will.” The thought made her uncomfortable even now. “But I’ll tell them nothing happened.”

He nodded. “Si. And they will laugh. Again.”

“I suppose.”

She stared down at her half-eaten cake, then impatiently shoved the plate off her lap and onto the table in front of her. A daring thought struck her.

“I could make up something. What do you think? Maybe if I told them racy tidbits about you and me in bed, then they’d leave me alone. They’d see that their plan to embarrass me had backfired.”

“How good are you at lying?” he asked.

She pursed her lips and considered. “Not very.”

“So you have a problem.” He stood up and walked to the only window in the room.

It overlooked the side of another red-brick building. He stared through the glass pane as if at a breathtaking vista. She knew his mind must be elsewhere, and she couldn’t blame him. They were of two vastly different worlds. He was probably bored to tears with her.

“Call your office and leave a message that you won’t be in tomorrow,” he said abruptly.

She laughed. “Why would I do that?”

He turned to face her, his eyes bright with fun, devious with mystery. “Because you’re having an affair.”

“What?”

“Because you can’t bear to leave the arms of the man who has made passionate love to you all afternoon.”

She choked over her response. “You’re insane!”

Rushing to her he pulled her off the couch. “Do you want to return to them as the meek, cowed Maria? The helpless target of their humor?”

“Well, no, but I’ll have to go back sooner or later. It is my job, after all. They’ll only need to look at me to know that nothing happened.”

“Exactly,” he agreed.

Maria thoughtfully chewed the tip of one fingernail, but it didn’t help. “If there were some way to learn what it is like…you know, to learn without actually doing it.”

“Well, there are certain films. But these aren’t the sort of things a woman of your caliber should be exposed to.”

“I’m not even sure I’d want to watch other people…you know.” She felt a wave of heat rise up her throat. “Well, I’m not going to give myself to any man unless we’re married,” she repeated, “so that’s that.”

“Not entirely.”

She squinted up at Antonio warily. Donny Apericcio came fleetingly to mind. “If this is a trick to get me into bed—”

“No trick, just a suggestion.”

She just glared at him.

He seemed oblivious to her lack of enthusiasm. “I assume you haven’t reached the age of twenty-two without being kissed?”

“I’m twenty-five, thank you. And yes, of course I’ve been kissed…and I’ve kissed back plenty of times,” she defended herself.

“Good. Have you touched a man and let him touch you?”

“You mean, petted?” She knew she was blushing furiously now. “Sure. A little. It was okay.”

“If it was just okay, you haven’t really been touched,” he said, his voice lowering to a husky mellowness.

If he’d been standing closer to her, she would have evaporated. Even at the distance of half a room away, a pleasant warmth rippled through her. She winced, willing her body to behave itself. “I’m not sure what you’re suggesting, exactly.”

“I’m offering to demonstrate to you how it is—between a man and a woman—without risking your virginity. I could teach you, cara.”

She swallowed, her eyes widening despite her attempt to remain composed. She suddenly felt as limp as an over-cooked noodle. “I don’t think this is a good idea. Even talking like this isn’t a good idea.”

She started to cross the room toward the door, having decided to ask him to leave. But Antonio moved quickly in front of her. She came to an abrupt and graceless halt within inches of his broad chest. He was so near she could feel the heat of his body through their clothing.

“I wouldn’t hurt you. I would stop immediately if anything I said or did offended you,” he promised.

She frowned. Why was this sounding like a win-win situation? Why was she even considering such an outlandish proposal?

Because, she answered her own questions, she liked him. And she really was curious. Had been for as long as she could remember.

She wanted to know what her husband would look like and do on the first night of their honeymoon. Wanted to be ready to respond to him appropriately, to please him.

At first, she had told herself that was one of the exciting things about getting married—not knowing, looking forward to the unpredictable, the new. But as time passed and she met no one who even remotely interested her in a serious, marriagelike way, she began to wonder if she was holding out for the wrong reasons. Was it only because she was afraid?

She looked at Antonio. He was watching her closely.

“Maybe if we’d known each other for a long time. Then this experiment of yours might be something to at least consider. There would be an automatic sense of trust.”

“Call your office,” he whispered. “Tell them you won’t be in tomorrow.”

She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Couldn’t seem to draw another breath while she was caught up in the intensity of his gaze.

This is crazy, she told herself. This is impulsive and dangerous and…and, dammit, exciting!

Yes, she had to admit, she was intrigued by his proposition. And although she knew it sounded a bit crazy, she was reassured by the man who proposed it. There was something very agreeable about Antonio. He was serious, quiet, obviously well-educated and intelligent. And he was generous with his time and money. In short, he felt safe.

But aside from all that, she’d never met a man as physically appealing or as aware of his power over women. She’d seen the looks he’d gotten from women in the restaurant and shops they’d visited. She wasn’t the only one attracted to him. He knew it. But he hadn’t shown it.

She’d bet if anyone knew about making love, Antonio would.

“I’ll call in!” The words burst impulsively from her lips, but she reined in her runaway hormones almost immediately. “We can spend tomorrow together. Doing fun stuff like today. But the rest of it…that demonstrating part…” She shook her head.

He nodded, his expression composed, revealing nothing of his thoughts. “As you wish. Tomorrow we will visit a few museums, have lunch, talk about life.” He gave her an encouraging smile.

“It sounds very nice,” she admitted releasing a breath she’d held so long she’d begun to feel lightheaded. “No more sex talk, right?”

“Not a word,” he agreed, solemnly.

She studied his expression a moment longer. She believed him.

So why did her body tingle as if his palms—as strong and weathered as the bark of his olive trees—were moving over the surface of her flesh? Why did she sense that they’d already entered a silent pact, whose terms she couldn’t yet read?

Antonio stood before the painting he had most looked forward to seeing that day. It was in a collection temporarily loaned to the National Gallery of Art—Portraits of Italian Renaissance Women. When he’d first seen Maria, this was the painting that had made him wonder if he’d met her before.

Now Maria stood beside him gazing up at the proud woman’s delicate features, and he was entranced by her reactions. She frowned, concentrating. Her arms were folded across her body, hugging herself.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

She tilted her head slowly, side to side. “I don’t know. This one seems so real, so modern in a way. But I can’t put my finger on why. Is it because da Vinci’s style bridges the centuries?”

The picture was labeled, Portrait of Genevra de Benci, signed by the master. Antonio had viewed it many times in his own country. His mother had first pointed it out to him, as she and the model shared the same first name. There the resemblance ended.

The portrait was exquisite, not only because of the famous painter’s talent but because of the simple, natural beauty of the woman who sat for him.

“Perhaps,” he said, “it’s a combination of his artistry and the woman’s beauty. Tell me what you see when you look at it.”

Maria gave him a puzzled look but didn’t object to the exercise. He moved closer to her, as if to better hear her lowered voice in the museum’s hushed exhibit room. He liked the way she smelled of soap and baby powder. Simple yet erotic fragrances. He focused on the smooth curve of her throat, so similar to that of the portrait before them.

“Well,” she murmured, “her hair is shining and pale, elaborate braids woven with those strands of baby pearls and satin ribbons. And she wears a choker of gold chains clasped with a cameo at her throat. The blond hair—” She squinted thoughtfully at the graceful coils lifted above the subject’s head. “She must have been considered a rare beauty back then.”

“Yes, Italians are drawn to light complexions, to pale-haired women and children. Back then, before chemical hair dyes, they were probably rare for my part of the world.”

“Her dress is beautiful. A kind of rich brocade, with lace panels.”

“Another sign of her wealth,” he agreed.

“There’s something else.” Her frown deepened, intensified.

“Do you not yet see it?” he asked, moving still closer until his lips nearly brushed the rim of her ear.

Maria’s eyes slowly cleared then widened. “You’re not thinking that there’s a resemblance between her and me!”

“Most definitely, there is,” he said, pleased that she’d finally seen the similarity, although she denied it. He gently lifted heavy strands of hair from her neck and held them in a soft coil above her head. “Look at me, cara.”

She turned self-consciously. “Antonio,” she whispered, “people are watching us.”

“It’s of no matter.” He smiled. “I’m just looking at another Renaissance woman. The room is full of them.”

She laughed, embarrassed, and brushed his hands away. “I’ve been having so much fun today, I forgot that flattering a woman comes easily to you.”

She was wrong.

How long had it been since he’d bothered to even look at a woman with any interest? Not since Anna died had he allowed himself such pleasure. But Maria was more than physically attractive. He had felt very close to her since first seeing her. Only later had he realized why.

The painting.

The de Benci family was linked with his own through marriage. Genevra had wed a distant relation of his southern Italian ancestors. She, so the story went, came from the north, from a family of less wealth than the de Bencis. But her husband loved her deeply and had given her pearls, jewels, and expensive silks for her gowns. She had returned his affection by wearing his gifts every day—around her throat, in her blond tresses, on her fingers and curling round her tiny wrists.

Antonio imagined strings of tiny pearls woven through Maria’s pale hair. He closed his eyes and was nearly overcome by a wave of desire. He snapped his eyes open immediately.

Why now? Why two long years after losing Anna was he allowing a stranger from another country to affect him this way? This was not a woman to have an affair with. This was not a woman to soothe his tormented soul. She was looking for a husband, and he would never marry again.

A cold hand closed around his heart. He set his jaw and moved away from Maria. After a moment, she followed him to stand before a bust of a patrician lady. She was silent, as if thinking thoughts as deep as his.

Neither spoke again while in the museum.

They drove next to the private Corcoran Gallery. Antonio silently led her through rooms displaying rare Greek and Roman antiquities.

She spotted several examples of brilliantly glazed Italian majolica of a more recent era. “They’re gorgeous!” She traced a bunch of rich purple ceramic grapes with one fingertip. “You only have to look at these to be happy,” she bubbled.

He stared at her, amazed. It took so little to make the woman happy? But yes, he could see it in her soft gray eyes—pure gladness, simple joy over an exquisite bowl. He wished life could be that easy for him.

For several minutes he felt as if he couldn’t breathe. The atrium into which he’d stepped went dark around him. He stood gazing out at the gardens without seeing them. The sadness was suddenly overwhelming.

After some time, he became aware of Maria standing beside him. He hadn’t heard her approach.

“Are you all right? Did I say something to upset you?” she asked cautiously.

He couldn’t speak for a moment. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry if I’ve spoiled your day.”

She laughed. “You haven’t spoiled my day at all. Listen, I haven’t had this much fun in as long as I can remember. Ever maybe. You’re great company, Antonio. I just wish I took the time to museum crawl more often. I should. It’s not as if it costs much.”

“I should too,” he said, testing his voice, relieved to find it didn’t break. “I should live again.”

“What?” She frowned at him.

“Never mind, cara. Let’s have lunch. I know just the place. You will love it.”

He took her to Coeur de Lion, a popular city restaurant he hoped to make one of his first American clients. His plan was to introduce Boniface Olive Oils to the U.S. market through fine restaurants.

The Coeur de Lion’s vaulted ceiling with its sunshine-filled skylight brightened his mood. Besides, he was determined to not rain on Maria’s day, a continuation of her birthday celebration.

They sat on tufted chairs at a table apart from the others, covered with a heavy white damask cloth. He told her stories of Apulia, his ancient homeland in Italy, and she listened intently.

Tomorrow, he thought, I will be gone. He’d rescheduled his flight again, but would delay his return no longer than that. Now that Marco had been dealt with, he needed to return to the groves. Although it was still barely spring in Washington, already there was important work to be done in Carovigno.

By the time they left the restaurant and had driven back to her apartment, it was nearly three in the afternoon.

“I shouldn’t have had so much wine.” Maria giggled as she fumbled her key into the lock. “I’m going to be sleepy before dinnertime, though I don’t think I could eat another bite all day. Oh, that was delicious!”

He smiled, took the key from her and let her into her apartment. She spun around twice before flopping like a little child on her couch and laughing to herself—a final comment on the fun of the day before letting her eyes drift drowsily closed.

“You’re leaving now, aren’t you?” she asked without opening them.

“Yes,” he said, with honest regret, “I should.”

She nodded. “Probably best.”

“Probably?” He frowned. Was she sending him a different message now? “I thought you didn’t want my company other than as a touring companion.”

“Didn’t…don’t…not sure anymore.” She sighed and opened her eyes with obvious effort to nibble at a corner of one fingernail, her brow delicately furrowed. “Must be the wine talking. It’s just that I was thinking last night, after you left— No, I can’t say that.”

“Say what?” he asked, smiling indulgently at her confusion.

Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea. But the concept…the theory of being coached, so to speak… Well, it appeals to me.”

He laughed softly but felt a nearly forgotten masculine tug down low in his body. “Does it now? But you said you’d have to know me better to trust me.”

“Yes, I did.” She seemed to be having trouble remembering her earlier statements through the wine. “I definitely said that. And it’s true, you need to trust a person to be intimate with them. Don’t you?”

“It’s wise,” he agreed, walking closer to her and dropping her keys on the coffee table in front of her. “Especially for a woman.”

“Yes, and espe—” She had trouble getting that word untangled from her tongue. “—es-pe-cially when that other person has had a lot more experience than you. Experience in activities that might cause him to be exposed to dangerous viral things and such.”

“You needn’t worry about that with me,” he assured her.

“Why not?”

He loved the way she scowled at him, her lips pouting, her brow wrinkling, a shadow of the little girl…inside the body of a woman. He ached to kiss her, but wouldn’t take advantage of her. The wine’s effect hadn’t yet begun to wane.

“Because I have been very careful,” he stated. Because, he could have added, there has been no one to share my bed in two full years. And for the five years before Anna died, he’d been only with her. “Let’s just say, I’m safe. But if the situation arose, I’d still use protection to ease your concern.”

“Of course you would.” She pulled a tasseled pillow toward her and hugged it so hard he wondered if the seams might pop. She squinted up at him speculatively. “If the situation arose,” she echoed him. “But your teaching…well, it wouldn’t include that arising stuff, right?”

He laughed delightedly and shook his finger at her. “Signorina, something definitely would rise, but we wouldn’t go all the way, as you say in this country.”

Her brow smoothed. “That’s right. We wouldn’t. So there would be no need at all to worry. Would there?”

“None.”

“All right,” she said, looking suddenly wide-awake and sober as she pushed the pillow away. “Let’s go for it.” She smiled up at him.

He was shocked. “Aspetta un momento! I thought you didn’t want to…that you were saving yourself for—”

“I am. Of course I am. I just want you to show me what I need to know. Everything except the end part.” She looked up at him solemnly.

He roared with laughter. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You’ve had too much wine, Maria. Tomorrow you’ll regret asking this of me.”

“I will?” She pouted again, and he nearly dragged her into his arms then and there.

“Yes,” he said softly. He took her hand, sat on the couch beside her and drew her close. “We will sit quietly together, let the wine wear off. If you feel the same way after another hour, we’ll do whatever you decide.”

She looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes. “All right.”

Maria wasn’t aware of the moment when her eyelids floated shut, or when she first awoke. The subtle lingering scent of a man’s aftershave came to her, then the sense that the surface beneath her was shifting.

Her eyes flashed open. “Antonio!”

“Yes?” a deep voice answered from above her.

She rolled over to discover that she’d been lying with her cheek pressed into his lap. She sat up abruptly, causing him to lift his arm, which had been draped protectively over her.

“You’re still here. What time is it?”

“Nearly five-thirty,” he said.

“I slept for over two hours?”

“Si. I took a little nap too. Sitting up.”

She had slept with a stranger in the room…with a stranger under her. Unexpectedly, the intimacy warmed rather than frightened her.

“Thank you for staying,” she whispered.

“I wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye,” he assured her.

“Then you are leaving?”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” He tenderly touched the tip of her nose, just once, with his long finger. “Do you remember what you asked of me before you fell asleep?”

She did. Vividly.

And, strangely enough, the only thing that had changed was her confidence that she could handle the lessons she’d requested of him.

“I remember,” she said, watching his expression. “I’d still like you to show me. I’m just not sure how.”

He observed her for a long time before answering. “It’s up to the man to know how. It’s up to you, the woman, only to say yes or no.”

A rush of heat swept through her body. When she tried to speak, the words dried up before crossing her lips. At last she managed the only ones that seemed important. “Then I say…yes.”

He nodded solemnly, no longer questioning her. Gently, he lifted her out of his lap. He stood up. “Then we must do this right.”

She watched from the couch as he put on his coat and moved toward the door. A wave of panic and disappointment swept over her. “Where are you going?”

“Shopping,” he said, scooping up her keys. “I’ll be back in an hour. While I am gone—” He returned to drop a kiss on her upturned forehead. “—you will take one of your long, hot baths. But you will not read a book.”

“I won’t?”

“No. You will think of me.” Looking deeply into her eyes, he kissed her again quickly on the lips. “Imagine my body and your body. Think about kisses that last so long you become faint with lack of oxygen.”

Then he was gone.

Maria stared at the door—her throat parched, hands trembling, heart racing.

Good grief. What had she done?

Three

The bath was still steaming around her when Maria heard her apartment door open and close, then the latch turn. Sitting up in the tub she listened.

Keys clinked on the coffee table. Bags rustled. Footsteps—a man’s by the weight of them—crossed her living room to her kitchen. She swallowed nervously, once, then again when the lump in her throat didn’t go away.

There was a gentle knock on the bathroom door. Hastily, Maria slid with a slosh beneath the thick blanket of bubbles. “Yes?”

“I have something for you to put on when you’re ready.” A hand slipped through the crack between the door and the wall, slid a parcel onto the towel shelf. Masculine fingers retracted then appeared again—this time with a champagne flute, filled with liquid gold. “Take your time.”

Positively dizzy with apprehension, she managed to haul herself out of the tub. However, as she dried off then, wrapped in her towel, opened the package and sipped her champagne, she began to feel a little braver. Her persistent curiosity was returning.

She had done as Antonio had asked. She had closed her eyes while soaking in the warm water and imagined a man’s body. She also had thought about the places on her own body where no one’s hand but her own had touched.

She tingled with anticipation.

From the rose-colored box she lifted a layer of pink tissue. Beneath it lay lingerie so delicate, so ethereal it barely whispered through her fingers. She looked at the label, knowing what it would say before she read it—silk. Pure shimmering, eggshell silk, with elegant borders of ecru lace.

She powdered herself and slipped on the delectable creation. It covered her in one long flow of fabric from breasts to ankles, but the contours of her body and her raised nipples showed through. She’d never owned anything so luxurious. So sensual.

When her hair was dry she applied lip gloss and a featherlight coat of mascara. Finally, she took a deep breath and, bringing with her the last of her champagne, stepped out of the bathroom.

She didn’t know what she expected. Antonio in skin-tight briefs? Antonio in the nude? But she found him sitting on her couch, in nearly the same position as before. When he heard her, he stood and gazed approvingly at her, then raised his glass.

“Sei bellissima. You are a beautiful woman, Maria.”

She blinked at him, not believing but pleased none the less. “You’ve changed your clothes too,” she observed. He was wearing slate-hued slacks with a soft caramel-colored sweater that she was sure must be cashmere. The shirt collar was dazzling white, crisp and open, no confining tie.

“I returned to my room to shower and change. I wanted to be fresh for you.”

“That was a nice gesture,” she said, “as are the gown and the champagne. Antonio, I want to help you pay for all of this, it’s really generous of you but it would be wrong of me to expect you—”

He waved off her offer. “The cost is of no concern. Come.”

Standing, he walked toward the kitchenette bar that separated her living room from the food prep area and motioned to her to join him. He’d laid out a bowl of huge strawberries and a dish of whipped cream. Dipping the tip of a strawberry into the frothy mixture, he fed her one.

“Part of the lessons,” he explained.

The fruit was ripe, juicy and delicious, but when he offered her a second she held up a hand.

“Are you having second thoughts?” he asked.

“No,” she answered quickly. But maybe she was. For her feelings were as hard to grasp as if they were a beam of light splintered by a prism into separate bands of color. She could see each individual hue, but what they might form when refocused into the bright, white light of day, she couldn’t say.

He touched her shoulder encouragingly. “We can just talk, if you prefer.”

She looked down at his hand. He wore no wedding band, nor was there an indentation to show that he had recently removed one. He had said he wasn’t married, but she had trouble imagining him without a beautiful woman on his arm. He was just too damn good looking to be on his own for long.

She braced one hip on a high stool at the breakfast bar. “Tell me, Antonio,” she began nervously, “when you make love to a woman, what do you do first?”

“We talk and enjoy something light and delicious to eat, as we are now. Perhaps there is wine, perhaps a little music.” Sweeping her suddenly off the stool and into his arms he demonstrated by spinning her around in a dizzying, musicless waltz. “We dance.”

She laughed, delighted. “And then?”

“That depends. I might touch her softly. Here.” He smoothed the back of his curled fingers across her collarbone, her shoulder, then down the sensitive swell along the outside of her breast. Her flesh warmed beneath his hand. She hissed an involuntary breath between her teeth. “Then I pay close attention to her reaction.”

Maria smiled weakly at him. “That kind of reaction?”

He nodded, looking pleased. “Si.”

“Then what?”

“If she responded with pleasure at my touch—” He looked thoughtful, as if trying to remember steps to a once-familiar dance.

She stared into his midnight-blue eyes, fascinated, wondering what he was thinking and why he hesitated. Even though she had assured him that she wanted him to show her these things.

“If she seemed amenable,” he began again, “I would kiss her.”

“On the mouth?” she asked when he didn’t immediately suit action to words.

“For the moment, yes.” His gaze glittered with interesting highlights and even more interesting secrets.

It seemed to her that she was now leading this dance of theirs. And for some reason that seemed all wrong, all backward, because he, the experienced one, was supposed to be teaching her. It didn’t make sense, except that maybe this was his way of making her feel comfortable. She didn’t feel the least threatened. He didn’t rush at her. He let her show him when she was ready for the next step.

“How on the mouth?” she whispered.

His eyes fell to her lips. “Cara,” he murmured. “I don’t think I can…” He seemed to have trouble finishing his thought.

“You don’t think you can what?” she asked.

He said nothing more for a long while, then it was as if he was speaking only to himself. “Can any man resist such a pretty invitation?” And his fingers left the champagne flute he’d held, then he took hers and placed it beside his on the countertop. Gripping her upper arms he brought her body flush with his.

There was an urgency in his embrace. He pressed her head to his chest for a moment, breathed deeply. She heard his heart racing against her ear.

And all she could think was: This is wonderful! This must be how a man makes a woman feel close to him. Feel protected, even though he might be the only thing she needs protection from!

A second later, he bent over her and lifted her chin to bring her lips up to his. This time his kiss was less gentle. He moved his mouth over hers, coaxing her lips open. He tasted of musk and spice and a nutlike freshness. She wondered what flavors she held for him, if he liked the way she tasted. Or was he forcing himself to go through the motions because he’d promised he would?

A new pressure came from his hands as they slid around from behind her, and followed her ribs upward. His eyes glittered, suddenly hard chips of obsidian. Then she was leaning back against the counter, one of his hands moving to support her, the other roaming hotly over her chest and coming to rest on one breast.

He found her nipple through the fabric, rubbed across it, back and forth with the pad of his thumb, and a blaze of heat raced from the tips of her toes to the very back of her throat. A smoldering sensation radiated through her limbs before condensing in a pool of warmth below her belly.

“Oh my!” she gasped, blinking up at him. “What was that?”

He smiled at her. “So soon, cara?”

She shook her head and laughed. “You’re saying that I— Really?”

“Let’s try that again,” he murmured huskily, fitting her more securely into his arms.

She had the feeling that this time, as he held her body against his, was for his benefit more than hers. Or perhaps it was his intention to allow her to feel how aroused he’d become. For, despite her lack of experience, there was no doubt what she felt pressing against the flat of her stomach—the rigid proof of a man’s hunger.

Suddenly afraid, Maria started to pull away from him. Maybe she had asked for more than she could handle.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.